Stubborn - (The Wolf Among Us, F)

[Garnet]

Oh look, another Fables/TWAU drabble that got too long to be a drabble. Can't stop, won't stop.

All I want from life is a feverish, spaced out Snow White letting down some of her guard. So this is that. Also, slight warning for the emetophobes, there's no actual V but there are some passing mentions of nausea.

Enjoy!

--------------

"...ngt-chshhh!"

The room spun as she recovered from that one, shadowy suggestions of the Business Office blurring and reforming before her eyes. Snow White gave a groggy sniffle and put her head in her hands. This was a bad idea.

"Gesundheit, Miss White!" Bufkin's voice grated cheerfully. She heard him gliding down out of the rafters, but didn't look up, even as he lighted on her desk and nudged her requested tome in front of her. "That sounds like it's getting worse."

"Thanks, Bufkin," she sighed, and picked her head up to force a smile for the winged monkey. "I'm alright."

"That's what you said this morning," he needled. He put his hands on both knees and folded his wings.

"And it still holds true." She pulled the book towards her, flipped it open with resignation. "I'm just a little..." The excuse stopped in her throat, as she uprolled her eyes into the shadows of the vast ceiling. Her lower lip trembled. Not again...

"Miss White?"

"--ngxt-CHSSHHiew!"

She pushed herself away from the desk and sneezed at the floor at the last minute, the efforts to stifle it falling miserably short as it forced its way out with a vengeance. Bufkin backwinged off her desk with a startled flap. She meant to offer him an apology, but her breath was already hitching towards another, so in embarrassed dismay she snatched for a tissue before folding in half over her lap.

"Ih-CHSSH! Ih-chszhh!"

She wished that it at least felt good to get them out, yet each sneeze just scraped her throat raw, made her sinuses throb, her eyes water. She coughed miserably and wadded the damp Kleenex against her nose.

"You look feverish," Bufkin observed. He circled her desk unhappily, while Snow resisted the urge to bat him out of the air. He was probably right, anyway. She'd meant it, that morning, when she said she was alright. A sniffle and a headache were the harbingers of a cold coming on, but the endless parade of errands to run and fables streaming in and out of her office had worn her down much quicker than she'd expected. Bufkin wasn't the only one to notice, either. She'd had a constant barrage of either concerned or dismayed noises every time she turned away to muffle a sneeze or cough into a tissue, no matter how liberal she was with the hand sanitizer afterwards. By the time Bigby had stopped by with lunch from a deli down the street, she'd snapped at him with unnecessary anger for making the same observation.

Her sandwich was still sitting abandoned in the drawer, come to think of it. And she still owed Bigby a better apology than the curt one she gave him. Snow rubbed her eyes.

"I'm almost done," she told the librarian. "It's just paperwork, at this point."

"If you say so," Bufkin said uncertainly, but continued to hover. With another sigh, she reached for a scrap of paper and scrawled out another title for a book she didn't need. Anything to shake his attentions for a little while, as well-meaning as they were.

"Can you go find this one for me, too?"

Bufkin frowned thoughtfully as he read out the request. "Back in a few."

When he'd winged away again, she took advantage of the temporary reprieve to reach for another tissue, but the box was light and empty. She couldn't even be truly upset or disappointed, she just stared at the cardboard with something like worn out apathy.

It had been that kind of day.

She was pretty sure there was another box floating around the office somewhere, however, so despite the Herculean effort it took, she got reluctantly to her feet. The change in elevation opened her sinuses back up for a single, mocking moment, just enough to let a trickle of congestion run free. Snow sniffled through a grimace, and took a wobbly step. She barely made it three feet before her balance gave out. Either as a consequence of the burgeoning fever or the low blood sugar that resulted from not eating all day, her whole world seemed to tilt on its axis. She scrabbled desperately for the corner of her desk as she felt her knees turn to water, but a haze of lightheadedness made it hard to gauge the distance, and she hit the floor while she was still trying to compensate.

She didn't faint, which almost might have been better. Instead, lying there in a heap of exhaustion and frustration, the ever-composed and emotionally frigid Snow White just felt like crying. At least the floor was cool under her cheek.

