![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
You know what, I'm a chapter ahead in revising this fic, so I thought I'd post the second one now before certain things possibly get jossed tomorrow.
Title: Surrender 2/7
Fandom: Grimm
Rating: PG
Pairing: Nick/Monroe
Summary: Just when Nick's life is changing, Monroe is attacked by a Grimm, mixing up their lives further.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own words.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Pain greeted Monroe when he awoke, but it was muffled, suppressed by the painkillers trickling into his arm through the IV. His sense of smell arose next, scenting Nick before the film could clear from his dazed vision. The man sat at his side, slumped in a chair, one of those uncomfortable metal jobs for which the cushioning did nothing to stave off the aching back, yet Nick had managed to fall asleep in it. His left arm lied across the armrest, his hand inches from Monroe’s right. Monroe raised his hand to his nose. Nick was there, too, holding his hand, and…
Was that saliva? But Nick wouldn’t have… Why would he kiss his hand?
Monroe’s senses must be muddled. He beat down the hope kindling in his stomach, focusing instead on Nick’s sleeping form, which didn’t help at all in getting off topic, but he damn well wanted to look at him, and what else was he going to do?
“Nick,” he called out, instantly regretting the breath that formed his name, for both rib and lung shrieked in reprisal. Fuck. If the Grimm didn’t kill him, the pain would.
Once he could move without screaming, making sure he moved only his right arm and nothing else, he reached out for Nick’s hand (oh, here they were back to the hand, and such a nice hand it was, urging him to kiss every little patch of skin). Nick’s eyes snapped open when Monroe squeezed it, his spine straightening in an instant, ready to jump out of the chair if need be, but then his eyes met Monroe’s and he relaxed into the chair, a smile brightening his tired face, so happy to see him. Perhaps Monroe hadn’t imagined the smell on his hand. The fledgling hope returned.
Oh, for God’s sake! Nick had a girlfriend, a live-in girlfriend, which was so much worse. Her smell was all over him, mocking him as it growled, Mine. Back off.
“Hey,” Nick said, leaning forward. “How are you feeling?”
“Brilliant question, detective,” Monroe rasped out, the action stinging in his chest.
“If it hurts, don’t speak.”
Nick’s hand hovered above his shoulder, as if afraid to touch him.
“Then why do you ask? Did you find her? The Grimm?”
“The Grimm’s a woman?”
“That’d be a ‘no’, then.”
“I didn’t see anyone when I went into the house. She might have left before I got there. We think she shot you from the park given the trajectory of the bullet.”
“Damn park. It’s spawning Grimms. I need to move.”
“You really might. If she comes after you again, I’d rather she didn’t have it so easy.” Anger tightened Nick’s voice. “Did you see her at all?”
“No. I didn’t even smell her until I called you.”
Monroe explained what little he knew, ashamed at his inability to defend himself or even anticipate the attack. This Grimm was no bewildered novice like Nick, clinging to his blutbad friend for basic facts. This was the creature his parents had terrified him into obedience with as a child, the creeping shadow that materialized only to chop you into pieces and use your bones to decorate their trophy case, or even as forks or spoons.
“We’ll find her,” Nick reassured him.
Oh jeez, Nick really didn’t know anything, did he? Had he listened to nothing Monroe had told him these past months? Monroe should have saved his breath.
“She’s a Grimm, obviously with years of experience. She could probably mash you into pudding before you could even blink.”
“I have years of experience.”
If it weren’t so painful, Monroe would laugh at Nick’s frustrated naiveté. Oh, Nick, you adorable nitwit.
“As a cop. You’re still a baby Grimm.”
“I’m not a baby.”
“Alright. You’re a toddler stumbling about cause your legs can barely hold you. Your aunt could kick your ass.”
Nick looked discomfited by this very basic fact, but he finally conceded the argument.
“Fine. I see your point. I still won’t let her get you.”
He said it with such steely determination that Monroe didn’t want to question him. Baby or not, Nick was a Grimm. This was no empty promise he was making. It didn’t keep Monroe from being right, but, still.
“Thanks,” Monroe said, his voice losing its former cynicism.
“You don’t need to thank me. I’m more than happy to help.”
“Well, I want to thank you, so accept your thanks like a good Grimm.”
A smile brightened Nick’s face. He nodded in acknowledgement.
“You’re welcome.”
“Now, what else do I need to know? How long until I get out of here?”
“A few days, maybe. The bullet broke a rib and punctured your lung.”
“I gathered that from the tube stuck in my chest.”
Nick frowned at him, so sulky he was. He never could handle sarcasm well.
“I’m the injured one,” Monroe said. “Why do I have to behave?”
Nick’s eyes softened.
