You’re used to him being at least a little late when you meet up for dates. You never hold it against him, knowing he just tends to lose track of time (normally when out on patrol, but you don’t know that). 

But today’s Valentine’s day, and he knows he’s screwed if you think he’s stood you up.

In the bathroom stall, he fights with the zipper on his suit before eventually finding his way out of it. He rushes to slip into a nice shirt and the only pair of slacks he has that aren’t in need of the wash. The outfit’s a bit wrinkled from being stuffed in a bag, but he doesn’t have time to worry about it.

Out of breath and practically half dead, Dave eventually finds himself at the diner you two agreed to meet at and he gasps out some apologies.

“I’m so sorry, babe! I tried so hard to get here on time but then I got caught up and the bus was late so–”

“Dave, oh my god,” you sit up and gawk at him slightly. 

He quiets down and blinks back, confused at your expression.

“Are you alright?” A hand immediately stretches out to gently investigate the cuts on his face. 

“What?”

“You’re all scratched up.”

Dave stammers for an excuse, “Oh well, uh, yeah. I meant to tell you. I, uh, well this guy tried to mug me at the bus stop.”

It’s not a complete lie. There was a mugger. Half the reason he was so late was because he had become caught up in trying to help a woman get her purse back. The guy was fairly relentless, and in the end it took longer than he thought it would.

“Here, let me take a look in the bathroom,” you say softly.

That’s how the two of you end up cramped into the single use restroom together. Your hand gently brushes back his unruly curls while you attempt to get a good look at the injuries.

Dave stands silently and lets you work, as you dab a small wet towelette to clear any bits of blood. You’ve grown somewhat accustomed to how clumsy your boyfriend seems to be and have since opted to carry a few plasters in your bag.

You peel back the paper on the bandaid and apply it to his temple, covering one of the deeper cuts. None of the wounds are too major, but it’s not a bad thing to have an excuse to gently take care of your boyfriend.

Staring up at you with his soft blue eyes, Dave watches you finish doctoring him up. “I’m sorry…” he says quietly.

“What for?”

“For being late, and making you play nurse on Valentine’s day.”

You give a soft laugh back. “Dave, don’t even sweat it, okay?”

He glances back at your carefree smile and can’t help but smile right back. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, of course. Though I wouldn’t complain if you started being a bit more careful.” You help him to his feet again and hold his hand in yours. “Now let’s go enjoy dinner together, yeah?”

She sighs and glances back at her twin. “Fine. If you really want to impress her, show her you actually listen and care.”

“How?” He stares back cluelessly.

“Well, for instance, tonight Vis had the idea to have a quiet night in and make a traditional Sokovian dish together. Maybe take her to her favorite restaurant? Or get her a gift she’s mentioned wanting for a while? Just something that shows her words have made it through that tough skull of yours.”

Pietro nods along and thinks through a plan before speeding off to put it into action.

— ★ —

It doesn’t take Pietro long to gather what he needs and when you walk into the lounge after some sparring and a shower, you spot him.

“What’s all this?”

Your voice alerts him as he quickly finishes up the final touches and speeds over to you. His hands immediately fall to your hips.

“I thought you were going to be gone longer, pryntsesa.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Your eyes glance over his shoulder to the display of couch cushions and pillows that are now piled up to form a fort. He raided the tower for the softest blankets he could find, set up a little display of your favorite candies and drinks for the two of you, and queued up your favorite movie on the tv.

Pietro’s thumbs gently circle over the skin of your waist. “Last week you mentioned that the couch would be the perfect place for a pillow fort, so…I thought I’d surprise you.”

A bright smile spreads across your lips and you push in gently to kiss him. It’s soft and simple and when you pull back, you can’t help the grin etched into your lips.

Standing in the bathroom of your shared one bedroom apartment, you fight the urge to knock some sense into your annoyingly dense (but often well-meaning) boyfriend. You sigh and run a hand down your face. 

“Everytime I come in here, the toilet seat is left up.”

He stares back at you with those dark, clueless puppydog eyes, gaze darting from you to the toilet seat. “Uh…yeah.”

“Can you just try to remember to put the seat back down?” You grumble back.

“Why would I ever do that?” He scoffs with a hint of a small laugh, “I mean eventually I’ll have to go to the bathroom again.”

“So?”

“So what would be the point?”

You just stare back incredulously. “What would be the- Adrian! Have you ever thought that maybe I’d have to use the bathroom too? With the seat down.”

