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Title: Surrender 7/7
Fandom: Grimm
Rating: PG-13
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, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6
Chapter 7
||||
Nick dragged himself back home around nine that night. He’d spent the whole day drifting about the streets and more godforsaken parks until he could no longer bear the weight of his own thoughts and ensconced himself in the nearest cinema, not caring that the next showing was some little kid movie about penguins. He didn’t pay attention to half of it, his mind dislocated, caught adrift between his mangled principles and his deep love for Monroe. His spirit remained equally snarled around itself when he returned to find an empty house and a note on the small table beside the door where he always left his keys.
I know you said you’re not kicking me out, but I think it would help you clear your head if you didn’t have to deal with me, so I’m going to stay with my parents for a few days. I’m really sorry about everything. I feel terrible about what I did, I really do. All I’ve been doing these past thirteen years is trying not to be that guy again. I need you to understand that. I don’t blame you for being mad at me. Since I don’t have a cell phone anymore, I’m leaving you my parents’ number, if you, well, if anything. I’ll try to answer it as much as I can, since they’ll probably just hang up on you. But I won’t blame you if you don’t call. Thank you for putting up with me this past month. I’ve really enjoyed being with you.
There was nothing else after that except the phone number.
“I wasn’t putting up with you,” Nick muttered as he dialed the number in his cell phone before realizing that Monroe might not have gotten there yet. He didn’t know where this place was. It might be all the way across Washington State. Instead, he called the station and asked them to trace the phone number for him. Once he had the address, he googled it on his phone. Indeed, it was all the way in the eastern side of the state right beside the Canadian border, almost an eight hour drive away. If he left now, he could be there by the morning.
But as he crossed the kitchen on his way to the bathroom, he saw the files sitting on the table. Monroe had piled them back together, the tan colored folders concealing the carnage within, but the images still flashed in Nick’s mind like they had been doing the entire day, a sadistic slide machine that wouldn’t shut off. He shoved the images away from his closing eyelids. Down came his car keys onto the table. It was too soon. He couldn’t see Monroe right now without superimposing those photographs over his face, no matter how much remorse he saw in them. He needed more time.
He had work the next day, but couldn’t sleep more than a few minutes strung together while lying in Monroe’s bed, immersed in his scent. He buried his head in his pillow, inhaling every bit of Monroe’s past presence that he could, wishing his nose were as discerning as Monroe’s so he could perceive each individual cadence. Hank noticed his distraction, nearly everyone did, but Nick blamed insomnia, letting everyone assume that he wasn’t over Juliette yet. Hardly. How much had his world changed in a single month. He avoided the house, working overtime, pretending to be no less fervent about finding Monroe’s attempted murderer, but her threat hung around his throat, choking his fervor of making her pay for harming Monroe. It was just as well that she was one of the slipperiest perps they’d come across, so catching her wasn’t likely anyway.
When he was forced to be at home, he was always either in Monroe’s room, on the recliner he used so much, or at the workstation Nick had helped him set up just last week, although his help had mostly consisted of amending mistakes while Monroe nagged at him, wondering how a grown man could be so bad at following supposedly simple instructions that Nick grumbled were anything but, yet there had been fondness beneath his snark, no more than the defensive bark of a dog that would never have the heart to bite. Not that Nick would ever compare Monroe to a dog to his face, not if he wished to keep his limbs intact, but Monroe would ever hurt him. He’d never hurt anymore. Unless that someone was trying to kill him or Nick, especially if it was a creature. Then all bets were off, but Nick understood how that worked, even though Monroe was constantly reprimanding him for being too careless with his life by trying to give everyone a chance to turn themselves in. He’d be dead so many times over if it weren’t for Monroe. Nick had asked once why he’d invited him in for a beer that night and not simply eliminated the Grimm like every other blutbad wanted to do. After grumbling, “because I’m too damn curious for my own good”, he said:
“It would have been like killing a puppy. Aside from the Grimmness, you didn’t smell threatening at all. I knew you had to be new at this. I could have torn out your throat before you even thought about going for your gun.”
And Monroe didn’t kill puppies.
Wednesday night, he found himself in Monroe’s house, staring at the now clean patch of white tile Monroe had nearly asphyxiated to death on while lying in his own blood. He slept on Monroe’s bed, cradled in his sheets, missing the man’s embrace even though he had only shared a bed with him once. It was more than enough to make him burrow himself deeper into the covers, wishing the mattress would swallow him up.
At three in the morning, he sat at Monroe’s workstation, observing the overlapping magnifying glasses and the intricate mechanism of the open clock lying on the table. Such intricate work, such detail. When Nick had asked Monroe to explain his craft to him, Monroe had stopped halfway through because Nick couldn’t follow half of what he was saying. Nick had always loved this side of him, the calm focus, the quiet skill, his ability to arrange such tiny pieces into something beautiful.