“Alright,” he said, continuing with his explanation.
||||
There wasn’t much that Nick would be able to do with Monroe’s story, although, if he had smelled the Grimm at the end, that meant she should have moved closer, so maybe someone had seen her on the street. But of course, like it always happens when you are desperate to find someone, no one had seen anything. No one had been looking out the window or walking down the street or in the park or anywhere, apparently. He experienced a glimmer of hope when one of the neighbors, an elderly woman, sidled up to Nick real close, a conspiratorial air in her eyes as she glanced to and fro to check for eavesdroppers along the street, before revealing what she saw in a hushed whisper.
A black cat had strolled down the street before Monroe got shot. Or before the ambulance arrived. One of those. Actually, it may have been that morning, but it was definitely today. Or yesterday. And of all things, a black cat! Right when death was in the air. Wasn’t that ominous and spooky? It had to be linked! But why would a cat want to go after poor Mr. Monroe? He made such pretty clocks, you know.
Soon the woman’s much younger sister arrived to lead her away, apologizing for her sibling’s loopiness, and no, she hadn’t seen anything. She had spend most of the afternoon in the basement trying to find the toaster her sister had stuck in a box somewhere, because how was someone supposed to eat a proper breakfast without toast?
The only clue they found in the park was a muddled line in the mud where the perp had dragged her shoe over her own footprints to smudge the tread. That led to the main path, which was covered with gravel stones, leaving them with nothing. The same nothing appeared on Monroe’s lawn, too, save for some light boot prints, but those were his. Maybe Nick should hunt down that black cat, if one had ever existed. But as weird and insanity inducing as his world had gotten, he knew Grimms didn’t shapeshift. Come on, he wasn’t turning into a cat, was he? Not that he had tried. But he wasn’t going to interrupt Monroe’s rest to bother him with such an absurd notion. If Nick could turn into animals, he was sure Aunt Marie would have mentioned it.
However, there was one other little matter he perhaps should bring to Monroe’s attention. Just a small detail of protocol the hospital had taken care of, as they should, but which Monroe might not be very happy about now that he was out of danger and Nick was obliged to be in his room as often as possible both as a visiting friend and unofficial police escort, for at any moment, Monroe’s parents could walk in, see a Grimm leaning over their wounded son, and rip Nick’s throat out. Monroe had been very close lipped about his family, other than to remind Nick what a huge favor he was doing him just by associating with him, for, if they heard about this, Monroe would get disowned and Nick would become blutbad food. Then again, they were in a hospital, surrounded by humans who would call the police as soon as they noticed the blood oozing under the door. It would be a terribly inconvenient homicide to get away with, and Nick was hardly defenseless, but, well. Two furious blutbaden against only one of him? Yeah, he was terrified. Though perhaps his murder could be avoided. Nick might be on shift when they visited or they might just miss each other every time one came to visit Monroe, like in the movies. But since lately life had decided to throw spines under his feet and cackle as he hoped around in pain, it probably wasn’t going to happen.
Unfortunately, he didn’t get a chance to inform Monroe of the pending nuclear meltdown before the nurse came in to kick Nick out, for Monroe needed his rest (why had Nick let him talk for so long?). Nick would probably be back before his parents arrived, anyway. They lived all the way in the north part of Washington State. It was quite a drive. And if he didn’t, he’d just sneak away before they could smell him. Maybe he should put on some wolfsbane.
||||
Monroe was going to kill Nick. When he asked what else he needed to know, he damn well meant everything. How the hell did this not qualify? If he’d known his parents were going to appear, he would have asked one of the nurses to switch out the chair Nick had been sitting on with another one, or gotten out of bed and dragged it out himself (although he may have collapsed during the process), as well as scrubbed his hand with sandpaper. Sure, he’d washed it since this morning, but blutbad senses were very perceptive, and if he pressed his palm to his nose he could still catch a faint whiff of Nick’s scent. He’d been doing that a lot through the day, convincing himself that his face was itchy, but really he only wished to enjoy that wonderful aroma, which was as enticing as the crackling of lightning, for while his instincts growled with the urge to flee the predator, he felt so captivated that his feet pressed forward, incapable of resisting the man even if the deadly light blinded him.
Now try explaining that to a pair of over-protective blutbad parents whose son had nearly been killed by a Grimm not 12 hours before. The instant they entered the room, they smelled Nick, his father’s face morphing into wolf form as he manhandled the chair as if it were the offending Grimm, while his mother glared at the tube in his chest and felt all over his body for injuries, as if he were hiding any under the covers.
“Mom, it was just one bullet,” he said, trying to detach himself from her inquisitive hands. “I’m fine. And dad, the chair isn’t going to attack you.”
“A Grimm was here,” his dad growled, his eyes flashing red as he stabbed at the chair with his finger. “Was this who attacked you?”