"Miss White!" Bufkin, returning, dropped the book to the floor and grabbed her hand with a powerful downbeat of his wings as he attempted to pull her back upright. Snow pulled back in protest.

"I'm fine, Bufkin. I stumbled, I can get up." She intended to make good on that statement, but as she pushed herself up off the floor, her arm trembled, and in surprise she went back down hard enough to hurt. Fuck. Snow rolled onto her back and stared up into the darkness, feeling pathetic. Thank God there was nobody else here to see her like this. "Give me a minute."

Bufkin made an angry noise, sounding equally frustrated, and she closed her eyes as she heard him take off in a flurry of feathers. Good. By the time he was done sulking, she'd be able to finish her work and get back to bed. Just as soon as the room stabilized.

She missed the sound of the door opening as Bufkin streaked out in a tizzy, but she was vaguely aware of it shutting again as he returned. When she cracked her eyes groggily open, there was both a wolf and a monkey standing over her.

"Tattletale," she accused, her voice hoarse.

"She won't listen to me," Bufkin hissed as he dropped back down onto her desk and tossed up his hands. Ever dramatic.

"Yeah, you gotta get tough with this one," Bigby said. He leaned down and reached for both of her hands. "You okay, there, Tipsy?"

"Just a little dizzy," she mumbled, placing her hands in his. She hadn't noticed how clammy they'd gotten until his dry, rough palms were curling around her fingers.

"C'mon, ready?" After she'd nodded weakly, he stepped back and drew her to her feet in the same smooth motion. Snow, meanwhile, felt the room drop away like she was on a carnival ride, and a wave of nausea struck so suddenly that she stumbled into him and sagged against one shoulder.

What the fuck was wrong with her? Hadn't she mastered standing without support when she was a year old, and not three hundred? She pulled away as she found her center of gravity, and just in time, too. She kept one hand on him for support, and turned into the other with her nose wrinkling miserably. "Ih--CHSHH!"

"You're sick as a dog," Bigby murmured, softening.

"Is that supposed to be funny?"

He screwed up his brow at her, the pun obviously lost on him. "Can you walk?"

"Of course," she huffed, but as she let go of his arm, the woozy blurriness at the edge of her vision made her think twice. "Maybe." She let Bigby steady her, just in case she collapsed again. The indignity of that outweighed the embarrassment of needing his help. "No." She panicked a moment later when he bent enough to hook an arm at the back of her knees. "Wait, wait, what are you -- don't you dare pickmeupBigby!" She yelped in protest, shame giving way to a hot rage. "Put me down!"

"Sorry, boss," he said, as he adjusted her into a loose bridal sling. "It's either this or I'm tossing you over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Your choice."

Her cheeks blazed and she pushed against his chest, to no effect. Realistically, she wouldn't have been able to budge Bigby even if she had all her strength. "This is ridiculous! I'm not a damsel in distress," she seethed, tears gathering behind her eyes. She hated feeling this helpless.

Bigby paused, and peered down at her. "Who said you were? I'm chalking you up as a stubborn ass who doesn't know when the fuck to take a day off."

In spite of herself, her anger turned over into a confused bleat of laughter, as quickly as it had developed. "Ugh." She sagged in his grip, and closed her eyes. That's right. She wasn't a maiden who needed rescuing, and he sure as hell wasn't a hero. The absolution of stereotypes was reassuring. "That makes two of us. Let's never reproduce and pass on the bullheaded gene."

That earned a moment of surprised, awkward silence from Bigby. She bit back another curdle of discomfort in her stomach as he shifted her around enough to lay a palm on her forehead. It felt mercifully cool on her sweaty skin, which was probably worrying in its own right. Bigby always ran a little hot. "Jesus, you're burning up. No wonder you're talking crazy." She sniffled guiltily and rested her cheek on his arm as he turned to Bufkin. "Sounds like the flu to me. Can you close up here? I'm gonna put her to bed."

He seemed eager to help, in the capacity that he could. "My pleasure, sheriff."

