bymagajones

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Monroe absently closed and locked the door behind him and headed up the stairs for a shower. Nick had been giving out strange signals all day, throwing Monroe a little off balance. It felt like he was flirting, but Monroe had never really been good at reading those kinds of signals. Rosalee – he had to swallow a moment to adjust to the sense of loss he felt even after two years – Rosalee had practically thrown herself at him before he’d realized she’d been interested. And it had been completely different with Angelina. They’d grown up together, their hormones building up inside them until one day they’d taken a look at each other and realized that they had to come together or spontaneously combust. It hadn’t started out as romantic, just rutting together like the teenaged wolves they were. Afterward, they’d just gone about their business until they’d found themselves alone again. Eventually, it had become a love of sorts, one forged in violence and blood that always left Monroe physically satiated but empty inside. A part of Monroe missed the simplicity about his life back then, the high he got from the violent sex and the bloodlust, but he wouldn’t go back to that even if Angelina were still around to tempt him. He’d found something so much better, more satisfying than he’d ever had, something that kept him grounded when temptations walked past in shades of red.

Turning weider had been one of the most simple, yet most difficult decisions in his life. He’d gone against his upbringing, all that he’d known and been raised to believe, in the hope that by becoming a better man, he’d fill up that space inside. And it had been hard. He’d moved far away from his family and his mistakes, starting fresh. But he’d been alone, without a support system, figuring it out as he went along. He’d tried meditation, raw meat, cooked meat, raw food diets, yoga. He’d attempted writing in a journal, playing various instruments, taking online college courses. Slowly he put his life together like he was working a puzzle, shifting pieces until they fit just right, discarding others that didn’t seem to apply to the portion of the picture he was attempting to create.

And before he’d met Nick, he’d done it, carved out this new existence for himself. Everyday, it was the same. He woke, did his Pilates, had breakfast, ran errands while most people were busy at their jobs, returned home to work on his clocks, had lunch, worked until dinnertime, ate in front of a book or the television – mostly PBS documentaries and cooking shows – and played his cello before retiring to bed. It was a lonely existence, but that was a small price to pay for the peace of mind that he found in his routine. He awoke every morning in the same bed instead of naked somewhere in the forest, blood under his fingernails, bruises covering his body. He fed his body organic grains and fruits, making sure his meal was balanced and filling. He engaged his brain by reading and playing the cello. He kept to himself; he’d gone days without ever speaking to another person.

Making a living had been tough. He’d gone around putting his business card on every bulletin board he could find, making contact with the local pawn shops and antique stores, taking every job available. Luckily, he didn’t have to have much contact with his customers, and in such an exclusive field, word spread fairly quickly once he’d completed some jobs and left the customers happy. Turned out, most clock aficionados appreciated his brisk, no-nonsense manner and tended to keep their conversations brief.

So he existed, using his routine to keep his inner wolf contained. It had been enough.

He mused over his change in circumstances as he absently showered the sweat of the day off himself. Nick had come crashing into his life, and suddenly just existing wasn’t enough anymore. The Grimm refused to leave him alone, dragging him back into the world, making him care about things outside the boundaries of his property. Suddenly Nick was asking him to talk some sense to a rat violinist and dragging him into the woods where a child Blutbad refused to let him go. Despite all his attempts to keep to his strict regimen, he began to feel alive again. He became a part of life, of the Grimm’s pack. He’d fallen in love with a Fuchsbau and enjoyed helping her mix potions in her shop. He spent his evenings getting dirty, fighting back-to-back with Nick, and later, with Hank and Renard of all people. Once she’d learned about and had time to absorb Nick’s Other Life, Juliette had jumped in with both feet, becoming a true friend. And then crazy Troubel had landed on Nick’s doorstep, another orphan in need of a family.

The water started to cool, and Monroe gratefully pulled his mind away from the inevitable destruction that followed.

As he got dressed, he thought about how he’d returned to Portland a shaky shadow of himself, just counting the days until he could run away again and do the penance that he deserved. But now, only a few months later, his inner wolf was starting to rise again inside. His nails had almost all grown back, and he couldn’t remember the last time his hands had shaken uncontrollably or he’d had a panic attack. He was finally taking to heart that maybe it would be okay for him to find happiness again, that maybe he didn’t deserve to live in misery.

He dried off and dressed in a pair of comfortable corduroys and a flannel shirt draped over a t-shirt and was heading down the stairs in bare feet when he heard his phone ringing. Nick had programmed the ringtone himself, Bonnie Tyler’s “Holding Out For a Hero”; it never failed to make Monroe roll his eyes. One night at dinner in a crowded restaurant, Nick had hidden behind a plant and given Monroe a call. He’d laughed about the other guests’ reactions for hours. Monroe hadn’t seen the humor in it and had vowed to change the tone. Once he figured out how. He’d made a mental note to ask Drew or one of the kids for help, but so far, he hadn’t remembered when any of them were around.

“Seriously, this ring tone has to go,” Monroe grumbled into the phone. It only took two wordless pants from Nick for Monroe to scoop his keys off the counter and head toward the door. “Nick, where are you?” He tried to keep his voice solid and calm, hoping Nick didn’t hear the faint tremble.

More panting.

“Nick!” Monroe jammed the keys in the ignition, but he didn’t know where to go. Nick had been intentionally vague, so Monroe didn’t even know if he should make a left or right turn out of the driveway. Desperate, he rolled down his window and stuck his head out of the car. He closed his eyes, focusing as he inhaled. After a few seconds, once he was sure he’d caught the scent, he put the phone to his ear. “I’m coming, Nick. Just hold on.” Tossing the phone onto his passenger seat, Monroe turned on the car and raced down the driveway, praying he’d get to Nick in time.

Three hours later, Monroe sat in a chair beside Nick’s hospital bed, ice pack over his right eye. He hadn’t realized he’d fallen into an exhausted trance until he blinked and saw a concerned Hank standing in front of him. “Hey,” he whispered.

Hank pulled up a chair beside Monroe and turned to him. “What happened?”

“Skalengecks,” Monroe said, shuddering.

“Those lizard things?”

Monroe nodded. By the time he’d skidded to a stop in the park’s parking lot, he’d been in a frenzy, the air around him filled with the iron tinge of blood, Nick’s blood. He barely remembered grabbing supplies from his trunk before running toward the combined smell of Nick and a Skalengeck.

It’d turned out to be two Skalengecks, actually, and they were looking for Nick, who’d evidently managed to get away from them – but not before they’d hurt him somehow. Monroe’s focus had been on finding Nick, which he’d done quickly, controlling the rage rising inside him at the sight of blood smeared along Nick’s face, his eyes closed. After a quick inventory, Monroe came to the conclusion that the wound that needed the most attention was Nick’s bloodied shoulder. Keeping track of the Skalengecks, who were now beating the undergrowth with sticks, Monroe quickly wrapped Nick’s torn- up shoulder. He finished and pressed a hand against Nick’s cheek, realizing that the only things Nick’s blood inspired inside him were an anger and a thirst for vengeance. No one messed with his Grimm.

One of Nick’s hands had come up to rest against Monroe’s, pressing Monroe’s hand firmer into his cheek. His eyes fluttering, Nick smiled faintly.

“I’ll be right back,” Monroe’d whispered, pulling away.

Nick had held on to Monroe’s hand a moment longer, saying so much with just a squeeze.

Monroe’d squeezed back, finally letting go and standing, feeling himself woge while Skalengecks had their backs to him.

It wasn’t difficult to reach inside and let the wolf out, mere seconds before he was on four legs, growling, leaping, tearing and scratching. It’d felt like he’d taken a large breath, held it, and let it out for the first time in years. He reveled in the screams, swallowing a tongue whole, piercing an eyeball with one of his nails and flicking it against a tree. The blood flowed freely, sweetly into his mouth, down his throat.

A part of him thought he should feel at least a small frisson of remorse, but ignored it to concentrate on getting Nick to help.


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Nick had awakened as Monroe related his story – with the ending heavily edited, he was sure – to Hank, but he’d only had the energy to listen, eyes closed. Now that he’d heard Monroe’s side of things, Nick was starting to remember. Funny enough, the first memory to return was right after Monroe had arrived, squeezing his hand before woging and stepping up to the remaining Skalengecks. As much as he’d wanted to help, he’d known that going out there would’ve made him a liability. So instead, he’d managed to pull himself up so he could rest his head against a tree, an awkward position that made his shoulder hurt like hell, but he could see the battle going on in front of him, which was his objective.

He’d only meant to stop off at the grocery store for supplies for an indoor picnic when he’d spotted a man running down the road toward him. By this time, the rain had slowed to a gentle mist, the ensuing fog limiting the visibility. The man had come level with the car before Nick realized two things: First, the man was actually a Skalengeck, and second, he was being chased by two other Skalengecks. It had taken a few seconds later for him to learn one more thing: the chase was just a ruse to get them close enough to attack Nick before he could figure out what was happening.

He’d managed to call Monroe as they fought their way into his locked car, and he fought back as much as he could as two of them dragged him into the forest while the third shouted something about their not starting until he’d ditched the car and caught up with them. It hadn’t been easy, since the only weapon he’d had on him was the gun he’d pulled from a small shelf underneath his seat – and they’d snagged it immediately.

But he was a Grimm with experience under his belt, and he’d managed to grab a pretty hefty stick and hit one of the Skalengecks in the head. Fortunately, it had been the one with the gun, and Nick had reached for it, grabbing it just as he felt pressure on his ankle, and his body was dragged even further across the ground. Quickly, he turned and shot the Skalengeck standing over him three times before the other one kicked the gun out of his hand.

By this time, the Skalengeck who’d moved his car had returned and pulled out a wicked looking knife. Nick had managed to get in a few good licks before he’d felt the sharp pain of the blade in his shoulder.

Things had gone downhill shortly after that.


Entry with links to each chapter

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

The next few weeks were busy for both Blutbad and Grimm. Thanks to some helpful chat groups he’d discovered, Monroe found he was quite enjoying the challenge of running a diner. At first, he spent most of his time there, arriving before dark to accept the food shipment, training Tony, and working as cook for the evening shifts. He interviewed potential cooks during breaks throughout the day – the only breaks he seemed to take – and seemed to be close to making some decisions.

Nick found himself drawn into the Phillip Montrose murder case, spending hours with Hank and Wu down at the station. He continued to work with Maddy, his bailbondsman, and managed to run a Schakal out of town before his planned jewelry heist.

They saw each other sporadically, Nick sitting at the diner’s counter to scarf down a burger, Monroe keeping him company whenever he had a free moment. Monroe managed to stop by the precinct a couple of times with coffee and donuts, becoming one of the most welcome visitors in the place. They kept track of their ‘kids’ separately, Nick stopping by for quick visits, and Monroe treating them so often at the diner that they had their own special table.

Two months later, Monroe had finally hired his evening cook and was comfortable leaving him to run the place, and Montrose’s murderer been located and arrested (a Raub-Kondor that girlfriend Lana’s wealthy father had hired to keep Montrose away from her). The two found themselves draped across the sofa one Friday, staring unseeingly at some detective show on television.

“I’m so tired that even my toenails hurt,” Nick groaned.

“I know what you mean,” Monroe said.

Rolling his head so he could look at the Blutbad, Nick asked, “You do?”

“If I had the energy, I’d wave my fingernails at you.”

“That’s fantastic, man!”

“Yeah, give me a little time, and I’ll be chopping veggies without a knife.”

That actually sounded kind of cool. “You can do that?”

Monroe rolled his eyes.

They continued to stare at each other, the sound from the television muted in the background. Nick wanted to reach out, touch the shadows underneath Monroe’s eyes, run his fingers through the disheveled hair. And from what he could tell from the expression underneath Monroe’s fatigue, his actions wouldn’t be unwelcome.

They heard a knock on the door.

“I don’t have the energy to host tonight,” Monroe groaned.

“Just sit perfectly still,” Nick whispered. “Maybe they’ll go away.”

The knock sounded again, and they stared at each other, hope in their eyes that maybe the person would give up soon.

The door flew open, and they heard Barry shout, “Hey!”

“I thought you locked the door,” Monroe muttered to Nick.

“I was carrying the beers. I figured you’d done it.”

“We’re gonna ended up getting rolled one night by regular humans, and I’m never gonna live it down,” Monroe complained.

“Hey,” Barry said, walking into the living room, smile on his face, hands shoved in his pockets. “I knocked.”

“You sure did,” Nick said.

“Did you know that your door was unlocked?”

“We do now,” Monroe muttered.

“We stopped off at the diner, but you weren’t there, so we figured you’d be here.”

“We?” Nick rolled his eyes toward the door, although he couldn’t see much since he was still disinclined to take the effort to actually move his head.

“Yeah, the rest of the gang’re outside saying hello to the detectives.”

“A party. Hooray.” Monroe said unenthusiastically.

Barry looked at the two of them, frowning. “Are you guys okay?”

“Hello?” Hank’s voice called from the front of the house.

“They’re in here. I think maybe they’re broken or something.”

“We’re not broken,” Nick said, trying not to grin at Monroe’s eye roll. “We’re just tired.”

“It’s a good thing that we brought food then,” Hank said, strolling into view, hands filled with bags.

“Chinese!” Monroe said happily.

“And Wu has pizza for the kids,” Hank said.

Nick’s stomach rumbled. “That sounds fantastic. And we still have some beers in the fridge.”

“Awesome!” Barry said, heading for the kitchen.

Hank huffed out a laugh. “Don’t worry. He’ll be having soda like the rest of them.” He followed Barry toward the kitchen, and Nick heard more laughter as the others entered the house, Wu in the middle of a story.

“What’s wrong with you two?” Wu asked as he abruptly interrupted his tale. His eyes mimicked Barry’s as he looked between the two on the couch. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were exhausted.” He grinned, continuing with his story as he led Hanson and Gracie into the kitchen.

Holly remained, curling up on Monroe’s far side, burying her nose in his neck. “You smell better,” she said, quietly. “Tired, but better.” With a grin, she slid off the sofa and skipped into the kitchen.

Monroe groaned as they listened to cabinet doors opening and glass clinking. “The kitchen’s going to be a bitch to clean up.” He eyeballed Nick. “You think they’d leave if we asked nicely?”

“They have food, and I bet they’re going to bring it to us,” Nick reminded him. “We can’t even think of kicking them out until we’ve eaten.”

“Yeah, I was a little worried that they’d find us dead in a week, still lying here, too tired to get up and grab some food.”

Nick laughed, and even that tired him out a little bit. “Maybe we’ll get some energy once we’ve eaten.”

Their guests dragged in chairs and sat on the floor so everyone could eat comfortably in the living room. Finding a program everyone wanted to watch turned out to be an impossibility, so the kids and Wu got to watch their choice first (some teen show about werewolves that had Monroe’s eyes rolling so hard that Nick was afraid they were going to fall out, forcing them to pause the show while everyone searched for them in sofa cushions), followed by Hank, Monroe, and Nick’s choice (the new “Sherlock”, which the kids actually seemed to enjoy – the jury was still out with Wu).

Finally Nick’s bladder made a demand, and he forced himself toward the stairs. Hank volunteered to go with him (“I have to go too, and this way I can make sure you don’t fall asleep on the stairs or something.”).

“You didn’t show us up here the other night,” Hank called out curiously from behind the bathroom door.

“We haven’t really done much,” Nick confessed, standing back as Hank exited the bathroom so he could enter.

“You mind if I snoop?”

Nick didn’t bother to answer since he could hear a door opening. He wasn’t surprised. Hank was a detective; he detected. It wasn’t something they could discard and leave at the office; it was a part of their genetic makeup.

Finishing in the bathroom, he found Hank in Monroe’s room.

“I never picked Monroe for being a slob,” Hank said, eyes on a pile of dirty clothes in a corner.

Nick pulled his longing glance away from the comfortable California King and said, “Those are mine. It drives him nuts, actually.” He laughed and turned to face an inscrutable looking Hank. “What?”

“Your clothes are in his bedroom?”

Nick felt his face grow hot. “It’s not like that.”

“So you aren’t sleeping together?”

“Well, we are,” Nick conceded, “but that’s all we’re doing. Sleeping.” In fact, he thought to himself, the only time they’d managed to spend together actually physically close recently was when one of them climbed into bed with the other fast asleep, only to wake up alone. It had happened to both of them way too often for Nick’s taste.

“Really,” Hank said, using that tone usually reserved to entice a perp to talk.

“I know that tone,” Nick said.

“Hey,” Hank said, hands up, “you say you’re sleeping, then you’re sleeping.”

Nick held out for less than five seconds. “Monroe was having nightmares when he first got back, and my being there helped.”

“So he’s still having these nightmares?”

Silence.

“Shut up.”

Hank laughed, clapping Nick on the shoulder. “Man, I’m not judging. In fact, I’m surprised that you two haven’t already been sexing it up.”

“It’s not like that between us,” Nick protested, ignoring the fact that he’d kind of like it to be.

Hank eyeballed him, knowing what he wasn’t saying. “Why not?” He leaned against the doorframe, quickly glancing downstairs before returning his attention to Nick and whispering, “Look, it’s obvious that you two have a connection.”

“We’re friends,” Nick said staunchly.

“You two always had some kind of connection, even before everything happened two years ago. I’m not saying it would’ve gone anywhere then – you had Juliette; he had Rosalee. But things are different now. You two are different now. You’re sharing a house, sharing a bed… and you’re both a complete mess without the other one.”

“Our friendship –”

“Friends are great, but why miss out on a chance for something more?” Hank sighed. “You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?” He pressed at the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “You two complete each other.”

Horrified, Nick stared at him. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Hey, you made me,” Hank reminded him.

Sitting on the bed, Nick said, “I just… we’ve been friends for so long that I don’t know how to take that step.”

“Woo him.”

Nick blinked up at Hank.

“Woo. Him. I may not be able to sustain a marriage, but I certainly know how to rope ‘em in. You know this guy. You know what he likes, what makes him happy. Give him those things. And then, you know,” Hank waggled his eyebrows, “you go in for the sexing.”

Nick fell back on the bed, groaning. “Please stop saying that word.”

“What? Sexing?” Hank laughed as Nick groaned again. “And don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing. Get up. You have guests downstairs; it’s rude to fall asleep on them.” He grabbed Nick’s arm, pulling him back to standing.

Groaning, Nick rubbed a hand over his face. “What about when the guests invite themselves over?”

“Hey, we brought food,” Hank protested, gently pushing Nick downstairs. “I saw you two. You would’ve sat on that sofa all night, your stomachs fighting over which one was grumbling the loudest.”