“No. That’s not—Look, stop jumping to conclusions like you always do. A Grimm did attack me, but it wasn’t this one—“
“You mean there’s two Grimms after you?” his mother said, now in wolf face, too.
Monroe resisted the urge to bury his head in his hands and knock his head against the headboard.
“No. I don’t think so. Can I start from the beginning, please? It’s a little weird—“
A familiar smell hit his nose. Oh no. No no no, not now, goddamnit, Nick, of all the bad timings in the fucking universe, why do you have to show up now?!
Before Monroe could finish, his dad was out the door and his mother set herself up as guard just outside of it. For God’s sake. Why couldn’t blutbaden parents eat their young like other species? At least then, his problems would be over. Monroe heard Nick stop halfway down the corridor a few yards from his room, his fear at being confronted by a irate blutbad so palpable that it was smothering Monroe’s senses. Oh, hell no. Monroe was not having Nick scared for his life just because his parents were too thickheaded to listen.
“Mom, get dad back in here,” he hissed. “That’s Nick. He’s my friend.”
“The hell he is,” his mother said, shooting him an incredulous look. “He’s a Grimm. You think I can’t smell him?”
“I told you it was weird. He was new when we met. He didn’t know anything. Look, he saved my life today. He’s the one who scared off the other Grimm and brought me to the hospital. He sat at my bedside to make sure I was okay. He doesn’t kill for the sake of killing.”
“You can’t be serious.” His mother was shaking her head. “You made friends with that?”
Outside, his father was growling at Nick, who sounded like he was making his own frantic explanations, but they spoke so low that Monroe couldn’t make out much else. Wouldn’t want the humans ambling about to hear. Monroe had never been so ecstatic to be surrounded by humans in his life. His father might not be a reformed blutbad, but he knew better than to attack people in public, even Grimms. But he would if they moved off somewhere more private, like Nick seemed about to do, his scent becoming fainter as he moved back, apparently about to leave, but his father would go after him, Monroe knew he would, and attack him in the parking lot or the basement where Monroe had ripped that guy’s arm off, except now it would be Nick’s arm or his head. Nausea choked him, it and the ache in his chest making him dizzy as he called out to Nick and his dad, but his throat closed against the pain and a canine whimper leaked through his clenched lips.
“David, get in here!” his mother called out, rushing to Monroe’s side as he fought to breathe.
Wonder of wonders, his father obeyed, followed by Nick, who had a bag slung over his shoulder. It was probably the whimper that did it. If Monroe had known that, he would have thrown away his dignity and moaned in agony long before this. Nick lingered at the doorway, afraid to enter. This morning, he had looked tired. Now he looked like his legs were barely holding him up. Bags sagged under his eyes, the whites tinged red. A tuft of hair was sticking up at the right side, mussed from shoving his hands through it. Just how many cups of coffee did he drink today? No sleep since the night before last, no doubt, then a whole day trying to find the Grimm, along with whatever else he had to do. His eyes were so full of concern that Monroe forced a smile of false reassurance, praying that Nick’s cop training kept him steady.
“He says that Grimm saved his life,” his mother said, spitting out the word ‘Grimm’. Monroe was a little surprised she didn’t spit in Nick’s face as she said it, too.
“That’s what I was explaining—“ Nick said, but Monroe’s dad growled at him before he could finish.
“I don’t buy it,” he said, creeping up on Nick, who surprised Monroe by standing his ground, face determined, though everyone could smell the trepidation rolling off his pores.
“Me, neither,” his mom said.
“But it’s true,” Nick said. “I swear it. I would never hurt him.”
“Mom, dad,” Monroe said, his voice croaky, chest burning, but Nick was in danger and his parents weren’t going to politely stay on hold while waiting on the ‘Let’s kill the Grimm’ line. “Do you really think I would let him near me if I thought he might kill me? Come on. Give me a little credit.”
“It wouldn’t be the first stupid decision you’ve ever made,” his dad said.
Oh, for fuck’s sake. If he heard another “curiosity killed the blutbad” joke, he was going to punch something.
“Dad, please not now. Nick doesn’t kill our kind just because of what we are. He saved me today. You don’t have to like him, but can you at least trust me?”
“Not if you’re being stupid,” his father said. “You not wanting to avenge the family name doesn’t surprise me, but actually becoming friends with one is beneath you.”
“I want to know exactly how this friendship,” his mother asked, again spitting the word out as if it were a rotting rabbit, “came about.”
Oh. Shit.
“Well,” Monroe said, trying to determine how to tell as little as possible, because if he wasn’t disowned now, confessing that he helped a Grimm hunt down a blutbad would. “Nick saw me one day outside my house when I was picking up the mail. These little girls rode by on their bikes. One was wearing red and I wolfed out a bit.”