She resigned herself to being carried over the threshold, out of the cool darkness of the Business Office and to the apartments beyond. She half-expected Bigby to knock her against the door frame or toss her roughly around in his arms, but he was surprisingly gentle, mindful. He carried her as if she weighed no more than an armload of assorted laundry. She buried her face in his shirt, to block out the nauseating sensation of watching the world move out of sync, and willed herself not to sneeze on him. She couldn't do anything for the tears, though, which welled up unbidden again as he took her keys from her pocket and unlocked her door. "I'm sorry," she choked, after he'd pushed the door shut with one foot.

"It'll wash out."

"No," she protested, pulling away from the wet patch between her cheek and his skin. "For...you having to... do this. Especially after I barked at you at lunch," she mumbled, remorseful.

To her surprise, she felt a laugh reverberate through his chest. "Snow, that wasn't barking. And I'll let you know when I feel inconvenienced, but you might be waiting a while for that. Bed or couch?"

"Couch," she sulked.

"You sure?"

"I can still give you a good right hook, you know."

"I'll bet." He laid her carefully out on the couch, then tugged off her shoes while she pushed a cushion into an acceptable shape under her head. She was too exhausted to put much effort into it, and anyway it was going to fall out of place as soon as she...

"CHISSZHH-iew!"

She half curled in on herself with the force, then slumped back to the feeling of a deep, abiding ache settling into every muscle as she coughed out the rest. It had indeed been decades since she'd had so much as a sniffle, and even longer since she'd caught something full blown as the flu, but she couldn't argue with Bigby's diagnosis. There was a dreaded familiarity to this.

"Gesundheit."

"Thanks," she swallowed. As hard and suddenly as this had hit, she did admittedly feel much better now that she was horizontal, and with no obligation to get up any time soon. "You can go back to work, now. I'll manage."

"Hm. Nice try," Bigby said, and disappeared into the bathroom. She heard the water run, but didn't notice entirely what was happening until he was back at her side with a cool, damp washcloth being laid on her brow. It brought with it a wave of relief so palpable that her eyes rolled back beneath closed lids. She would have kissed him, if she could sit up.

"I'm guessing you don't have any cold medicine."

She shook her head as much as she dared, and sniffled, still not bothering to open her eyes. "Or tissues or... God, anything. It's been so long since I was sick."

"I can make a run to the store -- shut up, that's not up for discussion," he cut her off, before her protest could form, then pressed something soft and dry into her hands. "Here, for the meantime."

She unfolded the handkerchief and looked at it muzzily for a few seconds. The fabric felt a little softer and smoother to the touch than cotton, but neither was it silk. Something magic in origin, maybe. "Oh. This is yours."

"It's clean." He sounded amused.

"No, I mean I...what if you need it?"

"I'll try to avoid any pepper until then," he snorted. "Anything else you want to argue with me about?"

She gave up on preserving any concept of self-image, well aware that she probably looked like shit anyway, and wearily blew her nose into the cloth. The pressure behind her eyes eased almost immediately. "Ndo." She sighed and kept blowing until she could breathe with some semblance of clarity. She knew that it wouldn't last. Bigby reached for her brow, as if to push the few damp tendrils of hair away that she could feel plastered to her skin and the washcloth, but he seemed to suddenly change his mind. She wasn't sure whether to be relieved or disappointed -- she and the sheriff were friends, good friends, and had been for as long as they'd been in America, but she was still trying to process this comparatively gentler side of him. Bigby did protective, of course, it was his job. She was a little thrown by his capacity for caretaking as well. She wondered if he'd undergone the same crisis of confusion, when he'd been sick some many months back and she'd been fast at his bedside with a concern that surprised even herself.

"Alright," he said, dropping into a loose crouch beside the sofa, so they were more or less eye level. "Drugs, Kleenex. What else? Did you eat anything?"

"Honestly, just the thought of it makes me nauseous," she admitted, and considered his prompt. "... juice?" She suggested after a beat, hating how much it made her sound like a little girl.

"Juice it is." He pushed himself to his feet again. "Get some rest, okay? Supplies will be here when you wake up."

He started to step away, which prompted a dart of panic that seemed to surge out of nowhere. "W-wait."