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Monroe watched Nick head upstairs with Hank, wanting to ask them to take him with them. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the company – despite himself, he’d grown attached to the kids and to Drew. But it was just, now that he’d eaten, all Monroe wanted was to curl up in bed beside Nick and sleep for a few days. He’d missed spending time with just Nick, missed going to sleep – and then waking up – with Nick in the house.

“Hey, they’re just going to the bathroom, not running away,” Drew said, nudging Monroe’s shoulder.

Jerking his focus from the stairs, where he’d probably been staring stupidly, Monroe shrugged a shoulder. “Nick’s probably up there figuring out a way he can fall asleep.”

“With guests downstairs? How rude!” Drew laughed, slurping down the last of his soda. He adjusted his straw and stood, calling out, “who needs more soda?” Shrugging at the choruses of, “I do!”, he muttered, “I’ll just bring all of the bottles in here, which is what we should’ve done in the first place.”

Monroe stared balefully at the pile of empty pizza boxes teetering on the edge of the coffee table, takeout Chinese containers shoved together on the opposite side, empty beer bottles creating sweat rings in the center. He’d bought the furniture knowing that everything was going to have to be durable. Their furniture had to be able to handle a Grimm, a couple of Blutbads, a Jägerbar, two police detectives, some human runaways, and a Reinigen who visited during school holidays. And of course there was the fact that more than half of that crew were rowdy young adults – including Drew, if Monroe counted maturity levels. Smiling smugly at himself, Monroe placed his now-empty bottle on the table next to the others and burrowed deeper into the sofa.

“Hey! No sleeping!” Monroe’s eyes shot open guiltily as Drew stood over him, his bottle pointed accusingly at him. “Bad host!”

Monroe handed him the remote, and Drew smiled. “Well now, that changes things.” He settled in the chair beside Monroe. “Okay, guys, let’s see what’s happening over on the CW.”

Monroe stifled a groan, because while he wasn’t quite sure what the CW was, he had the feeling that nothing on it was made with him in mind.

A push against him had him opening his eyes a crack to find Nick squished against him on the sofa, the entire other side completely empty. “If I don’t get to sleep, you don’t get to sleep.”

“Mmm,” Monroe agreed, eyes closing.

Another nudge. “I’m serious, Monroe!”

Sighing, Monroe forced his eyes open. They automatically shot to the television screen, where a man in a costume fell off a building. “What are we watching?”

“Do you really want to know?”

Realizing that he didn’t, Monroe looked at the rapt faces around the room, stuttering to a stop at Hank, who was just as engrossed. “Nick, we need to get out of here before that show takes over our brains too.”

“This is what we’re going to do,” Nick whispered, his warm breath dancing along Monroe’s neck, waking him up and sending goosebumps down his body. “I’m going to pick up some of the pizza boxes, and you take the empties. We’ll put them in the kitchen and then sneak upstairs.”

“And leave them down here alone?”

Nick’s shoulder shrugged. “They’ll either duke it out over the sofa and spots on the floor or go home. Hank knows the alarm code.”

And that’s when it finally hit Monroe that all of these bodies in various reclined states in their living room weren’t guests, they were family.

“On the count of three.”

They lay in bed less than ten minutes later, Monroe’s bedroom door locked to keep out nosy cell phone cameras bent on future blackmail attempts.

Now that he was laying with Nick, Monroe found himself wide awake. Fatigue still pressed in on him, but he was able to push it back a little so he could enjoy this time he’d missed in the last month or so. They lay there, foreheads touching, eyes closed, like they’d done so many nights before. He’d missed this, so very much in the past three weeks.

“You know,” he whispered, “we could buy some used bed frames, find a good mattress sale, and maybe some dressers for the other bedrooms.”

Nick huffed a laugh. “Are you already moving them in?”

“No,” Monroe said, “but if they’re going to be here anyway, it might be nice to have them sleeping in actual beds rather than downstairs on the floor.”

“Are we including Wu and Hank in this?”

“We probably should,” Monroe said, reshuffling bedrooms in his mind.

“I think Hank’s still angling for the basement. We create a little adult cave down there where we can actually watch grown-up shows and where Hank and Wu – when he’s finished watching TV upstairs with the kids – could sleep if they needed, and they’d be set.”

“Even with Gracie and Holly sharing a room, we’re one bedroom short.”

Nick paused, and Monroe opened his eyes, watching his face in the moonlight, once again struck at the Grimm’s beauty. Eventually, he had to ask, “What?”

“We could double up the guys or just use my bedroom.”

Entry with links to each chapter

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Nick stared at Monroe, confused. He’d come downstairs, happily envisioning a night’s walk with his best friend only to find Monroe on his hands and knees, gasping like he couldn’t catch his breath. The next thing he knew, he was crouched beside the Blutbad, unsure of what he could do to help. And now Monroe sat there, goofy smile on his face. “You woged?”

“No, I’m not there yet. But – ” Monroe’s brow furrowed as he tried to explain himself, something that Nick tried not to consider adorable “ – I felt it inside. The wolf. I felt him in here.” He pressed a fist against his stomach.” He gave a little chuckle, again not adorable, Nick reminded himself. “I’m coming back. I can feel it.” He stretched out his hand. “I don’t know about the nails…”

Nick grasped the shaking hand. “They’ll come back too, just in their own time.”

Monroe’s eyebrows lifted as he smiled. “Now you’re an expert?”

Nick held out his own hands, wiggling his fingers. “I get a mani every week. Can’t you tell?”

Monroe snorted, holding onto the bottles in his shirt pockets as he slowly rose to his feet. “I can’t believe these didn’t fall out.”

“You’re more graceful that I gave you credit for,” Nick teased as he returned to the living room for his beers. Choosing to forego the pockets in his jeans this time in favor of the ones in his jacket and shirt, he returned to Monroe’s side, noting his friend’s straightened posture and happy eyes. Monroe’s goofy grin was infectious, and Nick found himself sending one right back as they walked down the deck stairs and headed toward the fence.

Monroe popped open a beer and handed it to Nick. “Drink up.”

Pulling out one of his own, he handed it to Monroe. “Right back at’cha.” He was prepared for the confused look Monroe shot him. “You really didn’t think I was planning on peeing on nine acres all by myself, did you?”

“But – ” Monroe started.

Nick didn’t give him a chance to continue. “Even if I could drink the copious amount of liquid to enable me to mark that much territory, I’m not the only one who lives here.”

“It’s your –”

“No, it’s our,” Nick said calmly, taking a sip and walking past a frowning Monroe. “Now how does this work? Do I have to just start and walk backwards as I pee or what?”

Monroe rolled his eyes. “Did you ever own a dog?”

Nick grinned, shaking his head. “Aunt Marie wasn’t really fond of pets.”

“I guess that’s not a surprise,” Monroe conceded. “You don’t have to mark every inch, just here and there so your scent covers the area.”

“Can we take turns, or do we need to mix our scents?”

“I can’t talk you out of this?”

Nick ignored Monroe’s plaintive tone and continued to stare at Monroe until the Blutbad sighed and took a sip of beer.

A few hours later, bladders and bottles emptied, they staggered up the deck stairs, leaning on each other for support. Monroe was wiping tears out of his eyes as he continued to laugh as Nick finished his story about an altercation with a visiting Seelengut who’d accidentally gotten separated from the tour group.

“It’s not funny,” Nick said, the smile in his voice belaying his words. “You can’t imagine the bruises those hooves leave.”

“So it was basically a drive-by hoofing?” Monroe leaned against the side of the house as Nick dug in his pocket for the house keys.

Nick shook his head, a corner of his mouth raised. He opened the door, heading straight for the living room.

“Hey, you know that out of everyone, I’m the last to tell you that they aren’t dangerous,” Monroe reminded him, dropping the empty bottles into the recycling bin in the kitchen. “Did you end up having to make an arrest?”

“It finally got through that I was just trying to help, and by the time everything settled, the tour group was back.”

“Let me guess; you ended up being a big hero, saving the poor sheep from being lost forever.” Monroe collapsed beside Nick, leaning against his shoulder.

“I did get some pie,” Nick admitted, enjoying the warmth spreading through his body.

“So what was his name? The bruising Seelengut?”

A brief pause before, “Susanna.”

Monroe’s laughter carried throughout the house.



Two days later, Monroe and Nick finally had Wu and Hank over for dinner.

“I wasn’t sure what kind of wine to bring, so I just brought beer,” Hank said with a grin when Nick opened the door. The former partners looked each other over, grinning as they realized that except for Hank’s jacket, they’d dressed exactly alike – blue jeans, blue button-down shirts under dark blazers.

“Thanks, man,” Nick said, grabbing the beer and leading Hank inside. He took Hank’s coat and hung it on the coat rack Monroe had waxed poetic about finding the day before.

“Wow,” Hank said, whistling at the living room. “This looks fantastic.”

“Thanks to Wu,” Monroe shouted from the kitchen. “He’s a fantastic decorator.”

“Who knew?” Hank said quietly to Nick, no surprise in his voice but a smile on his lips.

“I certainly didn’t,” Monroe chirped as he scuttled around the kitchen, unaware of the look between Hank and Nick.

He heard that? Hank’s look asked.

Nick’s return look said, Yep. Looks like he’s getting his mojo back.

You didn’t tell me he’d lost it. Hank’s look chided Nick.

Not my story to tell, Nick’s face said.

Fair enough, Hank shrugged.

“You two doing that partners reading each other’s minds thing again?” Monroe asked, walking into the room with two spoons.

“Ex partners,” Nick reminded him.

“Technicalities,” Hank said, turning to Monroe. “I brought beer.” He sniffed. “I don’t know what you’re making, but it smells good in here.”

“Thanks! Try this and tell me what you think.” Monroe held a spoon at each man’s mouth.

“Umm,” Nick said, trying to come up with an excuse not to try the greenish creamy looking mixture in front of him.

“I’m the guest, so I think I’ll just wait until you’ve ironed out the bugs,” Hank said.

Rolling his eyes, Monroe said, “It’s not going to make you sick. Just tell me if it needs a little kick.”

“But – ” Nick opened his mouth to form an excuse but found it filled when Monroe simply shoved in the spoon.

“Wow,” Hank said, surprised. “That was kind of unfai –”

Monroe shoved the other spoon into Hank’s mouth.

Nick swallowed, realizing that the mixture was actually quite good. He looked over to Hank, who seemed to be feeling the same way. “Not bad,” he admitted.

“Not bad my ass. That was really good,” Hank said with a smile.

“Great!” Monroe beamed, collecting the spoons in one hand so he could grab the six-pack with his free hand. “I’ll go put these in the fridge.”

Nick grabbed two bottles before Monroe left and tilted his head toward the sofa, and they ambled over, Nick flopping on the couch as Hank walked around the room. “Monroe says that we need a few more things in here.”

“You have a large screen TV and surround sound. What else do you need?”

“I have no idea,” Nick shrugged.

“Maybe a Blu-ray player, or is he gonna get one of those shelves for figurines and stuff?”

“I’m a little afraid to ask,” Nick admitted.

“You don’t seem to mind, though,” Hank said under the clanging of pots and pans.

Nick smiled, enjoying the feel of having a home again and people he loved around him. “I really don’t. It seems to make him happy –”

“ – and if it’ll keep him around, even better,” Hank finished.

Nick held up his bottle in response, and Hank gently knocked against it with his own.

Monroe bustled back into the room with more of the mixture in a large bowl with a platter filled with at least three different types of crackers and chips. He paused at the sound of the doorbell, quickly placing the dishes on the coffee table beside the four saucers and napkins he’d put there earlier. “I’ll get it. Help yourselves to the dip.”

“He seems to be settling in well,” Hank said as Monroe enthusiastically greeted Wu.

Nick’s eyes roved over Monroe’s flannel shirt – grey/blue this time, enjoying the pull of it over Monroe’s shoulders.

The Blutbad had worried over his wardrobe earlier. “I only bought a few flannel shirts and Henleys. I knew we were going to be entertaining; why didn’t I get a blazer?”

“Relax,” Nick had told him, opening his arms to his sides to show off his long-sleeved t-shirt tucked into a pair of jeans. “I’m going for casual, and I’m sure Hank and Wu will do the same.” He didn’t mention the quick chat they’d had at a crime scene earlier that day.

Monroe’s eyes had traveled over Nick like a starving man in front of a delicacy, and Nick’s heart began to pound a little faster. Without realizing it, he’d stepped forward, the urge to get closer to Monroe undeniable.

Hank’s ringing the doorbell had ended the moment, but Nick still felt the warmth of Monroe’s appreciative inspection down to his toes.

Hank cleared his voice, jerking Nick back into the present, and Nick turned to him, words he’d planned on saying forgotten. Hank grinned.

“What?”

“Nothin’,” Hank said quickly, still smiling as he dipped a chip and popped it into his mouth.

“Look at these gorgeous flowers Detective Wu brought!” Monroe smiled brightly as he led Wu into the room.

“Drew please,” Wu said, grinning. He’d dressed up a little for the evening, more than he’d told them earlier, wearing a dark blazer over a turtleneck and dark blue jeans and seemed immune to Nick’s glare. “Hey, guys.” He immediately focused on the food. “That looks good. Scootch over.” He inserted himself on the sofa between Nick and Hank, immediately grabbing a cracker, loading it with dip, and popping it into his mouth. “Mmmm!” He chewed for a moment, swallowed. “Is this the same recipe you e-mailed to me?”

“I tweaked it a bit here and there, but yeah,” Monroe said, ducking his head a little.

“You two’ve been e-mailing each other recipes?” Hank asked, laughing. “Wu, you have too much time on your hands.”

Suddenly Nick didn’t find it very funny. Rationally, he knew that the more attachments Monroe made the tougher he’d find it to leave. But he hadn’t been prepared for the tightness in his chest at the idea of Monroe bonding with someone else. He blinked, realizing that Monroe was looking at him, the smile slowly sliding off his face as he held the vase protectively in front of him.

“Let me jut go put these in water,” Monroe muttered, heading for the kitchen.

“Real slick there,” Hank said, knowing look on his face.

“See, mine didn’t taste anything like this,” Wu complained, completely oblivious.

Monroe returned with a beer for Wu and instructions to chat among themselves while he finished with the final touches for dinner.

After a few seconds, Nick rose with the excuse of grabbing more beers, leaving Wu with his mouth full and Hank asking how he was going to have space for dinner if he kept inhaling the appetizer. He leaned against the wall, watching Monroe pull a large dish out of the oven, oversized oven mitts hampering his movements. Monroe moved with ease, his shoulders relaxed, a small smile on his face. He finally noticed Nick. “Everything okay out there?”

“Just came in to get more beers,” Nick said easily.

Monroe frowned. “I bought a nice Zinfandel that’ll go really nicely with dinner, but maybe they’d prefer the beer.”

Nick shrugged. “We’ll give ‘em the option. I’ll try the Zinfandel, though,” he said, earning himself a grin that made him a little warm. “You need any help?”

“I forgot to put down a second trivet.” Monroe’s eyes focused on the metal stand on the counter. “Can you bring it along with Detec-Drew’s flowers?”

Nick grabbed the items, inspecting the trivet curiously as he trailed after Monroe, sniffing the air. “Hank was right; it does smell really good.”

“I decided to go with hearty instead of fancy,” Monroe said, waiting until Nick had placed the trivet before putting down the blue casserole dish beside a white dish. “I made shepherd’s pie, with and without meat, with a few additional ingredients.” He took the vase and adjusted it in the middle of the table, sliding it around until he was satisfied with its placement. Standing back, he observed the room.

“What’s wrong?” Nick could tell that Monroe wasn’t happy, but everything looked fine to him.

“I don’t like the table.” Monroe sighed. “But there’s nothing I can do about it right now.”

Granted, Nick couldn’t see much of it underneath the dark brown tablecloth, but it looked fine to him. “What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s not right for the house,” Monroe muttered before turning away. “Can you get the guys while I go grab those beers?”

“Sure,” Nick said, uncertain about how to react to the table but happy that Monroe didn’t seem to expect a response from him about it. He leaned into the living room to find Hank holding the mostly empty dish of crackers away from Wu, who seemed ready to climb over his partner to reach it. Shaking his head and chuckling, he said, “dinner’s ready,” and left them to detangle themselves.

Of course Monroe had place cards, Nick thought with a smile as he sat across from Hank. Wu sat to his left, leaving Monroe closest to the kitchen. Monroe returned with two beers, but to his obvious pleasure, everyone decided on trying the wine. Nick poured as Monroe explained, “I made shepherd’s pie. The blue dish contains lamb; the white is vegetarian. I figured the pie had enough vegetables that none of you would be upset if we didn’t have a salad with it –” He smiled at Hank and Wu emphatically shook their heads in agreement. “Nick, if you wouldn’t mind.”

It only took Nick a second to realize that Monroe wanted him to start moving the food around the table. Grabbing the blue dish, he scooped up a generous amount and passed it to Wu. He then took the white and added a little more, passing that one along as well and earning him another smile from Monroe. Wu and Hank also took a little of the vegetarian, Hank grinning at Nick. He smiled at Wu and I too, you know.

Nick stared, unimpressed, at Hank. I didn’t see you pouring the wine.

Hank took a deliberate sip and said, “this is really good.”

“It’s a 2000 Clos LaChance Twin Rivers Vineyard Zinfandel,” Monroe explained. “I find that it goes really well with shepherd’s pie.”

“It totally does,” Wu chimed in. He looked around, frowning. “The table doesn’t really go with the room like I thought it would.”

“I know, right?” Monroe said, obviously delighted that Wu agreed with him. “I was just telling Nick that I don’t like it.”

“That’s my fault,” Wu said to Nick. “I was sure it was perfect.”

Hank peeked underneath the table, then sat up and looked at the top. “What’s wrong with it?”

Nick’s eyes widened as he gave a subtle shrug.

“It doesn’t work. I don’t like its size,” Monroe explained.

Wu nodded. “It doesn’t fit in here.”

“We only had forty eight hours to return it. I should’ve tried out the room earlier.” Monroe turned an apologetic frown to Nick.

As much as he hated the bonding Monroe and Wu seemed to be doing, Nick turned to Wu for help. The table looked fine to him. Sure, it felt a little small, only seating four, but he figured it he and Monroe would eat most of the time in the living room in front of the TV.

“I still have Danita’s number; I’ll give her a call in the morning, see what I can work out,” Wu promised.

“Thanks,” Monroe said, pleased.

Wu waved a hand. “She should be giving me a commission considering all of the business I’ve turned her way lately.”

Once again, Nick felt the tendrils of jealousy and didn’t like the feeling one bit. He hadn’t been prepared for it and wasn’t sure how to react.

“There’re a couple of places that’ll custom make a table for you if you can’t find anything you like,” Hank chimed in, smiling smugly as Nick glared at him.