“And where was Nick?”
His mother really had a way about making it feel like certain sounds make her tongue hurt.
“At the park across the street. You know the really big—“ His mother’s glare intensified. “Yeah, you remember it.”
“And what did you think of Edward’s little lapse?” his mother asked Nick, who was suppressing the urge to gulp, Monroe could tell. He really was trying his best to strike the right balance between looking strong, yet non-threatening. On humans it might have worked.
“Well,” Nick’s eyes met Monroe’s for a second and Monroe silently begged him not to say a thing about the arrest or else his parents might skin Nick right now. “I was startled. I’d only come into my abilities the day before and found out about Grimms. I didn’t know anything about this at all. So I asked Mo—Edward to explain some things to me.”
“You asked a blutbad about being a Grimm?”
“See, I didn’t even know the word ‘blutbad’ until Edward told it to me. I’d never heard of you before.”
“You’re hiding something,” his father said, taking a step forward.
“Alright,” Monroe said, halting his movement. “There might have been some growling back and forth at the beginning, but we sorted it out, no one was maimed, we became friends, and now Nick saved my life and I repeat. Saved my life. That’s what we should all be focusing on.”
“I’m also doing,” Nick said, “all I can to find whoever attacked your son. I’m a detective with the Portland Police Department.”
“Oh, great,” his father said. “He’s a cop.”
“You’re going to hate him for that now?” Monroe asked. “What? You think he’s going to arrest me on a frivolous charge?”
Been there, done that, although that had been far from frivolous. It really was understandable once you thought about it and how much nothing Nick knew about the creature world back then, but best his parents not learn that little tidbit ever.
“You would arrest a fellow Grimm?” his mother asked.
“Yes. Grimm or not, she tried to kill your son and I won’t let her get away with it. Like I said, I’m a cop, not just a Grimm. I don’t care if she happens to have the same job as me.”
“It’s not a job,” his mother growled. “It’s what you are.” She pushed past his dad to loom over Nick, who stumbled back a step, but the door knocked at his back, leaving him no space and no choice but to meet her reddening eyes. His father followed her lead, claws growing at his fingertips. Monroe braced himself on his elbows. It would hurt like hell if he ran forward to protect Nick, but if he had to, he would, even if he collapsed after the first five seconds of adrenaline rush and had to yank Nick down with him to cover him with his body.
“It’s your call, Joan,” his father said, acknowledging her right to revenge for the murder of her father, but Monroe acknowledged no such thing if Nick was involved.
“Mom, please,” he said. “Neither he nor his family had anything to do with it.”
Monroe prayed that was the truth, but his mother ignored him and kept growling at Nick, her fangs inches from his face. Monroe lowered his left foot down the side of the bed. Hopefully, his coming pain would at least get his parents re-focused on him. Suddenly, his mother spoke.
“If you are responsible for hurting him in any way, directly or not, I will kill you.”
Nick nodded, the jerking of his head frantic.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
His mother backed off, moving to stand beside his father. Monroe sagged against the bed, relief coursing through his body. Nick was still scared shitless, but at least he wasn’t dead. Gratitude shone in Nick’s eyes. Hell, if Monroe’s mother’s maternal instincts weren’t making her lean toward pleasing her injured son, this wouldn’t have gone half as well.
“I’ll leave now if you like,” Nick said, putting down the bag. “I brought some of your things in case you needed them. And your phone.”
“Thanks,” Monroe said, taking the phone.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” Nick glanced at Monroe’s parents, as if asking permission. They just glared. At least they were back in human form.
“Okay.”
Nick ducked out, hastening down the corridor.
“I need some air,” his father said, his voice hard and all sorts of frustrated.
“You’re not going after him, are you?” Monroe asked, worry rising again.
His father stopped at the door and turned toward him, his face filled with even more disappointment than Monroe thought possible.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not going to touch your pet.”
He strode off in the opposite direction, leaving him alone with a fuming mother.
“Mom, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t,” she said, raising a hand as she stepped across the room. “Don’t talk right now.”
Okay. Monroe could do that.
||||
To Nick:
I’m sorry bout my parents
To Monroe:
Don’t worry about it I should have warned you
To Nick:
YES!!
To Monroe:
Sorry! Wont happen again. Thanks for saving me
To Nick:
Be careful anyway My dad might be around And get some sleep
To Monroe:
After that warning?