Bigby froze, and fixed her with an expectant look.

"Will..." She closed her eyes and struggled to find words that didn't sound as cliche as she felt. "Can you... wait until I pass out, before you leave?"

"You want me to stay until you fall asleep?" He asked, and seemed to pick out the exact embarrassing phrasing she'd been trying to avoid. She probably owed him some candidness.

"I have trouble falling asleep some nights." Most nights. "It's worse when I'm sick, I remember that now. You don't have to talk to me or anything, just the company is nice. Put the TV on, if you want."

Bigby seemed surprised by this admission. He flicked the television on, but kept the volume on its lowest setting, a blurry background noise as he sank into the armchair next to the couch. "It's easier with someone else here?"

It's easier with you here, she thought. Outwardly, she just nodded. "If you don't mind."

He reached over again, this time to flip the washcloth to the cool side. Her eyelids fluttered blissfully. "Sure, Snow. I don't mind."

She didn't know if he was watching the television or watching her, but Snow let herself slowly zone out to the murmur of recorded voices and the concept of his closeness. She couldn't smell his familiar whiff of stale cigarettes and whiskey, through her congestion, or hear him breathe under the television, but she sensed his presence almost preternaturally, and let that stability ground her thoughts. Ridiculous. She was supposed to be the rock.

She didn't sleep, not quite, and she wasn't sure how long she was in that trance-like limbo before Bigby spoke up in his usual soft grit worn down from years of smoking.

"Who took care of you, as a kid?"

Snow came back out of her daze with a muddled blink. She turned her head just enough to look at him, ignoring the twinge the motion caused at the base of her skull. God, why did every single thing have to hurt?

"What?"

Bigby leaned back in the armchair. "That seems to be what humans think about, when they get sick. What their moms made for them when they were children. Comfort foods, folk remedies, that sort of thing. I was just curious."

Snow blinked again, and adjusted her position so she didn't have to crane her neck. None of them talked much about their time before the Exodus, especially those of them whose less savory deeds had been absolved by the Amnesty. It was like widespread, unspoken agreement. The fables who got too swept up in reminiscing often had trouble adjusting to the modern world, and the smaller microcosm of their existence in it.

It didn't mean she had never been curious about some, she'd just never expected Bigby to initiate. He especially didn't talk about his past. She'd killed men. He'd eaten armies.

She stayed to the more neutral, structured territory of childhood illnesses, just to be safe.

"Did your mom take care of you?" She countered, rubbing the heel of a palm against her eye as she felt it water with irritation, even in the dim light.

Bigby shrugged. "I might have been the runt of the litter, but I didn't get sick all that much. Wolves don't really do caretaking, anyway." He paused, then added, "Doesn't mean she wasn't a great mom. Best a pup could ask for."

Snow wanted so badly to laugh at the very idea of Bigby being the runt, the smallest and weakest of anything, but she barely had the energy to smile. She meant to press him for more details on that, but the sting in her eyes had migrated further back into her sinuses, tingling so miserably that she took a shaking breath, and sneezed into the cup of her hands.

"...ih--CHSSH!"

It was hard enough to make her head spin and her stomach clench, impressively loud for how awful she felt. She slumped back against the couch cushion with a moan she no longer cared to repress.

"Bless you. Gonna give me a run for my money, there, if you keep that up."

That managed to get a laugh out of her anyway, croaky and weak. "I think I've got a ways to go before I'm blowing houses down." She sniffled, then thought back into the deep morass of her memory while she caught her breath. "Let's see..."

Her childhood was a fuzzy image at best. The sharpest pictures were the ones from places less happy, ones that she didn't want to revisit. She struggled to latch onto one of the better times before her aunt had attempted to have her murdered.

"My mother was poor, but she took good care of us. We were never hungry, or cold, or wanting. Rose and I invariably always got sick at the same time, so she had her hands full. I remember she made us..." She rubbed her eyes again, straining for the details. They were suddenly more important to her than she thought they'd be. "Soup with pheasant and wild mushrooms, from the forest. And secret ingredients, to make us better. I think it was just herbs, though. Rosemary and thyme picked out of her garden."

