It's nine in the morning in the section of New York City privately dubbed Fabletown, and The Woodsman is awkwardly sitting at a table inside the Eggman Diner. He waits here, stepping a tad out of his comfort zone, for Sheriff Bigby Wolf. However, he had expected the wolf to be early, and he now wonders if perhaps he's being stood up.

Five long minutes pass, and Woodsman is about ready to leave. Before he can stand, though, someone rushes over and sits across from him.

"Ugh, sorry I'm late." says Bigby, who now sits at the other side of Woodsman's table, apologetically. "I had some business I had to deal with at the Woodlands all night."

Woodsman raises a bushy brow. "So I take it you didn't sleep, then?"

The wolf in a human-like skin shrugs casually.

"That sucks."

"Do I still look tired?" Bigby asks jokingly. "Never mind my hectic schedule. I'm here now."

Woodsman smirks. "I'm glad about that. Thought for a minute there that you were standing me up, Wolf."

"I'd never do that, Woody..." The Wolf replies with a bittersweet half-smile.

The Fables smile at each other for a moment before Bigby turns his head. When he does so, the collar of his eggshell dress shirt doesn't follow since it's so loose, and Woodsman notices that he appears to have a fresh bruise on the crook of his shoulder. Letting his green eyes move slowly from the bruise up Bigby's neck, he discovers that there's another bruise, this one located at the edge of the wolf's hairline. Seeing as both are rather obscured by hair and cloth, Woodsman decides not to say anything.

Bigby looks back at Woodsman. "Are you going to order something?" He asks.

Something in Woodsman has to take a moment to recoil. He's about to have a peaceful breakfast with the old wolf he split open from neck to navel a few centuries ago. Something about this situation makes Woodsman laugh a bit.

"What are you laughing at?"

"Nothing, it's just... It's funny. We're supposed to hate each other."

Bigby shrugs, wringing his hands on the table. "Well, we are all supposed to have a fresh start here..."

"I guess that's true."

After ordering, the pair sit in awkward silence. Neither of them really knows what to say.

"... Bigby?"

"Yeah, Woody?"

"If you don't mind me asking, what are those bruises on your neck from? I don't remember those from yesterday."

Hearing the bruises brought up, Bigby's big brown eyes widen somewhat and he looks down at the table.

"... You don't need to say anything about it if you don't want to."

'It's not that I don't want to...' Bigby thinks, 'It's that I don't think you'd understand...'
The previous night, how Crane had responded to his initial refusal of the Deputy Mayor's insane "offer", floods back into Bigby's mind as he sips a cup of coffee with his eyes closed. He had been given the option to either play along or get out, and resigning wasn't something he really wanted to do, despite the fact that his only reason for trying to appear human was now a beheaded corpse.

"Sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up."

Bigby looks up at him again. "No, no, it's fine... It's good to hear someone express some sort of concern for my well-being for once." He manages to say as he scratches his dark stubble.
He's got a big night tonight. Having a sour time with Woodsman won't help him cope, so he tries his best to seem happy throughout the rest of the breakfast... or, at least, as happy as he could seem without appearing desperate.

When the cheque is brought to their table, Bigby reaches for his back pocket to pull out his wallet, but stops when Woodsman holds out his hand.

"Keep the change." Woody says as he hands the money to the waitress that brought them the bill. She smiles a bit, thanks him, and swiftly walks away.

"You're really fine with paying? I mean, let's face it, Woody; you're less well-off than even me."

Woodsman shakes his head. "It's fine. I'll manage."

"You sure? I could pay you back..."

"Really, Bigby." Woodsman adds with a smile, "You don't need to pay me. This was my idea, anyway, so it only makes sense for it to be on me."

Bigby slowly relaxes, nodding his gratitude. When he and Woodsman leave the diner headed in opposite directions, the more the distance between them grows, the more uncomfortable the Sheriff of Fabletown feels.

After all, every step away from The Woodsman is just another step closer to Ichabod Crane.

That night, in Woodland Luxury Apartment 204, Bigby Wolf stares at himself in his bathroom mirror. On the sink, beside his hands which clutch the edges of the surface, sits a little blue bag with white snowflakes; a makeup bag that Bigby presumes once belonged to Snow White. Crane had given it to him, but the wolf still isn't sure if it's fake or if Crane had actually stolen it from Snow's belongings.

Bigby gulps. He can't help it. This is dangerous territory, and he's lunging right into it.
'Not like I have much of a choice in the matter...' He thinks in his own defense.

With shaky hands, Bigby opens the makeup bag. It smells like Snow, he observes vacantly.
Inside the small bag, at the very top, is a small wooden charm.
'This must be the Glamour... God, I've never used one of these before.'
He will admit that he's nervous about using the Glamour, so he sets it aside. Last thing he needs is for it to accidentally trigger his normal form instead of merely changing his human appearance.