The day during his lunch hour, he called Monroe, only to have his father answer and hang up on him. He tried again with the same result. In the afternoon, he tried yet again, but now a machine harped at him in an annoyed monotone:
“The number you are trying to reach is not available.”
That night, he packed a small bag and tossed it in the car. As soon as he got off work the next day, he took I-84 and started heading up to Washington. Six hours in, he checked into a motel, since if he kept going, he would arrive at three in the morning, which was not the best time to be knocking at the door of a family of blutbaden, but as soon as it was daylight, he was off again. By 9:30, he was ten minutes away from the house, ten minutes away from begging Monroe to forgive him for getting mad at him over something he had known all along. Ten minutes away from two other blutbaden who would much rather grill his heart with a side of bell peppers and caramelized onions than have him get back together with their son. Pleading to all the forces in the universe that Monroe would answer, Nick called the house. Two minutes of pointless ringing later, a machine informed him that the call wasn’t going through. He called again. Same thing. He pulled up by the side of the road, a woodsy area where the houses were far apart from each other, and kept calling until Monroe’s mother answered, contained vexation clipping every word.
“Alright. You want to talk to Eddie? Fine. Not that I expect you to treat him any better now after you threw him out—“
“I did not throw him out. He left.”
“I don’t care. Look, I believe now that you had nothing to do with that Grimm who tried to kill him, and I’m grateful you saved his life, but that does not obligate me to like you. It also doesn’t make you any less of an idiot. You expect a blutbad not to have killed anyone? What the hell’s wrong with you? He’s not your trained dog. If I’d had any inkling you were harassing him after that aunt of yours died, I would have killed you just to keep you away from him. But now it’s too damn late.”
“Yes, it is. This is your son’s decision, not yours. Mrs. Monroe, please. I know I made a mistake—“
“Mom, give me the phone,” Nick heard Monroe say, his voice muffled by the distance. His spirit lightened just at the sound of it. There was a scuffle, then Monroe finally took over the call.
“Hello?” he said, excitement vibrating the syllables. “Sorry about that. Dad, get away from that plug. I can talk to whoever the hell I want.” He turned back to Nick. “He unplugged the phone on Thursday. I figured you’d tried to call, but I didn’t want to call back and bug you if it wasn’t true. I’m sorry about leaving like that. I just figured it was better, you know?”
“It’s fine. I get it. You were probably right. I needed to think. But now I have and I-- I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did.”
“You wouldn’t have been you if you hadn’t.”
“I miss you. Can we talk in person? I’m ten minutes away from your parents’ house.”
“You’re here? Where? What road?”
“Archer. There’s a blue-white house behind me with a wheelbarrow by the front.”
“Okay. If you keep driving for another couple of minutes, there’s an empty patch by the road where you can park. It’s by a bend, so the trees hide you from view. Give me a couple of minutes. I’ll be right there.”
The couple of minutes dragged on like a vindictive slug, but finally Monroe’s yellow bug parked in front of him and the blutbad himself sprang from the car, stopping only two feet from Nick, but they were two feet too far. A smile kept trying to overtake his face, but apprehension bogged it down, making Nick frown. Apologies sprang to his tongue, but they couldn’t truly express what he was feeling. Instead, he thought back to how Monroe had offered him his neck to kiss. He tipped his head back to the right, exposing his carotid artery. Monroe frowned at him, confusion clouding his eyes.
“Nick?”
“I know what it means,” Nick said, praying he was right.
Hope arose in Monroe’s eyes as he took a step forward, sniffing at Nick. When his features started to shift, he shook it off, but Nick did not want him to.
“Don’t,” he said, sliding his hand between Monroe’s shoulder blades to pull him forward. “I trust you.”
Emitting a rumbling sob of contentment, Monroe buried his face in Nick’s neck, his teeth sharpening against his throat, but they didn’t pierce his flesh, only stroked lightly with his lips, his breath hot on his moistened skin. A hand tugged Nick’s head forward for him to return the gesture and they stood entwined, teeth at each others necks, showing their complete trust in each other.
“I love you,” Nick murmured, kissing Monroe’s quickening pulse. “In case you weren’t sure.”
Monroe chuckled, a welcome breath.
“Oh, I know,” he said, pulling Nick up for a kiss.
Fandom: Grimm
Rating: PG-13
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, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6
Chapter 7
||||
Nick dragged himself back home around nine that night. He’d spent the whole day drifting about the streets and more godforsaken parks until he could no longer bear the weight of his own thoughts and ensconced himself in the nearest cinema, not caring that the next showing was some little kid movie about penguins. He didn’t pay attention to half of it, his mind dislocated, caught adrift between his mangled principles and his deep love for Monroe. His spirit remained equally snarled around itself when he returned to find an empty house and a note on the small table beside the door where he always left his keys.