Talking hurt her throat, a punishment her body doled out after too many phonecalls and meetings she'd stubbornly pushed through. Snow paused to swallow, and gauged whether he was interested enough that she bothered continue. Bigby was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, however, watching her all his attention. As he always did.

"After I was sent to live with my aunt, the Queen, I mostly took care of myself. I had handmaidens and servants, but we weren't close." She sniffled through another pause, then sat up a little as another memory floated out of the gloom. She propped herself on one arm.

"No, that's not true. I was close with one of them. I had pneumonia one winter. I was so sick and for so long that I thought I'd lose my mind, shut up in that room." Bored, she remembered now, and unbearably lonely. "My handmaiden smuggled me up a sickly puppy from one of the hunting hounds' litters. They were going to put her down. She slept in my bed with me day and night while, gradually, we both got better and stronger. I loved the company, and it was comforting to fall asleep with my hands in her fur and her nose under my chin. When we were both healthy and the huntsman saw how well she'd flourished, he welcomed her back into his pack. I like to think we spared each other."

She shook her head slowly. "I'd completely forgotten..."

A strobing cough laid her back down, lasting several long seconds until the heat in her face faded. She waved Bigby off, when he started to get up. "I'm fine." She cleared her throat, and sighed, letting herself gradually adjust back to the present. "Those are my folk remedies, anyway. Soup and puppies."

Bigby was looking at her with a strange softness around the edges of his features. It didn't exactly look like sympathy, but she couldn't tell through her bleary eyes.

"Thanks, Snow. That was nice."

He seemed to mean it. She blinked when he got up anyway to pull the coffee table away from the sofa and to the wall, creating a large open space in the middle of the room.

"What are you doing?"

"You don't want to see me cook, so this will have to do. Eyes closed. I mean it, I'm not responsible for any trauma if you peek."

She was too confused and exhausted to protest, so she complied. A tiny notch of bewilderment appeared between her brows as she heard the shuffle of clothes and the clink of a belt buckle being undone -- what the hell? Her heart skipped a painful, happy beat a moment later, however, as she felt a cold nose under her palm and fur against her fingertips. Oh.

Snow cracked her eyes open, then smiled feverishly up at the Big Bad Wolf just barely contained in her living room, a terror of fang and claw. "I don't think you can pass as a puppy."

"Woof," he said flatly, and laid down beside the couch. He was large enough that she could turn on her side and drape her whole arm comfortably across his neck without reaching down. Which she did, because she was sick and tired and tired of being sick, and it felt nice to push her fingertips into his soft undercoat and scratch gently.

"How's this?" He asked, though his eyes were squinted with a pleasure of his own. He liked to be pet. Or rather, he liked to be pet by her. Snow wasn't stupid.

"You're like my own personal therapy wolf. You should visit hospitals."

"I'm sure that would go over great. Go to sleep, you're loopy as a toucan. I can practically smell your brain cells cooking."

The rising giggle that threatened in her throat proved his point, but she no longer cared. "I mean it. You cou--..." Her mirth grew breathy and weak as a hot pulsepoint in the back of her nose developed into a tickle, forcing her to reroute it into her crook of her arm. "--chsshh! ...ih-chzsshh!"

"Gesundheit. Don't sneeze on me, okay?"

The effort of it had deflated some of the high from her mental balloon, but Snow still smiled as she stroked between his ears. "I'll try not to." She felt her eyes grow heavy, lulled by the tactile comfort of running her fingers through his fur. "Thank you, Bigby. For taking care of me. I hope you don't catch this."

"You and the rest of the neighborhood," he chuckled. "I'll be fine. G'night, Snow."

"Goodnight."

She felt his head settle onto his paws and the soft rush of his sigh, calm and deep. Her petting grew gradually slower, and then finally stilled altogether as she drifted off to sleep with her hand warm on the back of his neck.

Edited August 23, 2014 by Garnet

[Anonymouse]

YES SNOW WHITE'S TURN! You could seriously write a thousand more stories about Bigs or Snow and I would read every single freaking one with the utmost enthusiasm because I love them and I love your writing.