He blinks back. “Well yeah, but you leave it down everytime you leave so then I have to move it. Now how is that fair?”

“Adrian, that’s not how it works.”

“What do you mean that’s not how it works?”

You try a different approach. “Well, like, what if we had guests over?”

“But we don’t.”

“But if we did…”

“Well, I’d say it depends on who. Economos doesn’t care. Ads doesn’t care. You know actually, Peacemaker does the same thing.”

“Ade.”

“He’s definitely with me on this. I swear.”

Just about ready to strangle him, you decide to let a long breath out instead. He just stands there watching you for a response back. 

“If you promise to at least try and be a little more considerate, I’ll…quiz you on spider facts for a full ten minutes.”

“Needs to be a solid fifteen.”

“Ten minutes.”

— ★ —

Bigby’s apartment is always a bit cluttered, but you don’t mind. You know he doesn’t have a lot of time on his hands to tidy up considering he practically lives in his office, but in all honesty it’s sort of nice to see the familiar chaos. Sometimes you think the arrangement is a nice look into the way his mind works.

The two of you settle into the couch together and set the bakery box onto the coffee table. He lets out a soft sigh beside you, happy to unwind for once and focus on something other than cases.

In no time, you’re taking out the sweets, and you hold out one to Bigby.

“Thanks,” he notices the treat and goes to take it from you– but is quickly met with a faceful of frosting as you push the cupcake straight into his nose.

You immediately cackle, practically doubled over with glee at the success of your small joke.

Beaming, you continue to laugh. “I think you’ve got something on your face, Sheriff.”

Confused as all hell, Bigby blinks at first and then stares at you. He growls lightly, in a way that you know is just playful, and licks the frosting off as best he can.

“Oh you’re really asking for it now…” He grumbles, starting to get up from the couch. You squeal a small giggle as he lunges at you and pins you down to the soft cushions.

You don’t give much of a struggle. Grinning widely, you glance back up into his eyes, seeing that any possible frustration is gone (not that there was any to begin with). His eyes meet yours and his playful frown turns into a soft smile. The type of smile that’s only reserved for you.

“You’re lucky, I like you.” He mutters as he stays leaned over you, arms keeping you boxed in.

You pull him down gently by the tie and plant your lips on his. Bigby gives no protest and immediately melts. A second later you pull away, just enough to speak, lips still hovering over his.

“That’s why you’d be the perfect option to help,” Venkman says with a smile and a hand on his hip. Egon looks just about ready to strangle him.

“Peter, I already said–”

“Okay,” your voice stops Egon’s protest and focus lands on you again. “If it’d be helpful, I have no problem tagging along. Not like it’s the first call I’ve been on with you all.”

With a mention of your name, Egon moves over to your side, a hand falling to your waist in the way only he’s allowed to hold you, “I don’t know if this is the…smartest idea.”

“Doesn’t sound like you all have many other options,” you reply back with a small quirk of your brow.

He loves when you do that, challenge his opinions, keep him on his toes, but not right now. Not when he’s wanting to keep you safe— to keep his own sanity.

Ray joins the conversation, hoping to sway the vote, “Spengs, she does make a fair point…” Winston just watches, waiting for some decision to be made either way.

After a little more grumbling and groaning, you all load up into the Ecto-1, gear in place and ready to go.

— ★ —

The drive over is fairly silent. Peter and Winston are seated in front, bickering over Venkman’s ability to drive. Ray’s sitting a row away, tinkering with some device. And that leaves you and Egon, side by side in the back.

He’s quieter than usual, not that it’s entirely odd. Even the slight scowl on his face is fairly normal Egon behavior.

But this feels different.

After a long moment, you smile over to him. He sighs and tries to give a small smirk back. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Hey,” you say softly and push his hair back behind his ear. You know he loves it when you hold his face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong…” He grumbles quietly back. You know better.

“Egon, really.” You continue to prod, “You can tell me if something’s bothering you. Communication’s–”

“Important. I know,” he sighs softly. 

You’ve had this conversation at length, and he never means to trouble you like this with his difficulty finding the words, of being open and honest. Really he doesn’t. Eventually, he lets up, the words (of course) blunt. 

“I just don’t like the idea of you coming on this call.”

The feeling that settles in your gut at the words isn’t entirely unfamiliar. After he’s the brilliant scientist turned ghost hunter, and you’re just the one making sure he gets enough sleep so he doesn’t keel over one day. You keep your voice steady and your feelings in check.