Monroe seemed to sense some tension, because he thanked Hank and changed the subject. “I’ve been wondering.” He turned to Nick. “You and Hank use each other’s first names, but you still call Drew, ‘Wu’.”

“Well, yeah,” Nick said, distracted as he took a bite. “Monroe, this is absolutely fantastic!”

“Thanks!” Monroe beamed. “So when do you start calling him Drew?”

“What do you mean?” Hank asked, scooping up another large forkful and shoving it into his mouth.

“I’m guessing he was Wu because he was a sergeant and you two were detectives. But now he’s a detective too, so shouldn’t everyone be calling him Drew?”

Nick frowned, looking at Hank, who was also looking a little thoughtful. “I never really thought about it.”

Monroe turned to Hank. “Did they ever just call you ‘Griffin’?”

“Yeah,” Hank said, “but I don’t remember exactly when they started calling me Hank instead. It had to have been after I’d made detective…”

Monroe turned to Nick, who said, “Same here.” He’d never really thought about it before, but he looked at Wu and couldn’t imagine ever calling the man, ‘Drew’, uniform or no.

Wu laughed. “I wouldn’t think I’d answer if either of them tried that. I’m used to Wu, at least as far as these schmoes are concerned.”

“You could introduce yourself as Drew to the new cops,” Monroe suggested.

“Newbies get to call me, ‘Detective Wu,” Wu said pertly. He blinked. “I almost forgot. I ran into your short order cook a few hours ago.” He pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to Monroe.

Automatically taking the paper, Monroe frowned, asking, “When did I get a short order cook?”

“The kid from the diner,” Wu said. “The apples and onions guy dating the waitress.” He looked at Hank. “We went to this diner for lunch the day we bought the furniture, and it turns out that Monroe had been working a little love magic on the coworkers.”

“Brenda and Tony,” Monroe reminded Nick.

“Wow,” Nick said, sitting back as he remembered that Brenda had been trying to catch Monroe’s eye when they’d eaten there. He found that he liked the idea of Brenda and Tony together. He watched Monroe unfold the paper and stare at it. “What does it say?”

“Evidently his dad wants me to give him a call,” Monroe said, brow furrowed.

“Probably wants to thank you for cutting down on the potential poisoning lawsuits,” Wu said, licking his fork. “Hey, I like these forks.”

Monroe brightened. “I thought they had a nice balance.”

Wu waved it in the air in front of him. “They really do. I like the tines, too.”

“I was trying to decide between…”

Hank looked at Nick, mouthing, “Tines?”

Nick just shook his head. Seriously. Don’t ask.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Hank said, not sounding sorry at all, “but does the note say what the guy wants to talk to you about?”

“No, it just asks that I call him and that he works late so I can call up to midnight if it’s convenient.”

The rest of dinner passed quickly, without any awkward moments when they mentioned events that’d happened in the last few years. Nick had been a little worried about that, but he figured it was something they were going to have to deal with at some point anyway. Might as well do it with friends.

They took dessert outside on the patio, Monroe bringing out a warmed apple pie with their choice of vanilla or chocolate ice cream. They sat in the coolness, enjoying the dessert in relative silence.

The detectives had to work the next day, so after a quick tour of the basement (Wu to Monroe: “Obviously, this is our next project after we fix that dining room table.” Hank to Nick: “If you want this as your man-cave, you need to get on it before those two find the perfect table and move on to this room.”), Hank and Wu thanked Nick and Monroe for the dinner and departed.

“I thought that went well,” Monroe said as he cleaned the dishes before handing them to Nick.

“It was fun,” Nick agreed, loading the dishwasher. “And your food was a success.”

“No leftovers,” Monroe said, tilting the empty white casserole dish. “Not even the vegetarian.”

The door rang, and Nick immediately tensed, looking at a stilled Monroe. “I’m sure it’s probably Hank or Wu, realizing that they forgot something.”

Monroe nodded, whispering. “You have your gun, though, right?”

“Not on me,” Nick said, holding out his arms. He turned toward the door.

“Nick!” Monroe whispered.

Nick turned around to find Monroe holding out a large black skillet. He must’ve given Monroe a look, because Monroe said, “Hey, it’s better than nothing. Just be careful, because I’ve started seasoning it.”

Nick rolled his eyes and grabbed the skillet, adjusting his grip once he realized how heavy it was. He revised his sarcastic opinion of Monroe’s choice and peered through the peephole, relaxing once he saw Barry’s eyeball looking back at him.

He unlocked and opened the door. “Hey, Barry.”

“Nick! Guess who just got home!” He stepped aside, and Roddy stepped up, smiling.

“Hey!” Nick reached out and gave the Reinigen a one-armed hug. “How’s college treating you?”

“It’s going really good,” Roddy said. “I thought I’d come say hi to Monroe unless, you know, it’s a bad time.”

“No! Come on in.” Nick stepped back and let the two through. “He’s in the kitchen.”

Barry led the way, nodding as they passed through the living room. “That sofa looks way more comfortable than the floor.”

“Monroe’s been busy,” Nick agreed.

Roddy had just escaped from Monroe’s hearty hug when Nick heard another knock on the door.

“That’s probably the rest of them,” Roddy said, opening up the refrigerator and sticking his head inside.

Nick’s eyes immediately met Monroe’s and they smiled at each other before Nick turned and opened the door for the rest of the kids. He waved at Holly’s mom as she pulled away.

“Hey, Nick!” Hanson bumped fists with Nick as he and Gracie slipped past. Holly grinned, pulled behind Gracie as they held hands.

He returned to the kitchen after locking the door to find the place filled with noise and movement. Barry was telling Monroe about college while continuing to stand between Monroe and the dishwasher, while Roddy complained that all he saw were fruits and vegetables and there had to be pizza or chips or something edible somewhere in the kitchen. Hanson was drinking orange juice from the container – obviously behind an oblivious Monroe’s back – and Grace sat on the counter beside him, waiting her turn. Holly slowly sidled toward Monroe, sniffing and looking a little confused.

Nick just leaned against the wall, smiling at his strange little family.


Entry with links to each chapter

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Monroe absently tore off the sheet of paper and folded it before putting it in his front pocket, trying to figure out what he’d done to make Nick so angry. Maybe Nick’d had enough of all of Monroe’s strange behavior. But no, Monroe thought, if that had been the case, he’d have gotten angry the night before after he’d driven them home. It had to be more than Nick’s being insulted by Monroe’s not wanting to take Nick’s credit card. Monroe picked it up, surprised to find it was also a debit card. He gently put the card back down on the counter. Was it the rent comment? Did Nick think that Monroe’s offering to pay rent was ungracious? But how could offering to help pay off the mortgage be a bad thing? Monroe sighed, wishing he had someone left he could talk to about it.

Until he could figure it out, he needed to start on his plan for the day. The first item, “Pick up car,” was going to be a little tougher now that he no longer had a ride. If he knew how to use the Internet on his phone, he could probably find the number to a cab service, but he just shoved the card into his wallet, grabbed his keys, and felt thankful that he’d bought a really comfortable pair of shoes.

He’d only been walking for about twenty minutes when a car pulled over in front of him. He stopped, wary. He didn’t recognize the vehicle; of course, the only ones he knew belonged to Nick, Hank, Barry, and now himself. He still hadn’t been able to woge, so he couldn’t let his inner wolf help him if he needed to defend himself.

The car honked, and a familiar head poked out of the driver’s side window. “Going my way, sailor?” Wu asked.

Huffing out a laugh, Monroe sped up and hopped into the passenger seat, automatically holding out his hands over the heater.

“Don’t you know hitchhiking is overrated?” Wu asked, pulling back onto the road. “And dangerous, even for men? I could throw out some statistics if you want.”

“No thank you. And I wasn’t holding out my thumb,” Monroe corrected. “As far as anyone was concerned, I was just out for a walk.” He looked up at the sky, noting that it was obviously going to start raining soon. “But I appreciate the lift.”

“No problem. Where’re we going?”

“I need to pick up my new used car,” he rattled off the address. “And then I’m heading to the public library.” He realized he wasn’t even sure which branch was closest.

Wu slid him a glance. “You that desperate for a good read?”

“We don’t have Internet access at the house yet… or a computer,” he realized, awkwardly pulling out the paper from his jeans and a pen with the car dealership logo to add buying an affordable laptop onto the list. “So I’m going to use the computers at the library.”

“What do you have to look up?”

“The only furniture we have in the house right now are our two beds and a coffee maker.”

“Ahh, your asses are demanding some respect, huh?” Wu said.

Monroe shook his head. He hadn’t really spent much time with Wu before, what with Wu’s being a cop and then his trying to stay sane after what he’d gone through with his friend. Monroe’d gathered from what he’d heard in passing from Nick and Hank that Wu was a little bit of a wiseass, but he found it a welcome relief from the confusion in his head. “Yeah. So I’m going to do some research, get an idea of how much things cost before I start looking around.”

“Need some help?”

Monroe looked at him, surprised.

Wu shrugged. “We broke the case late last night, and I’m off today.”

“Right! Nick mentioned that you’re now a detective! Congratulations!”

“Thanks,” Wu grinned. “I can’t tell you how nice it is to wear something other than that uniform. Of course, now I actually have to plan out what I wear every day, color coordinate, ‘cause you know, I gotta look sharp.”

Monroe smiled. “You sure you don’t have any plans?”

“It turns out that your body can indeed get too much sleep, and all of my non-alcoholic friends are at work. Besides, I just helped a friend redecorate her apartment, so I’m up on the current trends and prices. And,” he added with a wink, “I’m a damn good decorator if I say so myself.”

“I’m on a budget,” Monroe warned, “but Nick wants all new stuff.”

“Hank took me on a tour of your place when he was thinking of buying it, and it was right when I was finishing up with my friend, so I will admit to having a few ideas already. You have any restrictions?”

“No red,” Monroe said promptly. “And definitely no white,” he added, thinking of the mess the kids had made earlier.

“What about Nick?”

“All he said was that he wanted something comfortable.”

Wu laughed. “How about I chauffeur you around, take you to some of the places with the better deals, and we can pick up your car later?”

“That’d be great,” Monroe said. “I appreciate it.”

“I love spending other people’s money,” Wu said. “Besides, my one bedroom doesn’t give me many opportunities to decorate.”

To his surprise, Monroe found himself having a really good time. Wu kept things lighthearted and was indeed really good at not just finding bargains, but also matching furniture from different stores. Monroe still felt hesitant about making executive decisions, so before purchasing anything, he texted pictures of his choices to Nick (after a quick phone tutorial from Wu) for final approval. He’d been a little nervous as he waited for Nick’s first response, but the, “Is it going to coordinate well with our Pergo floors?” told him that whatever he’d done earlier was forgiven – or at least forgotten for the moment. After that, Nick always texted back promptly, usually with responses that explained his definite opinion: “Yes!”, “Ugh.”, “?!?!?”, “What IS that?”, “I love that sofa; buy one for every room in the house.”, “It looks like it’ll eat me alive.”, “Are we going with a putrescence color theme?” His only specific request was that Monroe made sure to buy them both dressers for their rooms because, “Diggn thru boxes sux.”

Almost every store had an employee who remembered Wu, who somehow made sure that every piece of furniture would be delivered the next day while Monroe was stuck at home waiting for the cable and internet installer.

By his closest estimation, they’d pretty much taken care of furnishing the living room, the two master bedrooms, and patio before they finally took a break. Realizing they were close to the diner he and Nick had eaten at a few days earlier, Monroe offered to treat Wu to a late lunch.

Brenda, the waitress from his last visit, walked up to the table, grin on her face. “If it’s not the mysterious cook from the other day!” She handed them the menus.

Monroe smiled back, feeling his face grow red as he introduced Wu, who of course had to ask about her comment. And of course she happily described Monroe’s last visit.

“Aren’t you the hero!” Wu teased, settling back in the booth as Brenda went to get their drink orders.

Monroe rolled his eyes and tried not to look embarrassed. “She embellished a lot,” he muttered.

“I don’t know, that Apples and Onions does sound pretty tasty.”

“It’s not printed on the menu, but we serve it now,” Tony walked up, the hair around his face curling damply. He held out his hand to Monroe. “You have no idea how much you helped me.”

“So things are going better?” Monroe asked, automatically shaking the young Siegbarste’s hand as he attempted to move the focus off him – and to keep his mind off of the potential health issues with Tony’s loose hair.

“Yeah, I mean it still gets pretty overwhelming, but I’m doing a lot better. Ask Brenda.” He beamed as she returned with the drinks.

“Even his daddy’s been impressed,” Brenda said, sending a little side smile to Tony.

“Wow, okay,” Monroe said, realizing that Tony’s father hadn’t been the only one impressed. He looked over at Wu, who gave him a little smirk.

“I’ll have the Apples and Onions then,” Wu said, handing his unopened menu back to Brenda.

“I make a pretty good steak too, as long as you either like it rare or well done,” Tony said to Monroe.

“He’s a vegetarian,” Wu answered before Monroe could open his mouth. After a brief pause, Wu looked at Monroe. “You’re still a vegetarian, right?”

Monroe nodded, not sure what surprised him more, the thought that Wu knew he was a vegetarian or the fact that he remembered.

“We have some salads,” Tony said uncertainly, and Monroe pictured iceberg lettuce and a few tomatoes. “Do vegetarians eat tuna fish?”

“Apples and Onions is fine,” Monroe said, choosing to ignore Wu’s snort.

Eventually Tony and Brenda had to return to work, and Monroe breathed a silent sigh of relief, finally relaxing back in his side of the booth. He hadn’t realized how stressful it had been to spend the entire day surrounded by people. He’d never really been one to thrive on attention anyway, but all of the time he’d spent in his self-imposed exile and subsequent imprisonment seemed to have only magnified his need to be alone.

“How long do you think they’ve been together?” Wu asked, tilting his head toward the two.

“They weren’t looking at each other like that the last time I was here,” Monroe admitted.

“Monroe the love doctor,” Wu teased.

It was a good thing they weren’t on a strict schedule, because while he might have made progress in the kitchen, Tony still needed to work on his speed. Eventually they got their food, but Monroe found that he was enjoying Wu’s presence so much that he wasn’t in any rush.

“This was really good,” Wu said, surprised as he placed his fork on the empty plate in front of him.

“Why did you order it if you didn’t think you’d like it?” Monroe asked.

Wu shrugged a shoulder. “I figured it would be harder to give me food poisoning.” He grinned. “So, what’s next?”

Monroe pulled out his paper, which by this time looked a little worse for wear, and smoothed it out on the table. “I need to get a laptop and pick up my car, and that’s it for the day.” While he didn’t order any himself, Monroe encouraged Wu to have dessert while they discussed computer options. Wu finally convinced Monroe to purchase a laptop that seemed way too powerful for his needs, but Wu pointed out that it could help Nick work from home too, and Monroe readily capitulated. Wu had Monroe agreeing to ride with him to the Apple store in Pioneer Place before Wu dropped Monroe off at the car dealership.

After a relatively painful computer purchase that took a sizable chunk out of his bank account – with an additional printer that was going to be pretty close to free after the rebate – Wu dropped Monroe off at the dealership, waving off Monroe’s thanks.

Luckily, driving a car proved the old adage about riding a bike true, and this time Monroe had no problems driving to the house in his new car.

Nick hadn’t arrived yet, so Monroe set up the computer and printer in a temporary spot on the kitchen island – creating a new furniture list with a computer desk and chair at the top - and started dinner. He wasn’t sure what time Nick was going to be home, but for some reason, he felt hesitant to call. And suddenly, his earlier confrontation with Nick was forefront in his mind.

Adjusting his breathing, Monroe concentrated on making dinner. This is what he loved about cooking, how the rinsing and cutting and mixing calmed him down, let him empty his mind of exhausting thoughts for a while. It had always been a brief respite from the chaos in his life.

“I’m home,” Nick called, slamming the door shut.

“I hope you haven’t eaten,” Monroe said, suddenly feeling a bit tentative. “I guess I should’ve called –”

“No, I haven’t eaten,” Nick said, smiling a slow smile that made Monroe’s stomach flutter just a little bit. He’d always liked that smile. “I did bring wine, though.” He waved a bottle in the air. “Hopefully it’ll go with whatever you’re cooking.” He also produced a twelve pack of beer, which he put in the fridge.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” Monroe said, smiling as he pulled out the corkscrew. “Why don’t you open it up?” He pointed to a cabinet. “The glasses are in there.”

They worked for a couple of minutes in companionable silence, Monroe happy to be in Nick’s presence.

After he’d poured the wine, Nick leaned against the island, watching Monroe work. Eventually, he said, “I want to apologize for earlier.”

Even though he knew it was something they needed to talk about, Monroe felt himself tensing. “Yeah, about that,” he said, thankful he was facing the sink. “I was wondering what I did, or said, to piss you off.” The silence made him turn around to find Nick staring intently at his wine. Without thought, he walked over and nudged Nick’s shoulder. “What’s going on?”

“I know that we agreed that you’d leave here once you were all healed, but I’d been hoping that you’d change your mind and stay. Maybe it’s selfish, because I’ve missed having you here, but I thought that if you became invested in the house, you’d be less likely to leave. But you refuse to have any real attachment. It’s like you already have one foot out the door. Then you offered to pay rent, like you could just leave without looking back, and I guess I just snapped.” He handed Monroe a filled glass.

Monroe sighed. “I hadn’t really thought of it in terms like that, but I guess you’re right.” He took a sip while he collected his thoughts. “These last few years, I’ve made sure that I didn’t belong anywhere, because losing everything that night almost broke me. I don’t – I’m not sure –” He rolled his damp eyes and huffed an embarrassed laugh.

“You didn’t lose everything,” Nick said, pressing against Monroe as he pulled him in a one-armed hug. “I know I didn’t make it seem like it that night, but you have me. I’m here. And I promise I won’t let you down like that again.”

“You were hurting –”

“And you weren’t?” Nick shot back, pulling away and leaving Monroe feeling absurdly bereft. “You’d lost your home, Rosalee, Troubel, and Juliette – ”

“Troubel and Juliette –”

“ – were important to you too,” Nick insisted. “And then later, when I went looking for you to apologize, I found out about your parents.”

Monroe closed his eyes. He really, really didn’t want to have this conversation, but Nick seemed determined to clear the air, no matter how painful. A hand curved gently around Monroe’s cheek, and he opened his eyes to stare into Nick’s somber, beautiful gaze.

“I understand why you didn’t tell me. We were in the middle of searching for that arsonist, and things were crazy.”