After struggling to dig through the bag for a couple of seconds, Bigby decides to just dump it all into the sink, since nothing inside is small enough to fall down the drain. He isn't entirely sure how to use any of this stuff, but Crane had already reminded him time and time again that the Glamour would only change his body, not his other additions such as clothes and makeup. These would have to be done manually.

Bigby focuses his eyes onto the reflection of the clothes folded onto the towel rack; Snow's red shirt and black blazer.

'I can't believe I'm doing this. This is so wrong.'

He picks up the bottle of perfume.
'Christ, I have to drench myself in this, don't I? My senses are going to drive me absolutely batshit.'

First, though, Bigby decides to use the tube of mascara. He unscrews the lid on one end, revealing the brush, and awkwardly tries his best to put the mascara on his left eye. When he's finished, he takes a good look at himself, comparing his normal eye to the one bolded by the thickened lashes.

'I look like a fucking idiot.' He thinks cynically before glancing at the Glamour. 'This isn't going to work... I'd be able to better recreate Snow if I was able to apply the makeup to her face...'
Reaching for and taking hold of the Glamour, Bigby feels bad. He shouldn't want to recreate Snow White. He shouldn't want to help Crane. But... he can relate. He misses Snow. He wants to see her; to pretend she's not dead.

He has no choice.

Ichabod Crane sits quietly at his desk, trying to seem preoccupied when really he's doing nothing.
It's getting late, and there's no sign of Sheriff Wolf.

'Where is he? I told that stupid, insolent wolf to be here twenty minutes ago. So help me God, if he skips out on me, I will personally throw him down the goddamned Witching W-'

"Crane?"

The voice makes Crane's train of thought stop. The voice of Snow White calling his name has filled his ears, and with the proceeding sound of familiar high-heeled footsteps, he looks up.

Standing before him, rather meek in her posture, is Snow White. She looks just as beautiful as ever, if not more-so with her inverted color scheme.

"Oh..." Crane stumbles on words, his breath caught in his chest as he stands. "Oh, my... You... You've done a great job with utilizing that Glamour..."

Snow shrugs. "I tried..."

Crane lets his eyes look his assistant over from head to toe.
'My God... That curve. Perhaps that witch deserves a little more credit for her skills.' It isn't until Snow's posture changes and her arms cross over her chest that Crane remembers he's talking to nothing more than a Glamoured Bigby Wolf.

Suddenly, the Deputy Mayor has a dastardly idea.
'Hmm... Sheriff Wolf doesn't know whether or not Snow and I were in a relationship... I might still be able to make this work both ways with him.'

As if sensing that something is up, Snow reluctantly looks at Crane.

"Sheriff Wolf?"

"Yes?" Snow replies in her smooth, feminine voice.

"I'm going to confess something to you... You must promise to keep it a secret."

"Depends what that confession is." Even with the voice of Snow White, Bigby still manages to keep the razors in his tone.

"It's probably going to be really alarming, heh heh... but, it's also something I need you to act on if you're going to perfect the persona of our beloved Snow White."

Snow narrows her eyes. "This isn't permanent, is it?"

Ignoring the question, Crane continues. "Snow and I... Well, we... We had a more intimate relationship than you might think."
Out of the corner of his eyes, Crane watches as Snow's white flesh pales further, and gets a sick sense of satisfaction watching her facial expression become nearly desolate.

The Deputy Mayor keeps going. "Every night, she and I would rendezvous to-"

"You're lying."

"What's that?"

"You're... You're lying. Snow hated you, Crane."

Crane lets out a hearty laugh. "Oh, you know how women are: difficult. Besides, she had to give off that sort of opinion to make sure our nightly love-making remained secret."

Bigby feels as though he may be sick. It couldn't be true. Snow would have smelled like Crane at least once if that was the case.
But... there were times when she always smelled like Crane, simply because she was with him all day... Alone in the office...
Alone with Crane, somewhere more or less private.
Bigby blinks rapidly. Due to having smaller tear ducts, he finds himself now blinking back tears.

Crane steps closer to the Glamoured Fable and runs his fingers through the dark blue hair before him.
"Come now. It's not all that bad."

Snow shakes her head. Her voice and lips quivering, she mumbles, "You're sick. I'm not going to fuck you, Crane."

"You're right, you're not." Crane leans in close, and into Snow's ear, he huskily whispers, "I'm going to fuck you."

"What happens if I refuse to let you do that?" Snow demands quietly.

"Then we arrest The Woodsman and throw him down the Witching Well for murdering Snow White, whether he did it or not."

It all comes down to a split-second decision.