To Nick:
Really. U look like a dead fish
To Monroe:
Ha ha
Chapter 3
Title: Surrender 2/7
Fandom: Grimm
Rating: PG
Pairing: Nick/Monroe
Summary: Just when Nick's life is changing, Monroe is attacked by a Grimm, mixing up their lives further.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own words.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Pain greeted Monroe when he awoke, but it was muffled, suppressed by the painkillers trickling into his arm through the IV. His sense of smell arose next, scenting Nick before the film could clear from his dazed vision. The man sat at his side, slumped in a chair, one of those uncomfortable metal jobs for which the cushioning did nothing to stave off the aching back, yet Nick had managed to fall asleep in it. His left arm lied across the armrest, his hand inches from Monroe’s right. Monroe raised his hand to his nose. Nick was there, too, holding his hand, and…
Was that saliva? But Nick wouldn’t have… Why would he kiss his hand?
Monroe’s senses must be muddled. He beat down the hope kindling in his stomach, focusing instead on Nick’s sleeping form, which didn’t help at all in getting off topic, but he damn well wanted to look at him, and what else was he going to do?
“Nick,” he called out, instantly regretting the breath that formed his name, for both rib and lung shrieked in reprisal. Fuck. If the Grimm didn’t kill him, the pain would.
Once he could move without screaming, making sure he moved only his right arm and nothing else, he reached out for Nick’s hand (oh, here they were back to the hand, and such a nice hand it was, urging him to kiss every little patch of skin). Nick’s eyes snapped open when Monroe squeezed it, his spine straightening in an instant, ready to jump out of the chair if need be, but then his eyes met Monroe’s and he relaxed into the chair, a smile brightening his tired face, so happy to see him. Perhaps Monroe hadn’t imagined the smell on his hand. The fledgling hope returned.
Oh, for God’s sake! Nick had a girlfriend, a live-in girlfriend, which was so much worse. Her smell was all over him, mocking him as it growled, Mine. Back off.
“Hey,” Nick said, leaning forward. “How are you feeling?”
“Brilliant question, detective,” Monroe rasped out, the action stinging in his chest.
“If it hurts, don’t speak.”
Nick’s hand hovered above his shoulder, as if afraid to touch him.
“Then why do you ask? Did you find her? The Grimm?”
“The Grimm’s a woman?”
“That’d be a ‘no’, then.”
“I didn’t see anyone when I went into the house. She might have left before I got there. We think she shot you from the park given the trajectory of the bullet.”
“Damn park. It’s spawning Grimms. I need to move.”
“You really might. If she comes after you again, I’d rather she didn’t have it so easy.” Anger tightened Nick’s voice. “Did you see her at all?”
“No. I didn’t even smell her until I called you.”
Monroe explained what little he knew, ashamed at his inability to defend himself or even anticipate the attack. This Grimm was no bewildered novice like Nick, clinging to his blutbad friend for basic facts. This was the creature his parents had terrified him into obedience with as a child, the creeping shadow that materialized only to chop you into pieces and use your bones to decorate their trophy case, or even as forks or spoons.
“We’ll find her,” Nick reassured him.
Oh jeez, Nick really didn’t know anything, did he? Had he listened to nothing Monroe had told him these past months? Monroe should have saved his breath.
“She’s a Grimm, obviously with years of experience. She could probably mash you into pudding before you could even blink.”
“I have years of experience.”
If it weren’t so painful, Monroe would laugh at Nick’s frustrated naiveté. Oh, Nick, you adorable nitwit.
“As a cop. You’re still a baby Grimm.”
“I’m not a baby.”
“Alright. You’re a toddler stumbling about cause your legs can barely hold you. Your aunt could kick your ass.”
Nick looked discomfited by this very basic fact, but he finally conceded the argument.
“Fine. I see your point. I still won’t let her get you.”
He said it with such steely determination that Monroe didn’t want to question him. Baby or not, Nick was a Grimm. This was no empty promise he was making. It didn’t keep Monroe from being right, but, still.
“Thanks,” Monroe said, his voice losing its former cynicism.
“You don’t need to thank me. I’m more than happy to help.”
“Well, I want to thank you, so accept your thanks like a good Grimm.”
A smile brightened Nick’s face. He nodded in acknowledgement.
“You’re welcome.”
“Now, what else do I need to know? How long until I get out of here?”
“A few days, maybe. The bullet broke a rib and punctured your lung.”
“I gathered that from the tube stuck in my chest.”
Nick frowned at him, so sulky he was. He never could handle sarcasm well.
“I’m the injured one,” Monroe said. “Why do I have to behave?”
Nick’s eyes softened.
“Alright,” he said, continuing with his explanation.
||||
There wasn’t much that Nick would be able to do with Monroe’s story, although, if he had smelled the Grimm at the end, that meant she should have moved closer, so maybe someone had seen her on the street. But of course, like it always happens when you are desperate to find someone, no one had seen anything. No one had been looking out the window or walking down the street or in the park or anywhere, apparently. He experienced a glimmer of hope when one of the neighbors, an elderly woman, sidled up to Nick real close, a conspiratorial air in her eyes as she glanced to and fro to check for eavesdroppers along the street, before revealing what she saw in a hushed whisper.