Pushing away from the counter and Nick, Monroe headed into the kitchen, turning off the heat on the stovetop. “Do we have to get into this now?” He hated the pleading sound to his voice, but he really didn’t want to break down in front of Nick. He’d shoved everything down so far that bringing it back up was like pulling off a scab.

Nick followed behind him so closely that Monroe could feel the warmth in his back. “Why not now? Do you have some sort of emergency meeting you have to get to?” He darted in front of Monroe, pressing his hand against Monroe’s chest. It felt like blow even though it didn’t contain any of the strength the Grimm could’ve used. “Talk to me!”

“What do you want me to say?” Monroe shouted plaintively. He didn’t want to relive any of it ever again.

“I know it’s painful. I lost people I love too! But this...thing... is just going to be here between the two of us until we hash it out.”

“Fine,” Monroe ground out. Suddenly the room felt way too small. “I can’t do this in here.” He wanted to say, ‘I can’t do this at all’, but he knew Nick was never going to let it go. He led the way to the deck, grabbing hold of the wooden railing in a tight grip as he stared unseeingly into the woods. “So what do you want me to say?”

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Nick looked at Monroe’s tense posture, wishing he could let it go. But he’d had a difficult time of thinking about anything else all day and had come to the conclusion that Monroe was determined to do his best to avoid everything that had happened two years ago. If that happened, Nick knew he’d never be able to convince Monroe to stay. “How about we start from the beginning?” He suggested, leaning back against the railing, falling back on an old routine he and Hank used to use for particularly difficult cases. “We were pretty much going on nonstop trying to find the serial arsonist who’d been burning down buildings for the past few weeks. You stopped by the station a little after the Lieutenant created the task force, because you’d gotten a tip that he was after Wesen, right?”

Monroe frowned, and Nick could tell that he was pushing himself back to that night despite everything inside him telling him to just leave it alone. “A buddy of mine in my wieder support group mentioned something about a friend of his whose house had burned down, and it caught my interest. So Ro – ” He took a deep breath and cleared his voice. “Rosalee and I had asked around and worked out that the arsonist was more than likely a Drang-Zorn with an axe to grind. We couldn’t figure out where his anger was aimed, but that’s when I came to the station.”

“And that’s when Renard hired you as a consultant and added you to the task force.”

“Pressed me into service is more like it,” Monroe snorted.

Nick grinned, remembering Monroe’s attempts to get out of it, citing his upcoming clock making deadlines as he’d literally backed out of the office.

But of course Monroe hadn’t been a match for Renard, who’d wrapped words like ‘duty’ and ‘responsibility’ around Monroe until he’d been too bound by obligation to go anywhere. In less than ten minutes, a very unhappy Monroe had been seated in a chair beside other detectives and cops listening to Nick and Hank give a progress report.

“When did you find out about your parents?”

Monroe took a large sigh, the warm air from his lungs turning white as it hit the cold air. “It was while we were at one of the crime scenes. They hadn’t been able to get in touch with me, because my phone had died.”

Nick pushed off the railing. “I remember that day.” The night before, they hadn’t left the crime scene until about four in the morning, and Nick had convinced Monroe to just ride with him and use Nick’s guest bedroom instead of returning to the station to pick up his own car and then have to drive back home. Monroe had used the last bar of power on his phone to text Rosalee about his plans for the night. The next day, Rosalee had dropped by the station with bags of healthy and surprisingly tasty snacks for everyone – and a charger for Monroe in particular. She’d taken Monroe aside at one point, and a little jealous, Nick had tried to recall the last time he’d seen Juliette anywhere other than asleep in their bed when he’d crawl in beside her for a few hours before a quick shower before heading back into the office.

“I made Rosalee promise to keep it from everyone. We had enough going on as it was, and no one could bring my parents back.”

“I knew something was up,” Nick confessed. And he had. When he’d returned from walking Rosalee back to her car, Monroe’d had this pinched look in his eyes, but they’d gotten another call about a fire, and Nick had pushed it out of his mind. “I just got all caught up in the case and left you to handle it alone.”

“I’m a grown man,” Monroe said, his voice quiet. “I made the decision to keep it to myself.”

Nick wanted to delve into that further, but he reminded himself to focus. “And then you caught his trail.”

“I recognized his scent,” Monroe corrected. “I’d caught it at previous… crime scenes, underneath the smoke and ash, but that was the first time I’d smelled it fresh.”

Nick paused, taking a sip of his wine. He didn’t really want to go any further, but Monroe needed this. He needed this. And they weren’t going to be able to move forward if they couldn’t get it out in the open. He figured the best way to handle it would be to pull it off quickly like a Band-Aid. “And it was at my house.” Once again, Monroe had followed Nick back to Nick’s place for a couple of quick showers and a change of clothes. This time they’d escaped in the middle of the day after poking through the last crime scene, and that’s when Monroe caught a familiar scent.

Swallowing, Monroe nodded.

“So we figured the Drang-Zorn had targeted me.” Monroe winced, and Nick knew he was blaming himself. He found himself leaning closer to catch Monroe’s gaze. “It made perfect sense to all of us. Get to the Grimm by burning down his territory, building by building.”

It’d been embarrassingly easy to connect the dots after they’d made that connection – Nick had been to each place, sometimes officially but mostly in his role as a Grimm. What they hadn’t realized until too late was that he hadn’t been the only one with those same connections.

“I’m the one who came up with the fantastic idea of having Rosalee and Juliette grab some stuff at the spice shop before heading to the weider meeting house for their safety,” Monroe said harshly, his voice tinged with hint of tears. “I’m the one who convinced you that he’d never find them there.”

“I’m the one who got Trubel to go with them,” Nick reminded Monroe.

“Don’t tell me you don’t feel guilty for that!”

“I do feel guilty,” Nick said, “but I also know that it wasn’t my fault. It was Dante Forn’s.” He remembered Monroe’s focus as he scented out the Drang-Zorn, taking Monroe, Hank, and Nick to the middle of nowhere, one of the places Nick and Monroe liked to train. They’d stopped by the trailer first for weapons, each of them knowing that odds were they were going to need them.

They’d almost stumbled on him literally, as he hid in the hole he’d dug along the side of the small clearing. He’d emerged, fully woged, black hair covering most of his face, two sets of fangs on either side of his mouth. He glared at them with red-tinged irises.

Nick had tried to engage with him, hoping that he’d get the Drang-Zorn to turn himself in, all the while knowing that Hank and Monroe – and even he himself, really – didn’t believe it was going to end well. But he was a cop, and the kind of Grimm he’d decided he was going to be meant that he had to give it a try.

The Drang-Zorn had given them his version of a grin, claws raised. “Eye for an eye. This is for my brother,” he said cryptically before launching himself at Monroe. Automatically, Nick had stepped in front of his best friend and gotten off three shots. Of course that hadn’t really hurt the Wesen, but it had given them a few necessary seconds, and in within minutes, he laid on the ground, gasping his last breaths.

Nick stood there, panting, watching the Drang-Zorn glaring at Monroe, and something inside clicked. It didn’t completely firm in Nick’s mind until the Drang-Zorn muttered, “You’re already too late,” before he rattled his last breath.

Nick looked up at Monroe, saw the horror he must’ve had on his own face, before he, Monroe, and Hank ran for the car.

They’d been too late, having to pull behind the fire trucks blocking the street. The uniforms had managed to block Nick and Hank before they could get too far, but Monroe had continued forward, three policemen and two firemen hanging off his arms and shoulders, their feet dragging along the ground as he pushed forward. Nick had broken free and run in front of Monroe, so close to the fire that he could feel the heat licking at his back. He’d pressed his hands against Monroe’s chest and shouted Monroe’s name to get his attention. “You can’t go in there!”

“They’re in there!” Monroe yelled. “All three of them! I can get them out!”

Nick knew what Monroe wasn’t saying, but he also knew that Monroe’s being a Blutbad couldn’t help them now. They were too late. “You aren’t fireproof, Monroe! You have to stop!” Hank joined him, and between the two of them, the policemen, and the firemen, they managed to force Monroe away from the burning meeting house.

Nick’s mind had decided that between those three capable women, they’d somehow sensed that they were in danger and were waiting somewhere in the throng pressed against the police tape. He remembered looking through the crowd, trying to find their familiar faces. It wasn’t until much later, when the three body bags emerged from the still-smoldering building, that Nick’s heart had broken. His mind still wouldn’t believe it, and he’d forced the paramedics to stop and let him unzip all three bags, revealing the burnt faces he’d unreasonably hoped not to see.

“Nick?” Monroe had whispered brokenly from the fire truck where Hank had handcuffed him and Wu stood, practically pressed against the Blutbad to keep him there.

Nick felt a ball of anger and hurt and frustration and fatigue gather in his chest, where it started to grow, clogging his throat and making his head ache. At moment, he’d just wanted to scream, to rage and destroy.

“Nick!” Monroe shouted, grabbing his attention.

And suddenly all of that fatigue, the bottled emotion, his anger at himself, at the world, at the Drang-Zorn melded together into a bullet that Nick aimed straight at Monroe. Within the blink of an eye he was at the fire truck, shoving Wu aside and gathering Monroe’s shirt in his fists. “Why did you send them here? This is all your fault!” He’d continued to scream as Hank and Wu pried his fingers from the flannel, and Hank pretty much picked him up and carried him back to the car.

Less than five minutes later, Nick was a sobbing mess, soaking Hank’s shirt.

Good partner and friend that he was, Hank never spoke of it.

Nick had gotten himself under control, his earlier words coming back to him, and he’d immediately run back toward the fire truck, only to find a mangled set of handcuffs on the ground. He’d headed to Monroe’s house, only to find it also smoldering, the exhausted fire chief’s estimation putting the fire’s starting there the same time it had begun at the meeting house. Turned out, Dante Forn had done his best to make sure Monroe had paid for his past transgression.

A noise brought Nick back to the present, and he realized he was staring at Monroe’s hands, now clenched around the wood so tightly that he worried Monroe would break something. He looked up and found that Monroe’s whole body was shaking as he tried to hold himself together. And suddenly Nick realized that while he’d had Hank to help him mourn, Monroe hadn’t had anyone. And it looked like Monroe had just shoved down the pain from the very beginning and had kept it there.

Nick gently pried Monroe’s fingers loose, holding them in his own as he pulled Monroe to him.

“I can’t – it’s my fa –” Monroe started, wet eyes lifted into the air as he tried to maintain his composure.

Nick dropped Monroe’s hands and took a small step, wrapping his arms around his best friend.

Monroe’s entire body was shaking so hard that Nick felt his teeth rattle. “It’s not your fault,” he whispered, hanging on as Monroe tried to pull away. “It’s not your fault,” he kept repeating through Monroe’s gasps until he felt Monroe’s arms wrap around him. With a small groan, Monroe finally gave in, this time his body shaking with sobs.

Nick just held on, whispering, finally giving Monroe time to mourn.

Entry with links to each chapter

Chapter 10 here

Chapter 11

After dumping the bags of his personal items off in his room and saying an awkward goodnight with Nick, Monroe slowly climbed down the stairs feeling like he was ninety years old. He was tired of the nightmares and worried that he would become too dependent on Nick to chase them away. As it was, having Nick in his bed had felt a little too right, made him want things he knew he couldn’t have.

He’d loaded the dishwasher first with the new dishes and cutlery, later with the pots and pans. He still needed to get a skillet, but that was a task for another day. He set up the kitchen the way he liked it, knowing Nick wouldn’t be afraid to speak up if anything bothered him. Of course, he also knew that Nick’s main focus would be on the location of the coffeepot, whose timer Monroe was currently setting, so he wasn’t really worried.

Following that, he’d opened the door, thinking he’d take a short walk. But the total darkness gave him pause. He’d lived far enough from civilization in Alaska that he was familiar with it, but that had been before, while he was still whole. Now he was uncertain – about what was out there and about his ability to protect himself. It wasn’t a feeling he was used to, and he didn’t like it at all. But still, he couldn’t seem to force himself to walk outside. So he shut the door, set the alarm, and returned upstairs. He folded and placed everything in neat piles along the wall before finally sitting on his bed, exhausted. He wanted to just let his body tilt and fall asleep, but he could almost feel the nightmare hovering behind him, phantom hands on his shoulders, its nails digging into his chest…

Leaping to his feet, he changed into sweats and a t-shirt, thick socks protecting his toes, and headed back downstairs. He wandered from empty room to empty room, hands clutching at his hair. Part of him wanted to go upstairs and lie down beside Nick, knowing that being around his friend would put these disturbing images and panicky feelings at bay.

But he couldn’t do that. He had to find some other way to handle it.

Finally, in desperation, he began to stretch, his mind reaching back to his daily Pilates exercises, dusting off the memories and relying on his body’s ability to reclaim its sense memory.

Eventually he lay on the floor, sweaty and shaking, each breath a little painful. Maybe he’d overdone it, but it had felt nice to just stop thinking and focus on each breath, each movement.

By the time he’d come to standing and had wiped his sweat off the floor, Monroe realized it was almost six o’clock in the morning. He barely made it to his bedroom before falling across the bed, instantly asleep.

Now he sat on the floor in the kitchen, leaning against the island. Cup of coffee in one hand, he read the note Nick had left by the coffee machine.

“Meeting with Hank early this morning to find out how he spent all my money.” Monroe smiled at the surprised emoticon following the sentence. “I’ll bring back breakfast. Don’t worry; I remember what you like. Use one of the notepads on the counter to write down everything else you can think of that we need. See you soon. N.”

Monroe stared at the paper, eyes roaming over Nick’s handwriting. For the first time, he allowed himself to feel the pain of losing his best friend two years ago. The loss and the guilt washed over him, tears spearing his eyes as he relieved the feeling of being alone. He’d been like a closed door, intentionally keeping himself apart from everyone before he’d met Nick, but Nick had forced his way through that door and into Monroe’s life, ushering in light and happiness and friends who’d become family. Because of Nick, Monroe began to ease out of his shell; because of Nick, Monroe’d found Rosalee.

And then faster than the flick of a lighter, the door splintered in a hail of fire and ash, and they were all gone – Juliette, Rosalee, Troubel, and even Nick in his own way. Once again, he’d been alone, but this time was so much worse, because he’d had so much to lose.

Warm liquid soaking through his sweats brought him back to the present, and he cursed under his breath when he realized that his shaking hands had spilled the coffee all over his lap. He tried to push himself up, his underused muscles complaining about the long workout he’d given himself earlier that morning. After a couple of aborted attempts – and an embarrassing slip on the spilt coffee – he managed to haul himself upright.

After a trip upstairs to change, and to grab a sweater, he diverted to the kitchen to clean and to pour himself a second cup of coffee before sitting outside with one of the three empty notepads and a pen. Less than ten minutes later, he was finished. A dark part of him was amused at his about face – four years ago, he’d had so much stuff that his stuff had stuff. Clocks and tchotchkes littered every available surface; he had multitude of trunks in the attic sorted by holiday. But now he realized how… useless it had been. In no time at all, everything had been reduced to ash. So what was the point of really caring about stuff if it could all just simply disappear?

He heard a key in the lock and smiled at Nick’s tentative steps toward the kitchen.

“I’m outside,” he called.

Nick’s head popped out the open door. “I thought you might still be sleeping.”

Shaking his head, Monroe asked, “What time is it?”

Nick blinked. “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you ask that.”

Monroe shrugged, unwilling to talk about his lack of desire in that area.

“It’s eight twelve,” Nick said. His eyes fell to the yellow notepad lying beside Monroe. “Great, you got my note! “I’ll be right back.” His head disappeared, and he returned a few minutes later balancing the other two notepads, a couple of bags, and a cup of coffee. Standing across from Monroe, he presented his gifts with a flourish. “I promised breakfast: mixed fruit – organic from MOM’s, and – ”

Monroe recognized the familiar bag. “Is that a Sweetpea bag you have in front of you?”

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Nick smiled at Monroe’s excitement. He knew they’d just bought all of those groceries, but he found himself wanting to surprise Monroe, to see the excited look on the Blutbad’s face. Nick even admitted to himself that he liked being the one who did it. Plopping the bag beside the fruit, he said, “I figured this would be a good way to start the day.”

“What’d you buy me?” Monroe pulled out the pastry and took a bite, missing Nick’s worried look. Normally, Monroe would’ve smelled the morning bun and the peach coffee cake Nick had gotten himself before Nick had even made it inside. “Mmm,” Monroe gushed, eyes closing in ecstasy, making Nick promptly forget about what he was thinking so he could focus all his attention on Monroe’s pleasure.

After a few seconds, Monroe returned to the present, frowning up at Nick. “Why’re you just standing there? Sit down. Eat.”

Nick dropped to the floor and pulled out his coffee cake. He took a large bite and closed his own eyes for a second. He hadn’t indulged like this in years, sticking with the coffee he’d grown used to drinking when he was still a cop. He could buy it in any grocery store and didn’t have to think about Monroe every time he drained a cup. And now here he was, sitting in what he considered their home, once again drinking the good stuff and eating something that hadn’t been processed, packaged, and shipped.

“So, how’d it go this morning with Hank? You still have a couple of coins to rub together?”

Nick smiled. It had taken them about ten minutes to wake up enough to be able to focus on the paperwork. Hank and Wu had worked the case the night before until they’d called a time out, and Hank’d stumbled home for about three hours sleep before meeting Nick at a diner near the station. Nick had spent the night in his empty bed listening to Monroe try to work himself into exhaustion. He’d wanted to force his friend into the bed and climb in behind him so they could both get some rest. He’d have probably done it without thought before, but now he hesitated, unsure of his place in Monroe’s life. They hadn’t talked about what had happened the night before. He didn’t want to push, but he knew they both slept better when they were together. Instead of saying anything, he just lay there, silently hurting for his friend.

Refocusing on Monroe’s question, Nick said, “I’m actually in good shape. Evidently, it’s a buyer’s market right now, and the owners had been trying to sell this for months. So Hank got a pretty good deal.” He shrugged. “I sold the other house a while back and got a good deal on it, investing most of the money. As long as I don’t go crazy and continue to work, I should be able to make the monthly mortgage payments without a problem. I haven’t really been using much of the money I’ve been making, so there’s also a fair amount for furniture and stuff.”

“Right. You’ve been living in a room in your office.” Monroe made a face.

Nick shrugged a shoulder, taking a sip of Monroe’s heavenly coffee. He shuffled so he could lean comfortably against the wooden railing and still face Monroe. He’d kicked off his shoes toward the door and curled his sock-clad toes against the cold wood. “I didn’t need anything else at the time.” He knew if he explained how he couldn’t bear to stay in the home he and Juliette made and how the idea of trying to create one for just himself was incomprehensible that Monroe would feel guilty, and it really wasn’t his fault. It had never been Monroe’s fault.