She didn't faint, which almost might have been better. Instead, lying there in a heap of exhaustion and frustration, the ever-composed and emotionally frigid Snow White just felt like crying. At least the floor was cool under her cheek.

omg I was torn between laughing at your description and bawling in sympathy for the poor woman.

She missed the sound of the door opening as Bufkin streaked out in a tizzy, but she was vaguely aware of it shutting again as he returned. When she cracked her eyes groggily open, there was both a wolf and a monkey standing over her.

"A little flying monkey told me someone was overworking her sick ass..." Freaking Bufkin.

"Yeah, you gotta get tough with this one," Bigby said. He leaned down and reached for both of her hands. "You okay, there, Tipsy?"

omg Bigby is so sweet with her... And when he picks her up!

"Ugh." She sagged in his grip, and closed her eyes. That's right. She wasn't a maiden who needed rescuing, and he sure as hell wasn't a hero. The absolution of stereotypes was reassuring. "That makes two of us. Let's never reproduce and pass on the bullheaded gene."

I loved that bit about the stereotypes, and how Snow is so stubborn and concerned about not appearing helpless. Also that bit about never reproducing and then they literally have a litter of children.

"Oh. This is yours."

"It's clean." He sounded amused.

"No, I mean I...what if you need it?"

"I'll try to avoid any pepper until then," he snorted. "Anything else you want to argue with me about?"

omg. I love how he just throws caution to the wind like eh, whatever, if I have to I'll just try to stifle it and probably fail, nbd.

Snow wanted so badly to laugh at the very idea of Bigby being the runt, the smallest and weakest of anything, but she barely had the energy to smile.

That was so cute. And the story about Snow and the puppy was so sweet. :')

"Thank you, Bigby. For taking care of me. I hope you don't catch this."

... Is there perhaps a sequel planned?

[Garnet]

You could seriously write a thousand more stories about Bigs or Snow and I would read every single freaking one with the utmost enthusiasm because I love them and I love your writing.

URGH you're so nice, I'm so glad you're reading, especially since it's a small-ish fandom haha <3 So every comment counts and makes me feel good. Along that line, if you have anything Fables/TWAU-verse in particular you want to see theme/character/scenario-wise, let me know I'd be totally happy to work with it.

omg. I love how he just throws caution to the wind like eh, whatever, if I have to I'll just try to stifle it and probably fail, nbd.

Knock over a bodega, blow a few windows out. MEH. BUT LOOK I GOT YOU KLEENEX

... Is there perhaps a sequel planned?

Oh god, I wasn't initially planning on it, but I easily could. I love these two stubborn idiots and their interactions.

Thaaaank you for reviewing!

[AnteatersOnParade]

Oh this is wonderful! It's so well-written and nice to read through! I'm definitely going to give this another re-read tonight, thank you so much for sharing! I'd love to see more from you, this is great!

[*Dark_Side*]

Ugh....this was so cute. I love anything with Biby and Snow White in it. You should just continue to torture the two of them for all of our enjoyment.

[snuffles]

I've not had a chance to post but this one made me all warm and gooey inside! I was in AWWWWW-mode practically throughout!

I'm so in love with big tough guys taking a turn at caregiving and completely nailing it. Gaaah can I get a mail order of one Bigby please??

[PuppetMaster64]

everything about this is great! It's so well written and cute! I'm so glad to find good TWAU stories here

[Bruyere]

I'm not remotely familiar with this fandom but I am a total sucker for women who usually have it all together getting sick and then having to be bailed out so I adored this.

"Wait, wait, what are you -- don't you dare pickmeupBigby!" She yelped in protest, shame giving way to a hot rage. "Put me down!"

"Sorry, boss," he said, as he adjusted her into a loose bridal sling. "It's either this or I'm tossing you over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Your choice."

"Will..." She closed her eyes and struggled to find words that didn't sound as cliche as she felt. "Can you... wait until I pass out, before you leave?"

"You want me to stay until you fall asleep?" He asked, and seemed to pick out the exact embarrassing phrasing she'd been trying to avoid.

[sneezysniffles]

This was really nice, we don't get a lot of sneezing from Snow on here. Also, you wrote her perfectly.