I know you said you’re not kicking me out, but I think it would help you clear your head if you didn’t have to deal with me, so I’m going to stay with my parents for a few days. I’m really sorry about everything. I feel terrible about what I did, I really do. All I’ve been doing these past thirteen years is trying not to be that guy again. I need you to understand that. I don’t blame you for being mad at me. Since I don’t have a cell phone anymore, I’m leaving you my parents’ number, if you, well, if anything. I’ll try to answer it as much as I can, since they’ll probably just hang up on you. But I won’t blame you if you don’t call. Thank you for putting up with me this past month. I’ve really enjoyed being with you.
There was nothing else after that except the phone number.
“I wasn’t putting up with you,” Nick muttered as he dialed the number in his cell phone before realizing that Monroe might not have gotten there yet. He didn’t know where this place was. It might be all the way across Washington State. Instead, he called the station and asked them to trace the phone number for him. Once he had the address, he googled it on his phone. Indeed, it was all the way in the eastern side of the state right beside the Canadian border, almost an eight hour drive away. If he left now, he could be there by the morning.
But as he crossed the kitchen on his way to the bathroom, he saw the files sitting on the table. Monroe had piled them back together, the tan colored folders concealing the carnage within, but the images still flashed in Nick’s mind like they had been doing the entire day, a sadistic slide machine that wouldn’t shut off. He shoved the images away from his closing eyelids. Down came his car keys onto the table. It was too soon. He couldn’t see Monroe right now without superimposing those photographs over his face, no matter how much remorse he saw in them. He needed more time.
He had work the next day, but couldn’t sleep more than a few minutes strung together while lying in Monroe’s bed, immersed in his scent. He buried his head in his pillow, inhaling every bit of Monroe’s past presence that he could, wishing his nose were as discerning as Monroe’s so he could perceive each individual cadence. Hank noticed his distraction, nearly everyone did, but Nick blamed insomnia, letting everyone assume that he wasn’t over Juliette yet. Hardly. How much had his world changed in a single month. He avoided the house, working overtime, pretending to be no less fervent about finding Monroe’s attempted murderer, but her threat hung around his throat, choking his fervor of making her pay for harming Monroe. It was just as well that she was one of the slipperiest perps they’d come across, so catching her wasn’t likely anyway.
When he was forced to be at home, he was always either in Monroe’s room, on the recliner he used so much, or at the workstation Nick had helped him set up just last week, although his help had mostly consisted of amending mistakes while Monroe nagged at him, wondering how a grown man could be so bad at following supposedly simple instructions that Nick grumbled were anything but, yet there had been fondness beneath his snark, no more than the defensive bark of a dog that would never have the heart to bite. Not that Nick would ever compare Monroe to a dog to his face, not if he wished to keep his limbs intact, but Monroe would ever hurt him. He’d never hurt anymore. Unless that someone was trying to kill him or Nick, especially if it was a creature. Then all bets were off, but Nick understood how that worked, even though Monroe was constantly reprimanding him for being too careless with his life by trying to give everyone a chance to turn themselves in. He’d be dead so many times over if it weren’t for Monroe. Nick had asked once why he’d invited him in for a beer that night and not simply eliminated the Grimm like every other blutbad wanted to do. After grumbling, “because I’m too damn curious for my own good”, he said:
“It would have been like killing a puppy. Aside from the Grimmness, you didn’t smell threatening at all. I knew you had to be new at this. I could have torn out your throat before you even thought about going for your gun.”
And Monroe didn’t kill puppies.
Wednesday night, he found himself in Monroe’s house, staring at the now clean patch of white tile Monroe had nearly asphyxiated to death on while lying in his own blood. He slept on Monroe’s bed, cradled in his sheets, missing the man’s embrace even though he had only shared a bed with him once. It was more than enough to make him burrow himself deeper into the covers, wishing the mattress would swallow him up.
At three in the morning, he sat at Monroe’s workstation, observing the overlapping magnifying glasses and the intricate mechanism of the open clock lying on the table. Such intricate work, such detail. When Nick had asked Monroe to explain his craft to him, Monroe had stopped halfway through because Nick couldn’t follow half of what he was saying. Nick had always loved this side of him, the calm focus, the quiet skill, his ability to arrange such tiny pieces into something beautiful.
The day during his lunch hour, he called Monroe, only to have his father answer and hang up on him. He tried again with the same result. In the afternoon, he tried yet again, but now a machine harped at him in an annoyed monotone:
“The number you are trying to reach is not available.”