Monroe stared at his fruit cup, absently picking at it with his fork. Nick could tell he wanted to ask what had changed, but they both knew it had been Monroe’s return. Clearly, Monroe wasn’t ready for that conversation.

To be honest, Nick wasn’t ready for it either, at least not now that he was running on fumes. Changing the subject, he pointed to Monroe’s notepad. “How’s the list coming?”

“I’m finished,” Monroe said, handing it over. “I wasn’t sure how detailed you wanted me to get.”

In truth, Nick had hoped that Monroe would’ve written down color schemes, specific furniture ideas, anything that would show he was beginning to feel like this was his house too. Nick knew Monroe hadn’t forgotten that he’d only promised to stay here temporarily; Nick was angling for something a little more permanent, and he knew how tied Monroe was with the stuff in his home.

He couldn’t help the frown that settled over his face when he saw the small list with lines like “living room furniture” on them. He’d hoped that at least Monroe would’ve come up with an extensive list for the myriad of kitchen appliances that Nick loved to tease him about – but yet fully appreciated when Monroe used them. All he could find was a line for a crockpot and one for drying mats. “That’s it?”

“That’s all we really need. I bought a few pots and pans yesterday with the dishes. Maybe a skillet.” Monroe continued to avoid Nick’s eyes.

Nick couldn’t help but get the feeling that it was more than just Monroe not wanting to put down roots. “I was prepared to see a list pulled directly from the Williams- Sonoma catalog,” he said, only partly joking. He hadn’t been sure what to expect, but he knew he’d been hoping for something like that.

“It’s just stuff,” Monroe said, staring into the woods, a pensive look on his face.

“The living room has an echo. We need stuff.”

Monroe sighed. “There’s no point in buying something like a pizza maker when we can just make do with what we have.”

“But it’s worth it when you consider how much we love pizza.” Nick stretched out his leg and nudged Monroe’s hip with his foot, earning him a glare from the Blutbad.

“It’s just more one more thing to keep track of.”

And that’s when Nick heard the unspoken, “that we could lose”, and it all made sense. Monroe had lost everything when his house had burned down, all of his family mementos, his pictures. All of the Christmas and Halloween decorations that he’d lovingly put up every year – gone. No wonder he wasn’t interested in getting new things that could end up just as destroyed one day.

Nick couldn’t really say anything, since he had a filled storage unit he’d never visited. He slid over to sit beside Monroe, ducking his head until he caught the Blutbad’s eyes. “How about we just worry about the necessities, okay?” He took a small breath before continuing. “I actually still have the furniture from my old house, but I don’t –” He had to take a moment to gather his thoughts. “This is a new house; I want to fill it with new memories.”

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Monroe smiled, not trying very hard to hide his relief. He wasn’t ready to discuss why he wasn’t excited about filling up Nick’s house but had to give Nick credit for putting some of his own issues out there. “Maybe you should get an interior designer –”

Nick was shaking his head before Monroe could even finish. “I don’t want a showplace. I want to walk through the front doors, kick off my shoes, and drop onto a sofa. I want a place that feels like a home.”

Monroe almost said that the one thing he’d learned was that home wasn’t the stuff that filled it. Home to him now was Nick. Instead he asked, “What kind of furniture do you have in mind?” He could tell immediately that Nick had no idea.

“Umm, comfortable?”

Rolling his eyes, Monroe took a forkful of fruit and shoved it into Nick’s mouth, ignoring the muffled protest. “You know you need the fruit,” he muttered before returning to the subject at hand. “Maybe we should just go to Goodwill or the Salvation Army –”

“For once, I want to buy something new, something comfortable that will fit both of us. I want to be able to point out a sofa and then get it in whatever color I want.”

“You don’t even know what furniture you want, but you’re ready to choose the colors?” Monroe couldn’t help teasing before adding more seriously, “I’d suggest searching for ideas on the Internet, but we don’t have that yet.” He pointed toward the notepad still in Nick’s hand. “Flip to the next page.”

In addition to the small list on the first page, Monroe had created a list consisting of services needed, like cable and the Internet.

“I already have the Internet at work; I bet we can get some sort of package deal to add what we need here to the bill.” Nick pulled his phone out of his pocket and immediately called the company, setting up the earliest available appointment in two days – after whispering to Monroe to confirm that Monroe would be available and adding Monroe’s name to the account. That absolutely didn’t give Monroe an unexpected warmth in his chest. “That’s one thing – no two things – down.” Nick pulled a pen from behind his ear and scratched off the two items with a flourish. “But we do need to get some furniture soon,” he said, shifting again. “My ass is getting tired of the floors in this place, Pergo be damned.”

Monroe rolled his eyes, smiling faintly.

“We need at least a sofa, a few chairs, and a couple of dressers for our bedrooms.” He added a television and DVD player to his list. “Why don’t we start with that? Oh, and some furniture for out here. I have the feeling we’re going to be out here a lot.”

“It is nice,” Monroe agreed.

Nick’s phone rang, and he threw Monroe an apologetic look as he pulled his phone out of his pocket, standing with a small groan and leaning against the rail.

Wanting to give Nick at least some semblance of privacy, Monroe focused on his fruit salad. As soon as the strawberry exploded in his mouth – and seriously, where did they get strawberries in February? – Monroe groaned and closed his eyes, focused on the bright, fresh taste. How had he gone for so long without this? Most of his meals in Alaska consisted of meat – he’d had to give up his vegetarian ways out of necessity – with maybe a few veggies here and there. And then later… later they’d tossed drugged chunks of meat through the bars at him. He’d somehow buried memories of the delight in feeling a grape burst in his mouth, its delicate texture sliding against his tongue…

He opened his eyes when he heard his fork scrape against plastic, frowning as he looked down at the empty container. He looked up to find Nick staring at him, large grin on his face. “What?” Monroe asked, snatching up one of the napkins and wiping self-consciously at his beard.

“You were just enjoying the hell out of that fruit,” Nick said, laughing quietly.

“Yeah, well, it’s been a while,” Monroe muttered.

Nick’s face fell, and Monroe found he missed the smile more than the fruit. “I think that was the best fruit cup I’ve ever had,” he said, happy once he’d brought a small smile back to Nick’s face.

Waving the phone in his hand, Nick said, “I have an appointment at three with a bail bondsman I work with.” He suddenly looked exhausted.

“You look like you’re about to fall over. Why don’t you go take a nap?” Monroe suggested, worried. Truth be told, he could probably close his eyes and fall asleep right where he sat, but there was the whole nightmare thing to consider, so…

Nick said, “You’re not looking so bright eyed and bushy tailed yourself.”

Rolling his eyes at Nick’s choice of phrase, Monroe admitted, “Yeah, I didn’t sleep much last night.”

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Nick absently ran a weary hand over his face. “Yeah, I heard,” he said, immediately regretting his words when he saw a flash of guilt pass over Monroe’s face. “Why don’t we both take a nap?” He saw Monroe start to shake his head and added, “You’re not going to do yourself any good if you don’t allow your body to heal.” He reached down, his hand open and inviting, knowing that Monroe’s acceptance would mean more to him than it probably should. He blamed the sentimentality on his fatigue and focused on Monroe.

Sighing, Monroe took his hand and groaned as he rose. Nick took a second longer to enjoy the warmth of Monroe’s large hand enveloping his own before he let go and led the way up the stairs. They parted at the top and went into their respective rooms, and after he set the alarm on his phone, Nick lay down on the bed, suddenly wide awake. His mind still felt fuzzy, but he just didn’t feel… settled. They’d both left their doors open, so he could clearly hear Monroe shifting, and suddenly something in his mind snapped. He chucked off his jeans, replacing them with a comfortable pair of sweats, and shuffled over to Monroe’s room, knocking on the doorframe once but not waiting for a response before entering the room.

“Nick?” Monroe asked, sitting up.

“This is stupid. Scoot over.”

With barely a moment’s hesitation, Monroe shifted, and Nick lay down beside him. Immediately, his body seemed to lose all tension when he felt Monroe’s heat beside him. They lay there side by side, silently and awkwardly, until Nick rolled his eyes at them both, turned to his side, and wrapped his arm around Monroe’s waist. Angling his head so it rested in the crook of Monroe’s neck, he whispered, “Go to sleep.”

The last thing he remembered before sleep took him was Monroe’s shuddering breath as he sighed and pressed his hand against Nick’s arm.

The sound of the alarm on his phone gradually pulled Nick back into consciousness. He listened to it get continuously louder from his bedroom, but he was comfortable and didn’t particularly want to move yet. At some point, Monroe had turned toward him, hugging him close. Nick had shoved one leg between Monroe’s, and was gripping Monroe’s t-shirt in a fist between them. Having Monroe draped over him was a little strange, but it was a good kind of strange, one that he found he wanted to get used to feeling. He liked Monroe’s heat surrounding him, the puff of Monroe’s breath in his ear.

He knew exactly when Monroe was awake enough to realize that he’d practically wrapped himself around Nick. He’d expected Monroe to fling himself away, horrified, but instead feeling Monroe’s arms tightening slightly, bringing their bodies even closer, surprised him. He enjoyed the moment, allowing the hope to spread that maybe Monroe shared some of the same feelings. Eventually – too soon for Nick’s taste – Monroe’s grip lessened, and Nick sighed.

“Guess I better turn that off,” Nick muttered, running a hand over his face.

“Does it ever stop?” Monroe asked as he far too casually slid off the far side of the bed. Nick could see the question in his eyes, wondering if Nick had noticed the tightened grip.

Fairly certain that neither of them were ready for that conversation, Nick said lightly, “It continues to get louder until I turn it off.”

Monroe picked up his own phone from the windowsill and frowned down at it. “I don’t even know how to set my alarm.”

Nick laughed and rolled off his side of the bed. “I’m gonna go get that. Coffee?”

Monroe nodded. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

He headed into his own bedroom to turn off the alarm and grinned as he heard Monroe stop by the bathroom before heading downstairs. This whole thing – the house, Monroe – felt right. He threw on some jeans and a long sleeved t-shirt before taking his own turn in the bathroom and joining Monroe in the kitchen.

He’d just taken a sip of Monroe’s coffee when he heard, “You need to mark the place.” Looking up, he saw Monroe, his own coffee in his hand, staring out of the window into their woods.

“Umm, excuse me?”

“You know,” Monroe said, head tilting toward the window. “You need to mark your territory.”

“You said that earlier, but I just figured it was the rantings of a sleepy Blutbad.”

“Sooner would be better than later,” Monroe said. “Eventually, everyone’s going to know where the Grimm’s relocated.”

He was about to say, “There is no amount of beer that I could consume that could give me enough to mark over nine acres,” when he realized that it was a good way to start easing Monroe into feeling like he belonged. Casually he nodded. “I’ll buy a couple of cases of beer on the way home, and we’ll go for a walk. We can take turns.”

Monroe opened his mouth, probably to reject his participation, but Nick’s alarm went off again.

“I have to head out now or I’ll be late.” He poured the coffee into his travel mug – there was no way he was wasting any of this good stuff – and headed for the door. “Text me if you can think of anything else I need to pick up on the way home.”

Entry with links to each chapter

Chapter 8 here

Chapter 9

Monroe wasn’t really sleepy when he thumped up the stairs to his room – the second master bedroom, he thought rolling his eyes and fighting back a smile. He paused a moment at the top of the stairs when he felt a strange feeling in his chest. He frowned, pushing at it with his free hand, worried about maybe a heart attack or a stroke. Then he realized that it was… maybe happiness. Or relief? He hadn’t felt either in so long that he’d forgotten how they felt. He pressed down on his cane with more force than usual, taking the last few steps to his room.

Disrobing to his boxers and t-shirt, he lowered himself to the bed, ignoring the pull of a few muscles as he attempted to come to grips with the fact that he was back in Portland.

Back with Nick.

He began to panic. What if it happened all over again? What if this time instead of Juliette and Rosalee it was Hank and Wu?

He didn’t realize he was shaking and cold until he felt Nick slide in the bed behind him, whispering, “It’s okay,” wrapping his warmth around Monroe, pressing a hand against Monroe’s heart.

Monroe wanted to lie and say that he was okay. He wanted to pull away and ask Nick to leave him in peace. Instead, he pressed Nick’s hand against his chest as if he could permanently embed it into his skin. He gave a shuddering sigh, closed his eyes, sinking into a wave of contentment in minutes.


He wasn’t sure what time it was when he awoke, but he was alone. He ignored the disappointment, recognizing how awkward the morning after would’ve been, and slowly pushed himself to sitting. He was now covered in the blanket that had been folded at the foot of the bed, the clothes he’d just dropped the night before shoved underneath one of the windows. He chuckled at his first thought, that of course it wouldn’t have occurred to Nick to fold the clothes. He realized that Nick had probably only moved them so that he could close Monroe’s door.

Rubbing a hand over his face, Monroe slid back down the bed, pulling the blanket underneath his chin. Nick had held him last night. Nick had held him last night. Nick had held him last night. He wasn’t sure what to make of it. While he’d been recuperating, Monroe had felt Nick run a hand through Monroe’s sweaty hair, and the day before he’d pressed his forehead against Monroe’s. Nick had realized that Monroe needed help and had responded by comforting him physically. It hadn’t meant more than the times Nick had pressed his hands on Monroe’s cheeks to get his attention.

It had felt really good, though, Monroe had to admit.

He flashed back to when they’d found Holly. She’d been touch-starved, constantly hugging Monroe once she realized that he wasn’t a danger to her. At the time, he’d kind of figured it out, but he hadn’t really understood it. Now he got it. He’d wanted to press against Nick, fold the Grimm into him until they became one body. It was like he’d been withheld water, and Nick was an unending source suddenly there for the taking.

Only Nick wasn’t his for the taking. Nick wasn’t his at all.

Hearing a thump downstairs, Monroe knew he should get up. He just felt uncertain how to act in front of Nick. Should they talk about it? He really didn’t want to talk about it.

Finally he forced himself out of bed and donned his wrinkled clothes. He realized that he had nothing: no money, no clothes, not even a toothbrush. Thanks to that Drang-Zorn, Dante something, everything Monroe had owned had been reduced to ash. He’d learned his lesson that night as he stood in front of the ashes that had been his home. What was the point of cherishing possessions when they could be taken from you in the flick of a match? That was why Nick hadn’t found anything important in Monroe’s shelter in Alaska.

And it was a good thing he’d learned that lesson, because he’d have lost whatever he’d collected when the bad Grimm had kidnapped him. He hadn’t had to worry about anything left behind.

He was going to need money, though, for clothes and toiletries and rent – no way was he going to live in this house without reimbursing Nick.

The thought of returning to clockmaking made him nauseous. His shaking hands aside, he wasn’t sure that he still had the concentration, the care for detail anymore. Other than that, he didn’t really have any marketable skills, because playing a cello - which he couldn’t afford to buy in the first place - on the street for tips was not only a lame idea but also not a job. He’d have to come up with something fast.

He quickly handled things in the bathroom and headed toward the noises he’d heard.

He didn’t use his cane down the stairs but took it with him just in case. He’d gotten pretty steady, but all it took was one moment of disorientation, and he was flat on his ass, an undignified position to say the least. Besides, he liked his cane. Nick had found it in the woods around Lidiya’s home, trimmed off the excess branches, and sanded it somehow until it was smooth and solid in Monroe’s hands.

He found Nick in the bare living room staring out at the woods.

“Hey,” Nick said, turning around with an easy smile.

“Morning,” Monroe said a little gruffly, uncertain how to act around the man who’d held him all night.

“So I ran out….”

Nick continued to talk, but Monroe’s attention was diverted by the cup of coffee the Grimm was waving around as he spoke. “Is that coffee?”

Amused smile on his face, Nick asked, “Did you hear anything I just said?”

“Umm, you ran out, and you have coffee?” Monroe said hopefully.

Nick laughed. “On the island in the kitchen.”

Beside the to-go cup, Monroe found a small pile of toiletries. First things first, he decided, taking a sip and closing his eyes as he welcomed the familiar taste.

“I know it’s not one of your organic, specially-brewed-in-the-dark-jungles-of-Columbia brands, but I figured it could do in a pinch.”

Monroe couldn’t even remember the last time he’d actually drunk coffee, so at the moment, he was just thankful for the cup in his hands. “Thanks,” he said after a few seconds. He opened his eyes and glanced curiously at the pile.

“What I’d said earlier was that I bought you a few things to tide you over. Figured we could go out for some breakfast and pick up some clothes and whatever else we need.”

Feeling uncomfortable, Monroe cleared his voice. “I don’t really have any money right now, but –”

“Actually, you do,” Nick said, opening a drawer and pulling out a worn, brown leather wallet. “You left this in your car…”

Monroe took the wallet, the feel so familiar even after all this time. He felt pinpricks in his eyes and had to blink them away before opening it.

“I didn’t touch anything in it other than using your ATM card,” Nick said.

Monroe looked at him curiously, surprised to find Nick blushing slightly. “I forged your name on a power of attorney document so I could keep up with your money. You know, in case you ever needed it. Or something.” Nick faltered uncertainly at the end, his eyes sliding away from Monroe’s.

“Hey,” Monroe said, reaching out a hand and grasping Nick’s arm gently. “Thank you.”

Monroe had been so upset, so desperate to get as far away from Portland and its memories that he’d pulled out his cash before tossing his wallet, phone, and keys in his bug and took the first bus he could afford out of town. And while no one had voluntarily sat beside him, no one had really looked at him and his sooty clothes twice. After that, he’d caught rides with truck drivers, showering in various truck stops or wiping himself down in gas station bathrooms. That time was all a bit of a haze for him, since he’d spent so much of it trying not to just walk in front of a truck and end it all.

Even now, he wasn’t quite sure why he hadn’t done it those first couple of days. He hadn’t been able to sleep much, fought back tears that he knew would never stop if he’d gotten them started, and felt guilty for each painful breath.

And then he started to understand that his death wouldn’t fix anything. Rosalee, Juliette, and Trubel would still be gone, he and Nick would still be alone, Nick would still hate him. In fact, it actually seemed a little cowardly to end his life. No, he deserved the pain of opening his eyes every morning with the knowledge of what he’d done. Living became the only way he could even attempt a penance that could never be assuaged.

He blinked, returning to the present, marveling at the fact that he now had something he’d thought he’d lost forever – Nick standing in front of him, smiling, his eyes soft.

They returned to the living room, gazing at the trees in silence as they finished their coffee.