“Why not?”

“It’s not exactly safe.”

“I know that.”

Egon huffs softly, “I just mean…”

“I know what you mean.” 

The words come out a bit harsher than you intend them to, but before he can get another word in, the vehicle comes to a stop.

— ★ —

By the time you all split up to search the building, Egon’s head is reeling. 

Emotions aren’t his forte. He can analyze variables all day long but it’s not exactly the same with facial expressions and verbal responses.

While he’s not exactly the best at interpreting emotions, he can tell when you’re upset. Like the time he ‘borrowed’ your walkman to fix a wire on the spectral analyzer. It took him a whole two weeks and a trip to radioshack to get back on your good side.

“I know what you mean.” You had said it in B flat. He has your speaking mannerisms down to a science for sure.

Clearly, you’re upset, but this is different somehow. And he hasn’t exactly figured out why.

Egon walks through the halls of the hotel and dips into the kitchen. The space is cleared out, it now being a late hour of the evening. PKE meter in hand and outstretched, he hopes to find the ghoul before it finds you. Despite the recent squabble, he would never want something happening to you.

All of a sudden, a large crash sounds behind him. He jumps, turning and looking around for the source of the sound at least. His eyes go wide when he sees it: a whole set of sharpened knives free floating and pointed directly at him.

“Oh god…” He says softly, not knowing much else to do. He braces for impact, arms pulled up close to his face, when–

“Hey!” 

The knives clatter to the floor almost a second later. 

When Egon finally gets the braves to pull his hands from his eyes, he sees you…standing right across from the spirit.

The ghost, finally visible, is a full body apparition, appearing male, dressed in some type of tattered suit. He seems suave yet still dangerous and dated, like something out of a 20s mobster film. He seems to be staring back at you, almost as entranced as Egon is in the present moment. And you stand in between the two of them, breath drawn and prepared to brawl.

“Hey…ghost…” You repeat, voice a bit more hesitant than last time.

“Hey yourself, doll…” He smiles back, the vision almost charming, were he not some sort of manifestation of the dead. 

Eyes wide as saucers, you almost expected the ghoul to be silent or at least not reply in such a…seductive voice? He takes a step closer to you, seemingly forgetting about the third party in the room. 

“What? Surprised I have such an eye for beauty?” The ghost laughs back.

Egon opens his mouth, your name on his lips before the spirit flicks his wrist and sends him flying off to some corner of the room. Your hand moves to cover your mouth covering your small gasp. You’re just about ready to charge, when the ghoul summons you closer as well.

“Aren’t you a pretty thing,” he says, a finger moving gently under your chin. 

You make no move to protest, eyes stuck on the being in front of you. A moment later, your eyes flicker over his shoulder to Egon just barely recovering, face drawn in a scowl. You quickly focus back on the ghost and decide on a plan.

“You’re…fairly charming yourself.”

Egon glares back, unbelieving of what you, his wife, just said. His proton pack powers on.

The ghost just smiles back at you, hand moving gently to your waist. “Oh you think so, huh? Good to know.”

You just smile right back, keeping up the playful little game you’ve started. “Definitely the most charming ghost I’ve met by far.”

“And have you met many?” He huffs a small laugh.

“You’d be surprised…” You giggle right back.

He settles into a patient smile and pulls you in even closer. “Glad to know I’ve beat the competition. And what about the more…comporeal beings?” He asks, noticing the ring on your finger.

You swallow glancing down at your finger as well and decide to double down on your efforts, “I’d say you’re far more interesting.”

“Hm,” He hums, the sound turning to a small giggle. Eyes flick to your lips. He leans in, “Well then how about we—“

His statement is cut off abruptly as the blast of the proton pack shocks the ghoul. In a flash, a ghost trap slides across the floor and the spirit’s boxed up for good. 

You let out a sigh of relief.

— ★ —

“Now that’s what I call an open and shut case, ladies and gentlemen!”

Beers clink as the team sits around the same table they did hours before, celebrating another win. Peter’s boisterous voice blares across the small crowd and he ushers you into a small side hug. 

Ray raises his beer in solidarity before taking a swig, while Winston laughs along too.

You giggle, happy to see everyone in such high spirits after a fairly stressful 24 hours. That is until your eyes casually drift over to your husband, who’s currently trying to sneak off.

You appear in the doorway to the lab a few moments later with a soft smile and joking tone. 

“Did Venkman finally annoy you enough to run away entirely?”