A black cat had strolled down the street before Monroe got shot. Or before the ambulance arrived. One of those. Actually, it may have been that morning, but it was definitely today. Or yesterday. And of all things, a black cat! Right when death was in the air. Wasn’t that ominous and spooky? It had to be linked! But why would a cat want to go after poor Mr. Monroe? He made such pretty clocks, you know.
Soon the woman’s much younger sister arrived to lead her away, apologizing for her sibling’s loopiness, and no, she hadn’t seen anything. She had spend most of the afternoon in the basement trying to find the toaster her sister had stuck in a box somewhere, because how was someone supposed to eat a proper breakfast without toast?
The only clue they found in the park was a muddled line in the mud where the perp had dragged her shoe over her own footprints to smudge the tread. That led to the main path, which was covered with gravel stones, leaving them with nothing. The same nothing appeared on Monroe’s lawn, too, save for some light boot prints, but those were his. Maybe Nick should hunt down that black cat, if one had ever existed. But as weird and insanity inducing as his world had gotten, he knew Grimms didn’t shapeshift. Come on, he wasn’t turning into a cat, was he? Not that he had tried. But he wasn’t going to interrupt Monroe’s rest to bother him with such an absurd notion. If Nick could turn into animals, he was sure Aunt Marie would have mentioned it.
However, there was one other little matter he perhaps should bring to Monroe’s attention. Just a small detail of protocol the hospital had taken care of, as they should, but which Monroe might not be very happy about now that he was out of danger and Nick was obliged to be in his room as often as possible both as a visiting friend and unofficial police escort, for at any moment, Monroe’s parents could walk in, see a Grimm leaning over their wounded son, and rip Nick’s throat out. Monroe had been very close lipped about his family, other than to remind Nick what a huge favor he was doing him just by associating with him, for, if they heard about this, Monroe would get disowned and Nick would become blutbad food. Then again, they were in a hospital, surrounded by humans who would call the police as soon as they noticed the blood oozing under the door. It would be a terribly inconvenient homicide to get away with, and Nick was hardly defenseless, but, well. Two furious blutbaden against only one of him? Yeah, he was terrified. Though perhaps his murder could be avoided. Nick might be on shift when they visited or they might just miss each other every time one came to visit Monroe, like in the movies. But since lately life had decided to throw spines under his feet and cackle as he hoped around in pain, it probably wasn’t going to happen.
Unfortunately, he didn’t get a chance to inform Monroe of the pending nuclear meltdown before the nurse came in to kick Nick out, for Monroe needed his rest (why had Nick let him talk for so long?). Nick would probably be back before his parents arrived, anyway. They lived all the way in the north part of Washington State. It was quite a drive. And if he didn’t, he’d just sneak away before they could smell him. Maybe he should put on some wolfsbane.
||||
Monroe was going to kill Nick. When he asked what else he needed to know, he damn well meant everything. How the hell did this not qualify? If he’d known his parents were going to appear, he would have asked one of the nurses to switch out the chair Nick had been sitting on with another one, or gotten out of bed and dragged it out himself (although he may have collapsed during the process), as well as scrubbed his hand with sandpaper. Sure, he’d washed it since this morning, but blutbad senses were very perceptive, and if he pressed his palm to his nose he could still catch a faint whiff of Nick’s scent. He’d been doing that a lot through the day, convincing himself that his face was itchy, but really he only wished to enjoy that wonderful aroma, which was as enticing as the crackling of lightning, for while his instincts growled with the urge to flee the predator, he felt so captivated that his feet pressed forward, incapable of resisting the man even if the deadly light blinded him.
Now try explaining that to a pair of over-protective blutbad parents whose son had nearly been killed by a Grimm not 12 hours before. The instant they entered the room, they smelled Nick, his father’s face morphing into wolf form as he manhandled the chair as if it were the offending Grimm, while his mother glared at the tube in his chest and felt all over his body for injuries, as if he were hiding any under the covers.
“Mom, it was just one bullet,” he said, trying to detach himself from her inquisitive hands. “I’m fine. And dad, the chair isn’t going to attack you.”
“A Grimm was here,” his dad growled, his eyes flashing red as he stabbed at the chair with his finger. “Was this who attacked you?”
“No. That’s not—Look, stop jumping to conclusions like you always do. A Grimm did attack me, but it wasn’t this one—“
“You mean there’s two Grimms after you?” his mother said, now in wolf face, too.
Monroe resisted the urge to bury his head in his hands and knock his head against the headboard.
“No. I don’t think so. Can I start from the beginning, please? It’s a little weird—“
A familiar smell hit his nose. Oh no. No no no, not now, goddamnit, Nick, of all the bad timings in the fucking universe, why do you have to show up now?!