As much as he would’ve liked a shower, Monroe just did the best he could using the washcloth Nick had bought him. Just the idea of getting clean to have to put on the clothes he’d been wearing for the past who knew how many days made him feel even dirtier. But he brushed his teeth, washed his face again, and put on the deodorant. He also took off the bandages on his fingertips. It was a little awkward, but he finally managed it by using his teeth. After staring down at his toes, he decided to keep those bandages, at least until he bought a larger pair of shoes. He then headed downstairs, his wallet in the back pocket where he’d kept it years ago.

They headed into town, Monroe surprised at how quickly they arrived.

“It feels like we’re living in another world, but Hank was right. It’s not really that much of a commute,” Nick said before Monroe could even voice his surprise.

They stopped at a diner that Monroe didn’t recall seeing before, and he wondered if he’d just never noticed it or if it’d popped up while he was gone. He shrugged, realizing that it didn’t really matter, as he picked up the menu. Once he and Nick had placed their orders, Monroe asked, “So, what’s the plan?”

“I figure the most important things to get right now are clothes and food,” Nick said, absently playing with the paper from his straw. “My things are at the office, but we need to buy you some new stuff. Your driver’s license expired while you were gone, so we can’t get you a car until that’s taken care of. I let your insurance lapse too.”

Monroe nodded. No point in paying for something that wasn’t being used. “So for right now, clothes and food.”

They stared at each other in awkward silence. For the first time since their disastrous first meeting many years before, Monroe really felt uncomfortable around Nick. They knew each other too well for small talk (besides, they’d been in each other’s pockets for the past couple of weeks), and anything else was too emotionally dangerous to get into in a diner.

Monroe searched his mind for anything remotely innocuous to talk about and was relieved when Nick’s phone rang. He tossed Monroe an apologetic look as he answered.

“I’m sorry,” the waitress said to Monroe as Nick spoke on the phone. “We haven’t gotten our food shipment in for the day, so we don’t have any of the vegetables for your dish except for onions.”

Monroe sighed inwardly, welcoming himself back to civilization.

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“I’m sorry to intrude on your first full day back, but I thought you’d want to know,” Hank said apologetically.

“It’s fine,” Nick said, pulling out a pen and grabbing a napkin. It went unsaid that a Grimm’s work was never done, and frankly, he’d been gone longer than he really should have been, leaving Portland open to all sorts of Wesen misbehavior. “Give me the address.”

“We’ve already processed the place, and like I said, I’m not absolutely sure that it needs your particular expertise,” Hank said, obviously surrounded by other people. “So you don’t have to rush here. Finish eating, text me, and I’ll meet you.” He rattled off the address.

Nick repeated it for confirmation and said, “I’ll see you in an hour, tops.” He hung up just in time to watch Monroe slide from his side of the booth. “Where’re you going?”

“I’ll be right back. Just have to help out with something,” Monroe said with a slight smile.

Nick frowned, curious, but relaxed as the waitress gave him a refill, shooting him a quick smile before following Monroe into… wait, was he going into the kitchen? Nick leaned forward, watching Monroe speaking to a kid Nick assumed was the cook. Monroe started waving his hands around, but Nick could tell from his gestures that he was getting worked up in an excited way, like he did when he was talking about his clocks. Shrugging, Nick took a sip of his coffee, snagged Monroe’s napkin, and began making notes.

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“…and then you just spread it on top of the brown rice, and voila!” Monroe said, dividing the apples and onion sauté onto three plates.

“That was so easy,” Tony, the twenty-three year-old cook said, stunned. He took a bite from his plate. “And tasty!”

Monroe chuckled.

They’d had a moment at first when he realized that Tony was a Siegbarste, and Tony realized that Monroe was a Blutbad. It turned out that, like riding a bike, Monroe’s fast-talking was something that couldn’t be forgotten. He’d quickly explained that he was just there to help and that as far as he was concerned, they were just two dudes interested in making sure that none of the customers died of food poisoning.

After that, things got better, and Tony started opening up. Turned out his father, who owned the place, had forced him to take the cook’s job after the previous one had quit in a huff. Monroe was getting the feeling that it was one of those paternal attempts to teach his son responsibility. Personally, he’d have started with a waiting job, but Monroe wasn’t a father, so he decided he wasn’t in a place to judge.

Until he realized that beyond burgers and fries – which were both still kind of iffy – Tony was totally out of his element. So Monroe showed him a few things like how to multitask as the two waitresses shot orders at them. He also gave the kid a quick course on how to make Apples and Onions, a simple vegetarian dish using their available herbs and some the few fresh foods he spotted while they waited for their shipment. Monroe would’ve preferred fresh herbs as well but considered himself lucky that they had what he needed at all, if only dried in bottles.

Brenda had to run over to greet a couple of new customers, and Tony took the time to lean in and whisper, “It’s really tight back here. Sometimes I have a tough time concentrating on anything else.”

Monroe nodded, remembering that Siegbarstes as a general rule didn’t like feeling closed-in. “I know some breathing techniques that might be able to help…” He quickly ran through a brief breathing exercise and had time for Tony to try it a few times before Brenda returned with three new orders. After a panicked look from Tony, Monroe sighed, nudged Tony to the side, and threw a couple of hamburger patties on the grill.

Eventually, he handed the spatula back to Tony and grabbed his plate, leaving the kitchen as Brenda, his waitress, dug into the plate Monroe had made for her.

“Sorry about that,” Monroe said, sliding back into his seat and putting down his plate. “The poor kid –” He stopped, staring at Nick’s empty plate. “How long was I back there?”

“About twenty minutes,” Nick said, taking a sip of his water.

“Man, I’m sorry,” Monroe muttered.

“No, it was interesting watching you work,” Nick said with a smile. “Kind of like getting a show with my meal.”

Monroe grinned, digging into his food. He hadn’t realized he was so hungry, and Tony was right; he did make a mean Apples and Onions.

Nick pushed a napkin over to Monroe. “So I made a list of everything I could think of that you probably want to do over the next few days. I’m sure you’re going to have more you want to add and probably some you want to take off, but I figured it was a good starting point.” He tilted his head toward Monroe’s hands. “How are the fingers?”

Monroe had been trying to avoid looking at his hands. His fingertips looked strange without nails, and he could tell that Tony had been aching to ask what had happened when he noticed them as Monroe washed his hands before starting to cook. He shrugged, striving for nonchalance. “They don’t really hurt; they’re just really, really sensitive.”

“You think they’re going to grow back?”

Monroe paused, his fork in midair. “I hope so.” He didn’t say anything about the fact that he hadn’t been able to tamp into his Blutbad self, because he just couldn’t go there. Saying it out loud made it real.

Entry with links to each chapter

Chapter 6 here

Chapter 7

Monroe remembered little of the next few days. He and Nick had been placed in a hidden compartment underneath an old, rickety truck that had Monroe waiting for it to sigh its last breath and collapse on top of them. It was made to be roomy for one medium sized person, so Monroe and Nick had to shove in together to fit. Monroe had to fold his legs, his head bent at an awkward angle, and somehow Nick ended up behind him as the big spoon.

It wasn’t nearly as bad as he pretended.

There was something kind of soothing, actually, about having Nick’s arm around him, holding him close. When he concentrated, he could hear Nick’s heartbeat, so strong and sure that it seemed to envelope him, wrapping him in a safe little cocoon.

He’d just managed to doze off by the time the truck finally stopped, and after a lot of shuffling noises, Greta’s head appeared. They took a short tea break and then were escorted onto a dock, told to hold their breaths as they swam underneath some sort of boat before they climbed into yet another compartment. Monroe hated being submerged in the dark, cold water. But then Nick’s arms were around him once again, and he fell asleep almost immediately – about the time when he realized that those bastards had drugged his tea.

Buzzing noises filled his dreams, and a sense of wrongness made him open his eyes to find himself lying on a very comfortable sofa in a vaguely familiar airplane.

A sleeping Nick was reclined in one of the chairs across from him, and suddenly Monroe realized that it was the lack of Nick lying with him that made him feel like something was missing. However, he also realized that this provided an opportunity for Monroe to stare at the Grimm at his leisure.

Silver strands highlighted Nick’s temples, and Monroe frowned, wondering if they’d appeared as a result of his mistake years ago. He could also see faint impressions of small lines radiating from the corner of Nick’s eyes, the dark stubble of his beard. Monroe absently supposed Nick really hadn’t had time for a shave while they were smuggled back into the US. Even disheveled and exhausted, Nick was a welcome sight, one Monroe thought would only exist in his memories.

A movement across from Nick caused Monroe to jerk in surprise. He figured he must’ve still really been out of it if it had taken this long for him to notice the man sitting there staring at him.

The man looked like the few Alaskan Natives that Monroe had interacted with once he’d built his temple of solitude: long, black hair, slightly angled eyes. He wore what Monroe considered the unofficial uniform of the bush: flannel shirt, worn jeans, and western boots. Sure, sometimes the choice of footwear changed, Monroe himself preferred hiking boots, but the rest could be found in anyone’s closet.

The man smiled at Monroe and held up his hand, palm facing Monroe.

Monroe nodded back, relaxing slightly. He figured that if the man had meant them harm, he could’ve taken care of it while both he and Nick had been sleeping.

“They drug him too?” Monroe whispered, head tilting toward Nick.

The man didn’t even flinch at Monroe’s words. “I think it’s just exhaustion.”

“Where are we?”

The man looked at his watch. “About an hour away from Portland.”

Monroe’s stomach clenched. He’d moved away for a reason and couldn’t imagine how he was going to maintain his sanity once he started seeing familiar landmarks filled with memories… Just the thought of going to the grocery store where he and –

He quickly abandoned the memory. They hadn’t even landed yet, and he was being assailed with things he’d tried to bury.

Maybe it was good that he couldn’t tap into his wolf, woge and howl at the moon. He’d maintained control by removing himself from society and rebuilding his will, but returning to Portland was definitely going to send him into a tailspin. The last thing he wanted was to lose control, forcing Nick to take him down. He knew Nick still considered him a friend – it blew his mind each time he thought about it – and Monroe knew that forcing Nick to kill him might also end up being the final piece in the Grimm’s destruction. He didn’t want to be responsible for that; he didn’t want that to happen to Nick at all.

Nick had asked him to stay until he was able to fend for himself. Without the daily abuse inflicted upon him by the bad Grimm, Monroe’s body was healing nicely, leaving behind mostly just various scars. All he needed to do was grow back his fingernails, somehow stop the tremors, completely cut out the panic attacks, and he was free to leave. He just needed to focus on handling those three issues, keep his memories at bay, and stay out of everyone’s way, and he’d escape Portland. Right, no problem, he thought, sighing as he flopped back on the sofa and closed his eyes.

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Nick felt himself tilt along with the plane as it adjusted course, and he stretched luxuriously, enjoying the space and comfort of his seat.

“You’re gonna hate flying commercial after this.”

He opened his eyes and grinned at Darren, who sat smiling across from him.

“If I can’t go like this, I’m sticking to road trips, my friend.” He glanced over at Monroe, who looked like he hadn’t moved since they’d dragged him onto the plane, one arm over Darren’s shoulders and one over his, and eased him onto the sofa.

“He woke up once,” Darren said. “Wanted to know if you’d been drugged too.”

Nick smiled ruefully. “Monroe’s not one for water.”

“That explains the storage space on the boat,” Darren said, nodding.

The trip back had had a feeling of urgency behind it. Nick hadn’t asked why but had followed directions and helped a drowsy Monroe through it all. He’d managed to nod his thanks to Ca’Trena and give Meka a quick pat before they’d climbed onto the plane, and then they were on the last leg to home.

Home he thought, wistfully. Portland hadn’t really seemed that way for the past two years, but now that he had Monroe back… it suddenly felt right.

And then he remembered that he hadn’t had time to call anyone about their arrival, so he turned his attention back to Darren. “Is there a way I can make a call?”

“Your friends were contacted with your arrival time,” Darren said.

Once again, Nick was impressed. “Thanks,” he said. “For everything.”

Darren smiled and nodded just as the pilot asked them to prepare for landing.

Sure enough, Hank was leaning against his car, arms folded and ankles crossed, as they taxied to a stop.

“Those must’ve been some good drugs,” Nick muttered to himself when he saw that Monroe hadn’t roused. He grasped Monroe’s shoulder, and Monroe’s eyes opened instantly. “We’re here.”

“Terrific,” Monroe moaned, attempting to sit up, a feat he wasn’t able to accomplish until Nick released the two seatbelts Darren had jury rigged to keep Monroe from falling off the sofa during takeoff and landing. Once he was seated upright, Monroe took a good look around the plane. “This is what, a Bombardier Challenger 300?”

“Yep,” Darren said, standing close by in case Monroe needed help deplaning.

Nick couldn’t hide his surprise. “How did you even know that?”

Monroe arched an eyebrow, the most animated Nick had seen him over the last few days. “I have hidden depths.”

“I guess you do,” Nick said, holding back a laugh. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Actually, what are the odds that I could just live here?”

Nick saw the anxiety in Monroe’s eyes and knew that they had a lot to talk about. He probably should’ve forced the issue back in Russia, but part of him didn’t want to upset the Blutbad while he was healing. Of course, he also had to admit he was dreading the inevitable conversation. “Okay, so long story short. Your house is gone. Evidently, it was also on Dante Forn’s list.”

“Who’s Dante Forn?”

“That’s the name of the Drang-Zorn.”

Nick watched Monroe’s face as he processed the information, and he wondered absently if Monroe knew just how much he gave away with his eyes and his expression. He made a note to keep that information to himself; Monroe might actually consider it a liability and try to adopt a mask. No, Monroe was fine just the way he was.

“I guess we really didn’t know his name, did we?”

Nick shook his head. “We didn’t find out until after we identified his body.”

Monroe blinked a few times, his eyes refusing to meet Nick’s. “That’s another argument for me to just stay here, then.” He tried to smile.

“You’re going to stay with me,” Nick said.

Monroe’s eyes instantly widened in alarm, and Nick could tell he was still worried about the memories.

Nick reached out, grabbing Monroe’s knee. “I sold the house a long time ago.”

“Where – where do you live now?” Monroe’s guilt drenched his words.

“I’m not sure actually,” Nick said, smiling. He squeezed Monroe’s knee before standing. “C’mon. Hank’s outside waiting for us, and I’m sure Darren and the jet have some other people they need to save in, like, Guadalajara or someplace.”

Darren rolled his eyes and shook his head, but Nick could see the smile tugging to break free.

It took a lot of groaning, but Monroe was finally upright. “Man, I don’t even know what you put in that tea, but it packs quite a wallop.”

Nick shrugged, standing close to Monroe in case the Blutbad lost his balance. “It was Greta’s.”

“Of course it was,” Monroe muttered.

Nick had picked up on Monroe’s animosity toward Greta, and he couldn’t quite figure out the problem. He’d explained how not only did she help him with an unconscious Monroe, but she’d saved both their lives by killing the Grimm who’d tortured him. All the while, Monroe had nodded, but Nick could tell by his eyes that Monroe still didn’t like her much. But he was still polite when she came around, so Nick just let it go. After all, they probably would never see her again. “Let me give you a hand.” He stood, taking Monroe’s hand and pulling gently until the Blutbad stood beside him.

“What about our stuff?” Monroe asked, looking befuddled. Nick refused to think he was a little adorable like that. “Do we have stuff?”

“Just my wallet, cell, and this bag,” Nick said, holding up his small dufflebag and patting his jacket for the wallet and phone that Darren had returned him right before take off.

They descended the stairs slowly, giving Hank more than enough time to push off the car and stride toward them. “Welcome back,” he said, smiling as he grasped Nick’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. His eyes shot to Monroe, who was focused on the final few steps to the ground. “I see you found what you were looking for,” he said quietly.

Nick tilted his head. “A little worse for wear, but he’s doing much better than when we found him.”

“I can’t wait to hear about it,” Hank said, using that detective’s tone to show that it wasn’t a request.

Nick didn’t take offense. After all Hank had put up with, and all that he’d done for Nick – and Monroe – he deserved the story. Nodding, he looked at the car. “I’m surprised Wu didn’t show up too.”

“I wasn’t sure what to expect,” Hank said, head tilted subtlety toward Monroe, who was talking to Darren, “so I told him that we’d have dinner at your place this weekend after you had time to get your bearings.”

“I guess that means you found something?”

“It’s perfect,” Hank boasted. “If I weren’t such a kick-ass cop, I would’ve made a fantastic realtor.”

“Now I’m a little worried,” Nick said, grinning. “Let me just –” He gestured toward Darren.

“Take your time,” Hank said. “I’ll make sure there’s space in the backseat for Monroe to stretch out.”

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Monroe felt a little awkward as he held out his hand, his fingertips still bandaged, toward Darren. He’d only spoken to the man briefly on the plane when he’d awakened for that short time, but he had the feeling that the man had helped Nick track him down. “Umm, thanks?” He hated the way his voice had gone up at the end, making it more of a question than he’d intended.

Darren gave a small smile and shook his hand. Monroe suspected that his grip was way looser than usual, and he appreciated that. “Take care of yourself. And him.”

Monroe wasn’t sure what to say to that. It was obvious that Nick was more than capable of taking care of himself. Fortunately, he was spared having to respond by Nick’s appearance.

“Darren. It’s been a pleasure. Thanks for everything.”

“I’m glad it all worked out,” Darren said, shaking Nick’s hand firmly, confirming Monroe’s guess about his grip.

It took an awkward moment before Monroe realized that the two men needed to speak privately. “I, umm, I’ll be at the car,” he said, giving Darren one last smile before turning away.

He tried not to let his footsteps falter as he saw Hank. The last time they’d seen each other, Hank had heard Nick’s scathing words to Monroe and had turned Nick, leading him away from Monroe before the Grimm launched himself at the Blutbad. As he slowly drew closer, watching Hank slide the front passenger seat forward, Monroe found a thousand questions running through his mind. Had Hank blamed him for what had happened? Did he still blame him? What did Hank think of Nick’s risking himself to rescue Monroe? What did he think about Monroe’s return? Did he know about Nick’s decision to have Monroe live with him?

“Welcome back,” Hank said, closing the door and reaching out his hand.

Monroe wasn’t sure if he hid his relief as he read only concern and welcome in Hank’s eyes. He reached for Hank’s hand.

“Whoah,” Hank said, hand shooting back.

Blinking, Monroe wondered if maybe he’d misunderstood.

“Your hands look a little well worn,” Hank explained, reminding Monroe of his bandages.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Monroe said awkwardly.

“If you say so,” Hank said, obviously not buying it. He stepped forward, taking Monroe by the arm. “Why don’t we get you in the back so you can stretch out.”

Monroe wanted to say that he didn’t need to be coddled, but it sounded ungrateful even in his mind. So he walked with Hank to the car and let the man get him settled. He’d just managed to pull his cane in behind him before Hank closed the door, turned, and asked, “We ready to go?”