That night, he packed a small bag and tossed it in the car. As soon as he got off work the next day, he took I-84 and started heading up to Washington. Six hours in, he checked into a motel, since if he kept going, he would arrive at three in the morning, which was not the best time to be knocking at the door of a family of blutbaden, but as soon as it was daylight, he was off again. By 9:30, he was ten minutes away from the house, ten minutes away from begging Monroe to forgive him for getting mad at him over something he had known all along. Ten minutes away from two other blutbaden who would much rather grill his heart with a side of bell peppers and caramelized onions than have him get back together with their son. Pleading to all the forces in the universe that Monroe would answer, Nick called the house. Two minutes of pointless ringing later, a machine informed him that the call wasn’t going through. He called again. Same thing. He pulled up by the side of the road, a woodsy area where the houses were far apart from each other, and kept calling until Monroe’s mother answered, contained vexation clipping every word.
“Alright. You want to talk to Eddie? Fine. Not that I expect you to treat him any better now after you threw him out—“
“I did not throw him out. He left.”
“I don’t care. Look, I believe now that you had nothing to do with that Grimm who tried to kill him, and I’m grateful you saved his life, but that does not obligate me to like you. It also doesn’t make you any less of an idiot. You expect a blutbad not to have killed anyone? What the hell’s wrong with you? He’s not your trained dog. If I’d had any inkling you were harassing him after that aunt of yours died, I would have killed you just to keep you away from him. But now it’s too damn late.”
“Yes, it is. This is your son’s decision, not yours. Mrs. Monroe, please. I know I made a mistake—“
“Mom, give me the phone,” Nick heard Monroe say, his voice muffled by the distance. His spirit lightened just at the sound of it. There was a scuffle, then Monroe finally took over the call.
“Hello?” he said, excitement vibrating the syllables. “Sorry about that. Dad, get away from that plug. I can talk to whoever the hell I want.” He turned back to Nick. “He unplugged the phone on Thursday. I figured you’d tried to call, but I didn’t want to call back and bug you if it wasn’t true. I’m sorry about leaving like that. I just figured it was better, you know?”
“It’s fine. I get it. You were probably right. I needed to think. But now I have and I-- I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did.”
“You wouldn’t have been you if you hadn’t.”
“I miss you. Can we talk in person? I’m ten minutes away from your parents’ house.”
“You’re here? Where? What road?”
“Archer. There’s a blue-white house behind me with a wheelbarrow by the front.”
“Okay. If you keep driving for another couple of minutes, there’s an empty patch by the road where you can park. It’s by a bend, so the trees hide you from view. Give me a couple of minutes. I’ll be right there.”
The couple of minutes dragged on like a vindictive slug, but finally Monroe’s yellow bug parked in front of him and the blutbad himself sprang from the car, stopping only two feet from Nick, but they were two feet too far. A smile kept trying to overtake his face, but apprehension bogged it down, making Nick frown. Apologies sprang to his tongue, but they couldn’t truly express what he was feeling. Instead, he thought back to how Monroe had offered him his neck to kiss. He tipped his head back to the right, exposing his carotid artery. Monroe frowned at him, confusion clouding his eyes.
“Nick?”
“I know what it means,” Nick said, praying he was right.
Hope arose in Monroe’s eyes as he took a step forward, sniffing at Nick. When his features started to shift, he shook it off, but Nick did not want him to.
“Don’t,” he said, sliding his hand between Monroe’s shoulder blades to pull him forward. “I trust you.”
Emitting a rumbling sob of contentment, Monroe buried his face in Nick’s neck, his teeth sharpening against his throat, but they didn’t pierce his flesh, only stroked lightly with his lips, his breath hot on his moistened skin. A hand tugged Nick’s head forward for him to return the gesture and they stood entwined, teeth at each others necks, showing their complete trust in each other.
“I love you,” Nick murmured, kissing Monroe’s quickening pulse. “In case you weren’t sure.”
Monroe chuckled, a welcome breath.
“Oh, I know,” he said, pulling Nick up for a kiss.
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From:
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Oh my, oh my, how I loved this story! you've conveyed their complicated emotions so well, and your characterizations (as always!) are so spot-on. I love this SO MUCH. Nick's heartbreak is so finely wrought here, I can FEEL it myself.
I must say after the last chapter, I thought I'd die.
Me on train commuting last night: NOOOOO!!!
Guy next to me on train: *grunt*
Yay - thanks for writing this.
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Start to finish -- just a great story. Would love to read a follow-up to it, if you're ever so inclined.
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By the way, I love your icon.
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this is now on the Reserved List.
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Than you so much for posting this and sharing with us :D
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Oh this ending makes me very happy!
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I'm so glad I got the chance now, though, because this was lovely: a perfect conclusion to your story. :) Thanks for posting!
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Thank you very much! And you know that sequel that wasn't going to happen? Well, now it is, if only because I need to write something cheery and the cuteness that is Monroe sometimes won't leave me alone. And it does contain I few elements I've never tackled before, so I'll be practicing something new. *clings to gratuitous justification*
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