Before Monroe could finish, his dad was out the door and his mother set herself up as guard just outside of it. For God’s sake. Why couldn’t blutbaden parents eat their young like other species? At least then, his problems would be over. Monroe heard Nick stop halfway down the corridor a few yards from his room, his fear at being confronted by a irate blutbad so palpable that it was smothering Monroe’s senses. Oh, hell no. Monroe was not having Nick scared for his life just because his parents were too thickheaded to listen.
“Mom, get dad back in here,” he hissed. “That’s Nick. He’s my friend.”
“The hell he is,” his mother said, shooting him an incredulous look. “He’s a Grimm. You think I can’t smell him?”
“I told you it was weird. He was new when we met. He didn’t know anything. Look, he saved my life today. He’s the one who scared off the other Grimm and brought me to the hospital. He sat at my bedside to make sure I was okay. He doesn’t kill for the sake of killing.”
“You can’t be serious.” His mother was shaking her head. “You made friends with that?”
Outside, his father was growling at Nick, who sounded like he was making his own frantic explanations, but they spoke so low that Monroe couldn’t make out much else. Wouldn’t want the humans ambling about to hear. Monroe had never been so ecstatic to be surrounded by humans in his life. His father might not be a reformed blutbad, but he knew better than to attack people in public, even Grimms. But he would if they moved off somewhere more private, like Nick seemed about to do, his scent becoming fainter as he moved back, apparently about to leave, but his father would go after him, Monroe knew he would, and attack him in the parking lot or the basement where Monroe had ripped that guy’s arm off, except now it would be Nick’s arm or his head. Nausea choked him, it and the ache in his chest making him dizzy as he called out to Nick and his dad, but his throat closed against the pain and a canine whimper leaked through his clenched lips.
“David, get in here!” his mother called out, rushing to Monroe’s side as he fought to breathe.
Wonder of wonders, his father obeyed, followed by Nick, who had a bag slung over his shoulder. It was probably the whimper that did it. If Monroe had known that, he would have thrown away his dignity and moaned in agony long before this. Nick lingered at the doorway, afraid to enter. This morning, he had looked tired. Now he looked like his legs were barely holding him up. Bags sagged under his eyes, the whites tinged red. A tuft of hair was sticking up at the right side, mussed from shoving his hands through it. Just how many cups of coffee did he drink today? No sleep since the night before last, no doubt, then a whole day trying to find the Grimm, along with whatever else he had to do. His eyes were so full of concern that Monroe forced a smile of false reassurance, praying that Nick’s cop training kept him steady.
“He says that Grimm saved his life,” his mother said, spitting out the word ‘Grimm’. Monroe was a little surprised she didn’t spit in Nick’s face as she said it, too.
“That’s what I was explaining—“ Nick said, but Monroe’s dad growled at him before he could finish.
“I don’t buy it,” he said, creeping up on Nick, who surprised Monroe by standing his ground, face determined, though everyone could smell the trepidation rolling off his pores.
“Me, neither,” his mom said.
“But it’s true,” Nick said. “I swear it. I would never hurt him.”
“Mom, dad,” Monroe said, his voice croaky, chest burning, but Nick was in danger and his parents weren’t going to politely stay on hold while waiting on the ‘Let’s kill the Grimm’ line. “Do you really think I would let him near me if I thought he might kill me? Come on. Give me a little credit.”
“It wouldn’t be the first stupid decision you’ve ever made,” his dad said.
Oh, for fuck’s sake. If he heard another “curiosity killed the blutbad” joke, he was going to punch something.
“Dad, please not now. Nick doesn’t kill our kind just because of what we are. He saved me today. You don’t have to like him, but can you at least trust me?”
“Not if you’re being stupid,” his father said. “You not wanting to avenge the family name doesn’t surprise me, but actually becoming friends with one is beneath you.”
“I want to know exactly how this friendship,” his mother asked, again spitting the word out as if it were a rotting rabbit, “came about.”
Oh. Shit.
“Well,” Monroe said, trying to determine how to tell as little as possible, because if he wasn’t disowned now, confessing that he helped a Grimm hunt down a blutbad would. “Nick saw me one day outside my house when I was picking up the mail. These little girls rode by on their bikes. One was wearing red and I wolfed out a bit.”
“And where was Nick?”
His mother really had a way about making it feel like certain sounds make her tongue hurt.
“At the park across the street. You know the really big—“ His mother’s glare intensified. “Yeah, you remember it.”
“And what did you think of Edward’s little lapse?” his mother asked Nick, who was suppressing the urge to gulp, Monroe could tell. He really was trying his best to strike the right balance between looking strong, yet non-threatening. On humans it might have worked.
