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As soon as Snow steps across the threshold, she can tell something is off. Her shoulders tighten up, and she gingerly sets her purse down as she sniffs the air, toeing off her shoes and placing them in their designated spot on the rack. She’ll have to arrange Bigby’s shoes later, seeing as they are strewn about in a mess, but that’s (shockingly) not the problem this time.
A cautious step forward towards the kitchen would make her hackles raise if she were like Bigby. Her elegant charm and soft gait keep her light and soundless as she gazes around the corner to see if the dishes are the problem. Thankfully, the sink is clear and there appears to be no food scattered about.
Thank god he eats like an animal, Snow thinks to herself. Bigby never leaves leftovers. It’s a blessing and a curse.
The bottom of Snow’s pantyhose snag on the splintered wooden flooring, and she has to shove it into the back corner of her brain and force herself not to care about it right now. It’s the least of her worries as she comes into the living room and sees the big red target of WRONG WRONG WRONG!
“Bigby,” she breaths out, a tad shocked sounding but more so exasperated. He glances up from his newspaper—she knows he only reads the articles she tells him to—and like a dog, his excitement instantly becomes palpable.
“Snow,” he greets cheerily, and she feels horrible because he is happy to see her after her long shift but—
“Why are the flowers on the side table?” She crosses her arms, that self-soothing and protective pose coming naturally when her nervous system is telling her things are under attack.
Bigby’s big brown eyes sweep from her face to the vase, then back to her. He still has that dopey grin. “Uh, I moved them?”
“Why?” She taps her foot, and she wishes it was as effective shoes-off as it is in her loafers. She’s not his boss right now, but she sure is putting on airs.
“I opened the window, and they were in the way.” He explains it all like it makes sense and it’s simple and it’s not downright incorrect!
With a scoff, Snow stomps over to the side table, snatching the vase off and aligning it on the windowsill, tilting and adjusting the petals until it looks just right. “This belongs on the windowsill.” She doesn’t say more than that, doesn’t feel she has to.
After determining it’s returned perfection, Snow snaps her attention back to Bigby, who finally picked up on the social cues and has the decency to look guilty right now. If he had a tail, it’d be between his legs. She wishes she could see that.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, shaky and pathetic for a guy whose name has the words Big and Bad. She can reduce him to a whimpering pup. “I forgot.”
“Just don’t forget again,” Snow clips, bringing her hands together and taking a deep breath. She doesn’t want him to think she’s actually mad. He’s known her long enough to pick up on these little oddities here and there. And sometimes after a long day, it comes out in a more harsh manner.
In lieu of digging herself into a deeper hole, Snow simply nods and heads back to the kitchen. She’ll distract herself with cooking. That should help.
Except she can hear the couch creak as Bigby gets up, following her with into the kitchen. She hasn’t even gathered her ingredients when he’s by her side, eyes wide and shimmering with unshed tears.
“I’m sorry,” he says in a voice that crackles with regret, “I didn’t mean to be bad.”
Snow has to take a moment, breathe, and collect herself. Bigby can’t help that his thinking patterns are that of a wolf’s sometimes. As much as he has tried to acclimate to the human world, there are some things that just won’t stick. And getting in trouble seems to be a tough case to crack.
“Bigby,” she says slowly, lowering her hand from where it was pinching the bridge of her nose, “you aren’t bad. You just did something that bothered me. But that doesn’t mean you’re bad.”
He cocks his head, and it’s ridiculous how puppy-like he looks. She’s surprised mundies can’t tell he’s not human just from the everything about him. “But, if I made you upset, then that means I’m bad?” He believes it, but it’s still stated like a question. Like he’s trying to figure out this whole mess of a situation.
“Well, yes, I got upset. But that’s because—“ and Snow halts. How can she explain this best to him? “My brain likes things certain ways. And when things are not perfect in those ways, it hurts my head. It makes me feel distressed. But that doesn’t mean you’re bad. I can be upset and you can still be good. Those two things can be true.”
With bated breath, Snow watches Bigby’s face. She studies how the words’ meanings travel so clearly across his eyes. He’s more of an open book than he realizes. He’s trying to grasp a concept completely new to him because before, there was only Good and Bad and he was labeled as Bad.
“It’s okay,” she says softer, not feeling okay enough herself yet to touch him. “I was upset for a moment, but now it is better. Because my brain is happy with things being back in place.”
Bigby’s eyes dart to hers, clearly trying to interpret her words as true or not. He can probably smell it on her, too.
“I’m sorry,” he says again, and Snow opens her mouth to re-explain, but he continues: “I didn’t know that there were rules for some things. You should teach them to me because I would like to follow them.”
The sentiment makes her melt, makes that part of her brain always hyper focused on Correctness settle for just one moment. Maybe he doesn’t understand why, but he’s happy to learn how. How to make things easier.
“That—“ she starts, and she hates that the emotion gets caught in her throat; she has to swallow it down. “That would be lovely.” And she now does feel okay enough, so she reaches out and places her hand on his shoulder, a small squeeze saying the rest.