“We’re good,” Nick replied, getting into the passenger seat.

Hank started the car, and Nick turned partially in his seat so he could face Monroe. “So I called Hank after we’d gotten you to Lidiya’s and asked him to buy us a house.”

Monroe frowned, wondering if he were still suffering from the tea’s side effects. Damn that Greta, he thought briefly before saying, “I thought I just heard you say that you asked Hank to buy you a house.”

Nick rolled his eyes, a shamefaced grin on his face. "Us. And I did. See..."

“Nick was living in the back room of his crap-hole of an office,” Hank interjected, confusing Monroe even more.

“When did detectives get their own offices? Wait – did you get a promotion or something?”

Monroe watched Hank and Nick share a look he didn’t understand.

“I’m not a cop anymore.”

Monroe felt like someone had punched him in the chest. He knew how much Nick loved being a cop, how hard he’d fought to continue after he’d become a Grimm. “But you – ” He stopped, realizing when it all had to have gone down. Maybe Nick had been blamed for everything and they fired him. Maybe he’d been forced to quit in a haze of guilt. He closed his eyes, trying to gather his thoughts. Part of him really wanted to know what had happened, but he knew that if he asked and learned that it was because of him, he wasn’t going to be able to even look at Nick again, much less stay at his house. How could he handle knowing that he’d taken even more from Nick that he’d realized?

“Monroe.” Nick’s voice was firm.

Monroe just shook his head, eyes closed. This was why he left. He’d destroyed so much.

He felt pressure on his leg and knew it was Nick, reaching back.

He heart started to thump heavily, and he wanted to escape, to let the wolf take over, but… it wasn’t there. Monroe looked inside himself and only found an empty chasm. His head started to spin, the heavy boom boom boom of his heart sending heat into his face, and he was lost, confused, directionless. He gasped, trying to draw in air, but found the more he tried, the less he could breathe…

Entry with links to each chapter

Chapter 4 here

Chapter 5

Nick sat in the wooden chair, thankful for the floral cushion on the seat. He rubbed his eyes, wondering absently what time it was, what day it was. It didn’t really matter, and his few words in Russian didn’t extend far enough for him to ask Lidiya – or understand her answer.

Monroe had been in and out of consciousness since they’d pulled up in front of Lidiya’s house. The woman hadn’t seemed surprised, simply held open the door and gestured toward the now-unoccupied bedroom that had previously housed Ylena. Monroe’s one unswollen eye had opened, rolled around a bit, and then closed. Nick had hoped he would stay unconscious until they had him settled, but leave it to the Blutbad to make everything more complicated. They hadn’t even gotten him to the door before he started thrashing about. Because of his size, he was already a challenge. Greta had one leg, Lidiya had the other, and Nick held Monroe underneath his armpits as they struggled through the small house. By the time they’d gotten him in the bed, all of them were sweating and breathing heavily.

Lidiya had tried to push them out of the room, but Nick refused to go at first. He didn’t realize until he’d been shoved out the door and pushed back onto the sofa in the living room that he was exhausted. Whatever fumes he’d had left had been used just to get Monroe into that damn bed.

Greta pushed a cup of dark liquid into his shaking hands, and he took a sip. He wasn’t quite sure what it was, but it was warm and sweet and went down easy. “This is good,” he muttered to her once he’d finished most of it. He wanted to look at her and thank her for the drink, but he couldn’t seem to raise his head.

“Finish.” Greta’s hand came into view as she gently tilted the cup, forcing him to drain the contents before she took it from him and put it on the coffee table. She pushed him until he fell sideways and picked up his feet one at a time, unlacing the boots and taking them off before laying them on the sofa.

“I need to… Monroe,” he said faintly, but his eyelids felt so heavy.

“Sleep.”

Suddenly he wanted to tell her so many things, things like thank you for everything you’ve done and you’re such a badass that I’d totally make a pass at you if I weren’t focused on Monroe and don’t think I don’t know that you spiked my tea.

He shot up on the sofa, looking around him wildly. The flames in the fireplace were low, leaving most of the room in shadow, but he could tell that he was alone in the room. He tried to figure out what had awakened him when he heard a low growl and ran into the bedroom to find poor Lidiya grabbing at Monroe’s waving arms.

“Monroe!” Nick ran to the free side of the bed, grabbing Monroe’s wrists. He kept talking to the Blutbad, first having to raise his voice over the snarls and growls but growing quieter as Monroe slowly began to calm. He continued to repeat himself, telling Monroe that it was okay, that he was safe now, until Monroe finally lay still. Eventually, Nick grew silent, but he kept his hands planted firmly on Monroe’s wrists.

After a few minutes, Monroe opened his good eye. Nick finally let go and walked around so Monroe could see him without having to crane his neck. He plopped into the chair but leaned forward. “You’re safe now.”

Monroe blinked, looked at him, blinked again. “You’re not… you’re not real.” His voice was so quiet and raspy that Nick had to listen carefully.

“I’m really here.” Nick reached forward, pressing a hand gently over Monroe’s bruised chest.

“But you hate me.” The look on Monroe’s face, an acceptance mixed with pain and confusion, tore at Nick’s heart.

“I never hated you.”

Monroe snorted.

Nick couldn’t help the small smile at the familiar sound. “I was angry for a moment, but I shouldn’t have directed it at you. You were just the only one there. It wasn’t fair.”

“It was my fault,” Monroe said, shiftng a bit and hissing, his eyes closing.

“Let’s get you a little better first,” Nick suggested, “then we’ll talk more.”

Monroe’s eye started to close, but he forced it open again. “You’ll be here?”

“Promise,” Nick said, watching Monroe drop his guard and fall back asleep.

When they’d laid him on the bed, they’d had to come up with a way to keep him on his side since both his back and front were bruised and bleeding. They’d propped him with pillows, most of which he’d squashed as he’d been thrashing about. Lidiya, who’d stepped aside after Nick’s arrival, had mixed some sort of poultice, once again using the top of the dresser as her counter. Through gestures and just plain guesswork, Nick was able to help her smear the foul-smelling stuff over the heavily bruised muscles in Monroe’s lower back and additional bruising over his body. She had a totally different – yet equally foul smelling – concoction for the many varied needle marks they found all over Monroe’s body. They dabbed generous amounts of it over each of his fingerbeds and toebeds, wrapping a small cloths over each one. The third cream, which actually didn’t smell that bad – although by the time they’d started to use it, Nick didn’t know if it would have seemed more pleasant without the comparison of the other two medicines – was used for the whip marks, cuts, and the skin that was rubbed raw.

They eventually finished, Monroe now lying on his other side. Nick moved the chair to the other side of the bed and sat, making himself comfortable for a long wait.

Lidiya picked up his arm and pulled him toward the other room, but he pointed to Monroe and shook his head. She let go, using both hands to mime eating, and grabbed his arm again. Nick was about ready to resist again when his stomach growled loudly, eliciting a smirk from Lidiya that had Nick sighing and following her out of the room.

She shooed him toward the sofa as she headed for the fireplace. Nick took the time to fold up the blanket he’d knocked to the floor on his way to the bedroom and rest it on the arm of the couch, sitting down just as Lidiya stood in front of him with a large bowl of stew. Giving her an apologetic smile when his stomach grumbled again, he said, “spaceebah” as he took the bowl.

He wasn’t sure if it were the hunger talking, but it was the best stew he’d ever tasted. “If that’s how good you are cooking over a fireplace, I can’t imagine how fantastic you’d be with an actual stove,” Nick said around a mouthful of food.

Lidiya smiled, even though it was obvious she had no idea what he was saying. He smiled back and focused on his food.

He was scraping the last of the stew from the side of the bowl with a large piece of bread when the door opened. Nick’s sudden tension eased when he recognized Greta underneath the winter gear.

“How are you feeling?”

“Much better, thanks. But don’t think I’ll forget about your drugging my tea.”

She shrugged, pulling off her coat and hanging it up by the door. “You need to keep up your strength to help your man heal.”

“Speaking of which, how long can we stay here?”

Greta smiled her thanks at Lidiya, who handed her a large mug, before saying, “In six days, we will smuggle you both back into Alaska.”

“Is our being here dangerous for Lidiya?” As much as he appreciated her help, Nick didn’t want to cause the woman trouble.

Greta nodded. “We will make sure she remains safe. I will return in a few days. Do you need anything before I depart?”

Nick had been mulling over a few things that had perhaps been lurking at the back of his mind, waiting until he’d found Monroe alive. “I need to contact a friend back home. Can you help with that?”

G R I M M              G R I M M              G R I M M              G R I M M              G R I M M              G R I M M

Monroe opened his eyes, confused about pretty much everything. He’d had strange dreams, even stranger than when he’d first been captured. These dreams weren’t filled with accusatory eyes and harsh words and didn’t contain additional pain. In these, he was warm and dry, any pain soothed. He felt comforting hands on his forehead instead of the stinging whips against his back. Instead of needles being shoved into his arm and tainted meat thrown into his cage, he was covered in soft blankets and handfed warm, flavorful broth. “Maybe I’m dead,” he said, his throat still raw.

“I should hope not, considering how hard we’ve worked to keep you alive.” Nick walked into view, sitting down on a chair beside Monroe’s bed.

Looking into Nick’s eyes, Monroe didn’t see any anger or judgment. Dream then, he decided.

“I’m real,” Nick said, correcting Monroe’s silent deduction.

“No –” Monroe started.

Nick pressed a hand against Monroe’s. “I’m really here. I’m not a dream, and I don’t hate you.”

Monroe shut his mouth, trying to figure out what was going on.

“We’ve had that conversation a few times in the last couple of days,” Nick said, smiling faintly.

“The last couple of days?” Monroe tried to look around, but all he could see from his side was a dresser wedged into the corner. “Where are we?”

“Somewhere in Russia.” Nick shrugged. “Damned if I know where exactly.”

“Whose house?”

“A Reinigen healer named Lidiya. She doesn’t speak English, is as old as the hills, and has limitless patience.”

Monroe felt his eyes falling shut but forced them open. He had so many questions and wasn’t ready to fall back asleep yet.

Nick gave him a knowing look. “You need your rest.”

“Not yet.” Monroe shifted slightly, feeling aches and twinges all over his body.

Nick rose, adjusting pillows and helping Monroe lie gently on his back. “You probably should stay on your side until your back heals a little more.”

“It’s okay.” Monroe’d had enough injuries in his life to know how careful he had to be with himself. He stared up at the ceiling, realizing that his depth perception was better than before. He reached up, momentarily distracted by the bandages on each of his fingertips, before touching the eye that had been swollen closed the last he remembered. “Hey, it’s back!”

“Was it planning on going somewhere?”

Monroe had missed Nick’s gentle sarcasm. “I thought maybe the bad Grimm had blinded me.” He saw Nick’s small smile disappear. “But, I mean, he didn’t, because look. I can see with both eyes.” He opened them wide.

Nick rolled his own eyes and sat back in the chair. He closed them for a moment with a sigh, and Monroe could see the dark circles underneath his eyes, even more pronounced due to his unhealthy pallor.

“You don’t look so good. Maybe you should get some sleep?”

Nick huffed a laugh, rubbing his hands over his face. It wasn’t a happy sound, and Monroe braced himself. “For the past two years, every time I try to sleep, I see your face.”

Monroe blinked. He’d expected anger and blame, wouldn’t have been that surprised if Nick had come at him physically. But this...

Nick eyes stared at the floor, so he didn’t seem to notice. “Every time I close my eyes, I see the way you looked that night, when I said what I did.”

“Nick…”

“No, Monroe.” Nick leaned forward, eyes so intense that Monroe couldn’t look away no matter how much he wanted to do it. “I blamed you for maybe five seconds, and that’s only because you were a convenient target. It wasn’t fair –”

“It was my fault!” Monroe tried to push himself upright, but his body’s protests and the pain in his hands overruled him.

“No it wasn’t!” Nick stood forcefully, almost upending the chair, and began pacing. “You just left! You didn’t give me a chance to apologize!”

Monroe’s eyes tracked Nick as the Grimm paced the short distance at the foot of the bed. Not for the first time, he was at a loss. He’d only make Nick angrier if he said that he wasn’t the one who was owed the apology. “I don’t know what you want from me, here.”

Nick stopped and stared at Monroe for a few unsettling seconds. “I want you to come home with me.”

Monroe closed his eyes and dropped his head so that it hit the wall behind him. He pictured all of the memories he’d left behind, all of the places… and he felt his heart begin to thud. “I can’t go back.”

“Monroe –”

“There’s nothing there for me anymore!”

Nick clenched his hands into fists. He wanted to yell, “I’m there!” But he wasn’t really sure that he had the right. Once upon a time, they’d been good friends. They’d shared their lives, even saved each other from being attacked by each other’s parents a time or two. They’d fought back to back. But now… now his guilt was making him angry. Not at Monroe, never again at Monroe. “Where’re you gonna go, then? Back to that shed in Alaska?”

Monroe frowned, absently picking at the blanket with his bandaged fingers.

“Look.” Nick slid the chair as close to the bed as it could go. He sat in it and laid a hand over one of Monroe’s. “Just come back with me until you can fend for yourself. If, after that, you still want to leave, I won’t stop you.”

“Like you could,” Monroe muttered.

Nick risked a small smile. “I could totally take you.”

Snorting, Monroe said, “Well, sure, now.” He waved his free hand. “I’ve been declawed.”

Nick frowned, taking Monroe’s hand in both of his, feeling the strength in the fingers despite all they’d been through. “Will they grow back?”

“I hope so. He actually, um, took off everything, but Blutbads regenerate to a certain degree, so… I guess we’ll have to wait and see.” He paused a moment. “Um, maybe I could have my hand back?”

Nick let go quickly, trying not to flush. He’d gotten so caught up in the moment that he’d forgotten their boundaries for a second.

“I’ll let you get your rest.” He stood and headed for the door.

“Nick?”

Nick turned, finding Monroe lying back down, blinking owlishly at him.

“Thanks for saving me.”

Nick smiled, probably the first real one in over two years. It felt a little strange. “Anytime.”


Entry with links to each chapter

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

As his body bounced around the back of the truck in the darkness, Nick found himself actually thankful for the blankets hiding him. He was just tired enough to be able to fall into a slight doze from time to time, only to be awakened by a harsh jolt when one of the wheels fell into a particularly deep hole. Judging by the feel, they’d left the paved road less than five minutes after they’d started, and they’d had to have been on the road for at least half an hour.

As his mind started to grow fuzzy, he reflected on the past twenty-four hours.

They’d conducted the interviews first, where he wasn’t surprised to find that although Monroe had done his best to keep to himself, he couldn’t not be Monroe, so pretty much everyone had a story where he’d helped them in some way. A teenager out joyriding in her father’s car had gotten a flat tire, and Monroe had just appeared, changed her tire, then disappeared without a word. In one of his forays into the mercantile, he’d helped the shopkeeper put product on a high shelf, again without much discussion.

After the interviews, they’d climbed onto snowmobiles – which were evidently called snow machines in Alaska – and headed out to Monroe’s shack, which actually looked slightly more stable in person than in the photographs. Nick couldn’t help comparing the stark wooden structure to Monroe’s former house with all of the clocks and tchotchkes that Nick had come to equate with the Blutbad. It might’ve fit the definition of a house – barely – but it definitely wasn’t a home.

Darren had gotten a call on a satellite phone he’d somehow stashed away in one of his coat’s voluminous pockets as they’d trekked out to the site where they’d determined Monroe had been attacked. As usual, he didn’t say much, just grunted out a hello, listened for about a minute, grunted again, and ended the call. “We caught a break. A woman claimed your man rescued her after she’d been kidnapped.”

“Is he okay?”

Darren shrugged. “We need to get you over there so you can find out.”

Nick paused at that. “Over where?”

And that’s when the true trek began. Ca’Trena drove them to nearby – a relative word in Alaska it turned out after the hour-long drive – Kotzebue, where they hopped on different snow machines and followed the water until they reached a boat bobbing beside a small dock hidden along the bank. Darren stepped up to a man, the captain Nick assumed, while Ca’Trena led Nick inside the small cabin.

“Have you ever been scuba diving?” She asked, opening one of a pile of boxes.

“A couple of times in college during spring breaks,” he admitted, remembering just how young and carefree he’d been then. It felt like another lifetime.

Ca’Trena nodded. “Good. Get undressed.”

“Everything?”

She nodded. “Everything.”

Nick didn’t have time to think about the fact that he was buck naked in front of a woman whose last name he didn’t know, because she was already tossing clothes at him, instructing him on how to put them on, throwing around terms like “dry suit” and “cold water regulator”. As she finished helping him dress, instructing him on the equipment, he slowly began to realize that he was being prepped for some sort of arctic cold water dive.

He’d been comfortable just going along for the ride, but this was starting to get serious. He stopped everything and looked at Ca’Trena, waiting until he had her full attention. “I need to know what’s happening. Now.”

Her eyes flittered around his face for a moment before she nodded. “Wait here.” She left the cabin.

Less than a minute later, Darren stepped inside. “Okay. The woman who claims your man rescued her is in Russia, which just happens to be right across the water. Our guy is going to take you over, but you’re going to have to hold on and float underwater.”

Nick frowned.

“Look,” Darren said, “we could go through the process of obtaining the required visas to go into Russia as well as trying to explain your need to venture deep into the parts with absolutely no tourist interest, but it’ll only arouse suspicion, and by the time you actually made it to your destination, your man would probably be dead. Do you even have your passport with you?”

Nick couldn’t really argue with that. Much. “I don’t speak Russian.”

“You’ll have an English speaking contact waiting for you on the other side,” Darren said.

So far all of Renard’s contacts had been absolutely reliable, so Nick wasn’t about to second-guess them now. “Okay. When do we leave?”

Darren unrolled a piece of paper, pressing it flat against a desk shoved in the corner of the small cabin. He placed a book on the top of the paper and another on the bottom to hold it flat.

Nick moved in for a closer look. “Is this a diagram of the boat?”

Darren nodded, pointing to a small hook underneath the back – the stern – of the boat. “This is where you’ll be holding on while you sail across the Strait. Stay quiet and out of sight until you’re given the all clear.”

“And what’s that?”

Darren shrugged as he gathered the boxes and Nick’s clothing. “It’ll be something obvious. Don’t worry.”

Nick was entrusting his life to an unknown captain who was going to smuggle him into a communist country while he was underwater in unfamiliar scuba diving gear in arctic conditions. Yeah, he thought wryly, no need to worry at all.