“Well,” Nick’s eyes met Monroe’s for a second and Monroe silently begged him not to say a thing about the arrest or else his parents might skin Nick right now. “I was startled. I’d only come into my abilities the day before and found out about Grimms. I didn’t know anything about this at all. So I asked Mo—Edward to explain some things to me.”
“You asked a blutbad about being a Grimm?”
“See, I didn’t even know the word ‘blutbad’ until Edward told it to me. I’d never heard of you before.”
“You’re hiding something,” his father said, taking a step forward.
“Alright,” Monroe said, halting his movement. “There might have been some growling back and forth at the beginning, but we sorted it out, no one was maimed, we became friends, and now Nick saved my life and I repeat. Saved my life. That’s what we should all be focusing on.”
“I’m also doing,” Nick said, “all I can to find whoever attacked your son. I’m a detective with the Portland Police Department.”
“Oh, great,” his father said. “He’s a cop.”
“You’re going to hate him for that now?” Monroe asked. “What? You think he’s going to arrest me on a frivolous charge?”
Been there, done that, although that had been far from frivolous. It really was understandable once you thought about it and how much nothing Nick knew about the creature world back then, but best his parents not learn that little tidbit ever.
“You would arrest a fellow Grimm?” his mother asked.
“Yes. Grimm or not, she tried to kill your son and I won’t let her get away with it. Like I said, I’m a cop, not just a Grimm. I don’t care if she happens to have the same job as me.”
“It’s not a job,” his mother growled. “It’s what you are.” She pushed past his dad to loom over Nick, who stumbled back a step, but the door knocked at his back, leaving him no space and no choice but to meet her reddening eyes. His father followed her lead, claws growing at his fingertips. Monroe braced himself on his elbows. It would hurt like hell if he ran forward to protect Nick, but if he had to, he would, even if he collapsed after the first five seconds of adrenaline rush and had to yank Nick down with him to cover him with his body.
“It’s your call, Joan,” his father said, acknowledging her right to revenge for the murder of her father, but Monroe acknowledged no such thing if Nick was involved.
“Mom, please,” he said. “Neither he nor his family had anything to do with it.”
Monroe prayed that was the truth, but his mother ignored him and kept growling at Nick, her fangs inches from his face. Monroe lowered his left foot down the side of the bed. Hopefully, his coming pain would at least get his parents re-focused on him. Suddenly, his mother spoke.
“If you are responsible for hurting him in any way, directly or not, I will kill you.”
Nick nodded, the jerking of his head frantic.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
His mother backed off, moving to stand beside his father. Monroe sagged against the bed, relief coursing through his body. Nick was still scared shitless, but at least he wasn’t dead. Gratitude shone in Nick’s eyes. Hell, if Monroe’s mother’s maternal instincts weren’t making her lean toward pleasing her injured son, this wouldn’t have gone half as well.
“I’ll leave now if you like,” Nick said, putting down the bag. “I brought some of your things in case you needed them. And your phone.”
“Thanks,” Monroe said, taking the phone.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” Nick glanced at Monroe’s parents, as if asking permission. They just glared. At least they were back in human form.
“Okay.”
Nick ducked out, hastening down the corridor.
“I need some air,” his father said, his voice hard and all sorts of frustrated.
“You’re not going after him, are you?” Monroe asked, worry rising again.
His father stopped at the door and turned toward him, his face filled with even more disappointment than Monroe thought possible.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not going to touch your pet.”
He strode off in the opposite direction, leaving him alone with a fuming mother.
“Mom, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t,” she said, raising a hand as she stepped across the room. “Don’t talk right now.”
Okay. Monroe could do that.
||||
To Nick:
I’m sorry bout my parents
To Monroe:
Don’t worry about it I should have warned you
To Nick:
YES!!
To Monroe:
Sorry! Wont happen again. Thanks for saving me
To Nick:
Be careful anyway My dad might be around And get some sleep
To Monroe:
After that warning?
To Nick:
Really. U look like a dead fish
To Monroe:
Ha ha
Chapter 3
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
From:
no subject
I was so glad to see this updated so quickly!! I also have a theory as to who shot Monroe and why (don't worry, I'll keep it to myself). I'm glad that you've shown Monroe's parents as at least semi-reasonable people here. Also this text "Really. U look like a dead fish" is the most hilarious one I've read in a while!
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
I'm liking the way this story is unfolding--the pace is perfect and the interactions between Nick and Eddie feel very much in character. The addition of Eddie's parents added the right amount of uncertainty as well. Nicely done. :)
From:
no subject
Thank you very much! I didn't want Eddie's parents to be too homicidal, but considering the Grimmness and the murdered grandfather, it got a little personal, so I'm glad it came out alright.