Egon glances up at the sound of your voice. He sighs a small attempt at a laugh, “No…no.”

You climb down the final step of the staircase and walk over to his side. Your hand moves to his hair, pushing it back behind his ear, but he stops your hand. He gently moves your palm down, clutched tightly in his own. 

“What’s wrong?”

Egon closes his eyes for a moment and grumbles. “Nothing.”

A soft breath out in frustration, you stand firm and decide to finally push the subject. “I get that you think I’m not cut out for this or capable like you are, but you don’t have to try and hide it, okay?” 

As the words spill out quickly, Egon stares back, genuinely surprised. “I didn’t— I did not say that.”

“You don’t have to say it,” you justify. “Your actions say enough. You didn’t want me going on the call and then on the ride there–“

Egon says your name softly and you quiet down. He stands from his seat and moves closer to you silently.

“I didn’t want you getting hurt, and I didn’t want, well…” he stops short. 

Your eyes stay trained on him and you squeeze his hand lightly.

He continues, “You’re more than capable. More than adequate. I just…I don’t like the thought of you finally realizing I’m not.”

“What?”

He sighs softly, willing himself to continue. “I knew the particular subset of skills required for this call and seeing you…conversing with the spirit…”

“Egon,” you say softly, “I was acting.”

“Acting or not, one can infer–“

“One can infer nothing.” He looks back up at you, silently staring. Your head gives a small shake. “Do you have any clue why I married you?”

“Because of a genetic imperative to find an adequate mate and produce offspring.”

“Because I love you.”

His face heats up a bit as he keeps his eyes trained on you. The words process. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” you smile back and move in closer, he easily lets you. And you push up to press a kiss to his forehead. He leans into the feeling. Nothing else feels quite as nice as when you hold him dearly.

The evening eventually eases into a small lull of conversation as the two of you work on your own individual tasks. The moon hangs high in the sky, not that it’s visible to the two of you huddled up in the cramped security office. As deputy, you tend to handle the paperwork behind case files and help Bigby investigate any leads. Currently, you’re penciling in some document about a missing fable found last week, as he works his mind in circles to find a new lead on an open investigation.

Paperwork tends to become fairly monotonous, and you’ve complained plenty to Bigby about how slow and tedious the thing is. At least it’s easy enough, a signature here, stapling in a newspaper clipping there. Problem is, when a task gets boring, your mind starts to wander, and soon you find yourself staring at Bigby.

It’s not like you meant to be staring at the sheriff’s arms. Your mind had been led there from a photograph of someone in the current paper in hand, then to his figure for comparison. It definitely had nothing to do with the feelings you had started cropping up as of late.

Definitely not.

“Hey.”

Bigby’s voice startles you out of the trance and your eyes glance up to meet his. His face seems more curious than anything.

“You alright there?”

You nod back almost immediately. “Oh, yeah, fine.”

He looks back, unconvinced. “Yeah? Well it looked like you were staring.”

“Me? Staring?” You scoff defensively. “Yeah, right. That’s not what was happening.”

Bigby’s eyes narrow as he watches you flounder a bit. “You sure about that?”

“A hundred percent sure.” You cross your arms and glare back. Bigby’s considering dropping it until you add onto your statement. “Why? Were you staring at me?”

He sits back a bit and swallows. “No.” It’s not normal for Bigby, the man known for centuries as The big bad wolf, to get flustered.

But you can just barely notice a tinge of red on his cheeks. Then the tables turn.

“You were, weren’t you?” A small laugh escapes your lips.

“Deputy.” He clears his throat, averting his eyes. 

You decide to double down and stand and walk around to the other side of the desk where he’s sitting. “Sheriff.” Your lips are turned up into a small smirk. Your body leans over to invade his space, just enough to prod, not to upset him if he’s genuinely bothered.

Bigby can’t help but glance to your lips. Maybe it’s the way you're looking at him, or the stupid holiday, or perhaps it's just the way his stomach seems to flip every time he sees you, but it doesn’t take long until his lips brush over yours.

He gets up from the chair, hand moving to gently cradle your head. A small breath falls from your throat as his mouth connects with yours. Your eyes drift closed. It starts off somewhat desperate, your lips working over his as you both give into the feeling.

Your hands move to his biceps, grounding yourself as you let the exchange deepen. It grows more heated as the two of you vie for control.

By the time Bigby finally lets up to breathe, the two of you just stand there staring at one another. Foreheads softly touch as you both come to terms with how things have changed completely from just this one shared moment.