But it had all gone just as Darren had explained. Nick had gotten into position, mentally adjusting himself to the claustrophobic conditions of the absolute darkness, and allowed the boat to pull him gently across what he’d come to realize was the Bering Strait. He had no sense of time – it could have taken thirty minutes; it could have been two hours – but eventually the boat slowed and then stopped. Nick felt the boat bump gently against what he figured was another dock, but he waited for the mysterious sign. Finally he saw a flash of light flicker on and off in, what he quickly realized, was Morse code. Thankful for the summer in elementary school when he and a neighbor had learned it to send messages to each other, he recognized the all clear and swam to the edge of the boat. Arms reached out for him, pulling him onto the deck.

He was quickly pulled out of his gear, rubbed down so briskly that he wondered if he’d lost a layer of skin, and shoved into what seemed like three layers of clothing before a coat, hat, mask, gloves, and warm boots were piled into his arms. He donned those final items and was pushed onto the back of a snow machine. He’d barely wrapped his arms around the person in front of him before they were off.

Eventually, they’d stopped beside a truck, and he’d been loaded into the back and had piles of blankets tucked around him just before the truck began jostling its way deeper into Russia.

So here he was, muscles aching and sore, butt bruised from the rough terrain, but surprisingly warm and focused. He realized he wasn’t sure of what to expect when they finally reached their destination, so he needed to make this time count. Wiggling to make himself more comfortable, Nick closed his eyes, determined to rest while he could.

G R I M M     G R I M M     G R I M M     G R I M M     G R I M M     G R I M M

Initially, Monroe had been surprised and quite disappointed when he’d only been beaten for a short amount of time before being thrown into a cage with a functioning lock a few feet down from his original. But as he listened to the commotion, he realized that everyone’s focus seemed to be on finding the Fuchsbau. He hoped that she’d been able to get away, but he knew the odds didn’t favor a pregnant female who probably had no idea where she was against trained guards. He decided he had done what he could, and he had to let the anxiety go. Of course, he continued to lie there and listen, because really, he had nothing else to do.

Eventually, they came back for him. He wanted to ask if they’d found her, but he and the guards never spoke. In fact, he’d never heard any of the guards speak at all.

They led him to a new room, which piqued his interest slightly. He’d become accustomed to the dungeon with the chains dangling from the ceiling close enough to the wall so they could chain him steady if they didn’t want his body swinging as they abused him. And then there was the room with the four large tables where they strapped him down as the Grimm took samples and injected him with things that made Monroe’s blood feel like it was on fire.

This new room felt almost cozy by comparison. One end held a large fireplace with flames so high that Monroe could feel the warmth as soon as he shuffled through the door. There wasn’t much by way of furniture: a large chair with straps toward the center of the room, a small table holding a few items a few feet away.

“You’ve caused me so much trouble,” a voice sighed, and Monroe saw the Grimm walk around the chair and saunter up to him.

The man was wiry, like Nick, designed to look harmless but whose body harbored a strength that Monroe had seen firsthand. But where Nick’s face showed a kindness and strength of character, this Grimm was all sharp angles and hard, crazy eyes. Monroe had recognized the look; they were the eyes of a fanatic. He sported a thin goatee, his hair in a buzz cut. He always wore a buttoned-up grey physician’s coat whenever he saw Monroe, and back when he’d first arrived, during one of his more delirious moments, Monroe had wondered what kind of look the man liked to rock during his free time.

Now Monroe’s insides clenched whenever he saw the man, smelled the man, or even saw that stupid, stupid grey coat. All that this Grimm was could be narrowed down to one word: pain.

“You owe me, Blutbad,” the Grimm said, his accented voice still perfectly even, like always. “You owe me for the inconvenience, for the waste of time, for ruining my research!”

That last word was said with such malice, through clenched teeth, that Monroe hazarded looking up from the floor. He hadn’t expected to see the Grimm so angry, face red, eyes wild. While a part of him became very afraid, another part was kind of glad that he’d finally managed to break through the man’s iron-clad control.

The Grimm tilted his head toward the large, wooden-backed chair, and the next moment, Monroe found himself seated on it, ankles, thighs, hips, wrists, biceps, upper body, and forehead strapped to the thick wood.

The Grimm walked into Monroe’s line of sight, syringe in his hand, control regained. “You weren’t supposed to be able to access any part of your wolf, and yet –” He raised his free hand and bent his fingers like claws. “You shouldn’t have had the strength to break out of your cage, much less help something else escape.” He shoved the needle into Monroe’s arm and depressed the plunger.

Monroe was used to the heat that traveled throughout his body, but this was slightly… different. He found himself sweating on the outside, cold on the inside, the fire licking through his veins. His body began to shake, and suddenly the pain was everywhere. He opened his mouth to scream, but something was shoved into it, almost choking him.

“You have to pay,” he dimly heard the Grimm say in his ear, “and I’m going to enjoy taking my time.”

He should’ve just run out naked into the snow and let the elements kill him, Monroe thought as his head strained against the strap keeping it still.

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Nick awoke slowly, first discovering that he’d finally managed to fall into a fitful sleep during the rough ride and finally realizing that the truck was still and silent. He fought out of the blankets and slowly edged around the large crates, on the alert for any kind of danger. He looked out at the snow and wondered, not for the first time and probably not the last, where the hell he was. After he was reasonably sure there wasn’t anyone around the vehicle, he slid out of the truckbed, keeping his back against the metal as he slid to the front and felt the cool hood. He reminded himself that a cold engine in this weather didn’t really tell him much as he peered into the empty cab.

He stood there for a few minutes, trying to decide on his next course of action, until he realized that he’d been staring directly at what looked like a door. At first glance, it seemed like weeds had grown over a tree, the snow blanketing everything. But upon closer inspection, he saw details that weren’t found in nature without a little assistance.

The door opened, and a beautiful dark-haired woman stepped out. She nodded at Nick, jerked her head toward the inside, and disappeared back inside, leaving the door slightly ajar.

Nick trod through the knee-high snow and entered the room, feeling warm tendrils running through the layers of his clothes to reach his body before he even closed the door.

“About time you woke,” the woman said, hunched over a large fireplace as she spooned something from a large pot into a bowl. “I was about to come get you.” Her voice contained a thick, Eastern European sounding accent, but Nick could understand her clearly. “Take off your coat and put it on the hook by the door. Your shoes go on that carpet underneath.”

He followed the woman’s directions and turned to find her holding out the bowl. “Stew. It is good and hearty.” A smile touched her lips briefly as she said, “I did not make it.” She gestured toward a flowered sofa. “Sit and eat.”

Nick sat and realized he had no idea how long it’d been since he’d eaten anything. His stomach rumbled loudly, announcing its displeasure, so he dug in, finding that it was indeed very tasty. “I’m Nick,” he offered.

“Greta,” the woman said, sitting in a matching chair across from the sofa. Leaning forward, her arms resting on her thighs, her hands dangling between her knees, she said quietly. “We do not have much time. You have questions about your man. I will take you to the Fuchsbau as soon as she is ready and will translate for you. However in,” she looked at her thick watch, “sixty eight minutes, we will be raiding the location where she last saw your man. We have much to do before that happens.”

Nick found himself with many questions, but a door inside the cabin opened, and a tiny woman scuttled out. Her back was hunched over, her gnarled hands holding a large bowl filled with rags, a scarf over her head. She looked up, saw Nick, and smiled, her wrinkles adjusting to the new expression.

Nick smiled back, mentally counting the three teeth he saw. It only took a second longer for her to woge, and he recognized her rat-like features. So, she was a Reinigen. He held up his hands and tried to look friendly. After a few seconds, her startled look became thoughtful as she moved through the living room and into the kitchen. He wanted to say something to her, but he didn’t know if Greta knew he was a Grimm, or even if she knew anything about the Wesen world.

“That is Lidiya,” Greta told him. “She is taking care of Ylena, the woman who claims to have seen your man.”

Nick perked up at that, setting his empty bowl on the coffee table in front of him as he stood. “Can I talk to Ylana?”

Greta spoke rapidly to Lidiya, who answered from the kitchen. “Lidiya says that Ylana just needs one more moment to become decent, and then we can see her.”

Nick looked back at the door Lidiya had closed moments before. “She’s actually here?” He couldn’t believe he didn’t have to don more winter gear and maybe hide on top of a big rig to get to her.

Greta gave one of her faint smiles and stood, calling out something in Russian.

A woman’s voice responded from behind the closed door.

Lidiya scuttled through the living room and slipped into the room, holding up one finger to Nick, who sighed and sat back down. “You said you’re raiding the place where they’re holding Monroe. Why?”

“We have been investigating this man for his crimes, but until now, we have never gotten proof. No one who enters his land –” she stopped and stared at him a moment.

“No one who enters has ever left alive,” Nick said.

She nodded, her eyes a little sad. “Until Ylana.”

Fear washed over him for a moment, but he brushed it aside. Monroe was still alive. He knew it. And hopefully this same time tomorrow, Nick would have him safely hidden in some sort of transport ready to be smuggled home.

Lidiya’s voice came through the door, and Greta tilted her head toward the room.

Nick stood, absently wiping sweaty hands on his thighs before opening the door. The room was filled with soft colors, the bed and curtains all gentle purples and pinks. The only three items in the room – a dresser, a large bed, and a chair – filled up the room without making it feel too crowded.

Nick took all of this in in seconds before focusing on the Fuchsbau lying in the bed, sleeping baby cradled in her arms. He’d always found the Fuchsbau one of the prettier Wesen he’d encountered, and Ylena – while not as pretty as Rosalee – was still quite fetching in the second she woged. She didn’t seem surprised he was a Grimm, so he supposed that was the reason Lidiya had rushed back inside a few seconds earlier.

Lidiya stood by the dresser, using the top to store her supplies as she mixed some sort of concoction, and Greta pressed Nick into the chair beside the bed. He smiled at the Fuchsbau, who tentatively smiled back at him. “Ylena, I’m Nick, and I’m looking for a very good friend of mine. You said that someone – a man – helped rescued you from where you were being held, and I’m hoping he’s the same man I’m trying to find.”

Ylana was nodding even before Greta finished translating. Nick had decided that it was probably Russian, given where he’d been told he’d been heading.

“He was the only other person I saw in the cages,” Greta translated.

“What did he look like?”

“Tall, hairy. He was a Blutbad, but he still helped me. He got me out of the cage and led me to the door. Then he helped me put on warm clothes, even boots.” She chuckled. “My belly was too big for the coat to close, so he put one on me the right way and one on the other way so I was covered.” Her smile disappeared. “I wanted him to come with me, but he refused.”

“Did you only see him as a man?”

“Mostly. Only his arms…” the English seemed to fail Greta, but Nick had understood enough.

“Let me show you a picture.” He automatically reached in his back pocket before realizing that he’d left his wallet in his other pants. “I’ve lost my wallet.”

“Oh.” Greta unbuttoned one of the pockets in her flannel shirt and pulled out Nick’s wallet.

Nick refused to be surprised. “Thanks,” he said, taking it and thumbing through before stopping on a picture of Monroe. He’d taken it out so many times over the years, staring at it before returning it to the plastic sheath, that the corners were worn and ragged. He kept a second hard copy of the picture at his office after a particularly fierce Schakal had thrown him against a building and shattered his phone – the phone he hadn’t bothered to back up. He pulled out the picture and handed it to Ylena. “Is this the man?”

Ylana didn’t need a translation as she stared at the picture. She gave him a large smile and nodded. “He has much longer hair and big bushy beard, but that is him.”

Nick took a deep breath. “Was he – did he –” He knew what he wanted to ask, but no one being held captive was going to look okay.

Ylana’s hand grasped his wrist, forcing his gaze back to hers. She said something softly, and Nick turned to Greta.

“She said that he is alive. That is all that matters.”

Nick nodded. She was absolutely right.

A few minutes later, after having a few more words with the new mother and being handed a package of food bundled in a handkerchief shoved into his hands by Lidiya, Greta and Nick were back in the truck – with Nick in the passenger seat this time – pulling away from the house.

“How much time do we have?”

Greta looked at her watch. “Forty one minutes. Do not worry. We are not going far.”

Less than five minutes later, Greta pulled over, and Nick helped stretch a camouflage tarp over the truck. Another three minutes of trekking through the woods, they came upon another house hidden even better than Lidiya’s. Greta simply opened the door, and they strode through, finding a group of men all dressed in white snow gear, huddled over a table, the only furniture in the room. The men looked up briefly before one spoke in Russian, and they returned their attention to the map on the table.

Greta answered, pulling off her coat and hat, and Nick did the same. Once again, they used the hangers by the door, and Nick followed Greta into the next room. This one was also filled with people, mostly men, all outfitting themselves for a war.

Greta rooted through some boxes before she found what she needed. Tossing Nick a thick shirt, pair of socks, and cargo pants, all white, she said, “get dressed first. Then we talk.”

Everyone else seemed comfortable changing in the room, so Nick followed suit and was quickly dressed and following a similarly clad Greta back into the main room. This time, only two of the men remained.

Greta walked up to the table talking, gesturing toward Nick. Both men’s eyes flickered toward him and then back to Greta.

The tallest, a man with grey hair and sharp eyes – obviously the leader – returned his attention to Nick and pointed at the table. “This is a map of the castle,” he said in heavily accented English.

Nick moved closer and began to listen to the plans.

In the end, it actually wasn’t that complicated. One team was going to come straight through the front, another from the roof, another from the back, with the fourth team using a boat to sail right inside the structure. They had already marked the locations of the known booby traps and allotted for the estimated time required to disable or bypass each one. They’d allocated forty-five minutes from infiltration to extraction, and Nick needed to be at the extraction point on time or make his way as best he could.

Nick was going to tag along with the group traveling by boat, since the cells seemed to be located closest to that entry point. The leader made Nick well aware that their only mission was to get their mark, preferably alive, and take down this castle. Nick was responsible for himself and anyone else he wanted to rescue from the castle. They were letting him tag along, but they weren’t going to babysit him.

And that was fine with Nick, because all he wanted was Monroe. He did like the idea of hurting the man responsible for kidnapping Monroe, but as long as he got Monroe out there alive, he’d deal with the rest later.

With a final nod, the leader looked at Nick and Greta. “We depart in five minutes.”

Nick turned to Greta. “Did they rescue Ylena?”

She nodded. “The castle has been under observation for some time. They saw their chance to extract her without… hindering the mission. She also helped provide us with additional information.”

“I don’t suppose there are any extra weapons lying around.”

Grinning, Greta turned toward the other door, opening it to reveal rows of boots and an arsenal. “Take whatever you want.”

He armed himself, keeping a curious eye on Greta’s choices. “How is it that we were able to just walk in here without being stopped once?”

Greta grinned, this time showing her teeth. “They knew who we were before we even got out of the truck. They had five or six different opportunities to kill us before we walked through the door.”

Of course they did, Nick thought, unsurprised, as he shoved a sheathed knife down each boot. He noticed one of the men hungrily eyeballing the food Lidiya had given him. After a moment’s consideration, he held the bundle out to the man. After a conversation filled with gestures and over-emphasized facial expressions, he handed it over, shrugging when he saw Greta looking at him. He was never hungry before an op and didn’t want to waste the food.

Fifteen minutes later, Nick and Greta were crouched in the second of two boats silently being rowed toward the castle. Each boat was covered by a tarp, the oars camouflaged as well.

There was something about the energy created before a bust – or a military-style op, evidently – that Nick loved. He realized that he’d missed the sense of anticipation, the accelerated heartbeat, the heightened awareness. He felt it more often now that he was a Grimm, but it hadn’t really been the same since Monroe had left and he’d quit the force. But now that he was so close to getting Monroe back, Nick welcomed the familiar focus.

Because everyone looked the same underneath white balaclavas and helmets, Nick hadn’t even been sure Greta had been with him until she’d taken his arm and led him to the second boat.

Just before they boarded, Nick turned to her and asked the question that had been on his mind since the quick debriefing. “I know what their plans are, and I’m only concerned with Monroe. What’s your mission?”

That flittered smile reappeared a moment before she said, “Do not worry. I will be there if you need me.”

G R I M M              G R I M M              G R I M M              G R I M M              G R I M M              G R I M M

Monroe hung by his arms, wondering how he was still alive and hoping that it wouldn’t last much longer. Every time he succumbed to unconsciousness, he was awakened, first by cold water, then by electrical shock when the water stopped making an impact, he supposed. He watched emotionlessly as his blood stained the carpet underneath him.

“I knew you were hearty; that’s one of the reasons why I kept you alive,” the Grimm said, cleaning off his protective glasses yet again. “I got tired of having to start from scratch all the time. But I had no idea that you’d last this long.”

Monroe wanted to say, “you and me both, buddy,” but he couldn’t even hold up his head, and the one eye still open had decided to stop focusing a little while earlier.

Absently he heard a door open, the Grimm move away, quiet murmurs, and the door close again.

“I have a matter that needs my attention. We’ll pick this up tomorrow, if you last the night.”

Monroe dropped to the floor when the chains were released, but he knew that the guards would be waiting a long time if they expected him to return to his cage under his own power. Even if his finger and toenails hadn’t been ripped out, his muscles wouldn’t take any of the commands his exhausted mind tried to send their way.

He knew he was a disgusting mess and felt a bit of pleasure at the fact that the guards were going to have to actually touch him to return him back to his cell. Eventually, they did just that, slinging their rifles over their shoulders, each guard taking a limb. They weren’t very gentle, but it hadn’t felt any worse than what he’d just gone through. He just zoned out until he felt himself swinging from side to side and then flying as they let go and his body fell into the cell with a hard thud. The pain of hitting the floor ended up being just too much, and as he found himself slipping under, he hoped that this was for the last time.

He awoke to a gentle hand on his cheek, opening his one good eye to find a concerned Nick staring at him. He wasn’t surprised; whenever he needed something to keep him going, he conjured up DreamNick. Not the angry Nick that he’d last seen but the Nick who’d been his best friend, the one who didn’t hate him. He smiled faintly, glad that his last thought was of the one who meant the most to him in life.

Entry with links to each chapter

Epic, A Grimm story by BymagaJones

Characters: Monroe, Nick, various other OC's

Pairings: Eventually Nick/Monroe

Rating: I'm going with T, for language

Word Count: 62,000+

Summary: Two years after a devastating loss, Nick finds himself searching for an old friend.

Author's Notes: "Epic" diverges from canon some time around the middle of the third season, although the story begins about two years after that.

I want to thank SquidgiePDX for being the most amazing alpha and beta reader EVER. You made this story shine. Thank you for helping me get the voices right, for sharing your extensive knowledge about pretty much everything in life so I could add wonderful details (things like trivets!!) and make the story that much better. Any remaining mistakes are all mine.

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20

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Fanfic.net