Silence. That's all there was. At least, that was how Nick perceived it. His focus was lost, his vision of reality and a dream completely blurred. He was very faintly aware of a weight in his arms, but he couldn't quite place it. Yes, Nick Burkhardt's mind was the equivalent of a war zone at the moment, and it seemed nothing could break him from the battle.
Nick. Nick! Nick, look at me!
Sounds seem to bounce right off of him. And though he is vaguely aware of the presence of another person in the room, he refuses to look up to meet its gaze.
Nick! Look at me, please!
A voice. Yes, there is a voice. It's quiet, edging on a whisper. But it's there. Nick can only fight it for so long before he finally moves his head. His eyes, however, don't seem to comply so easily. He has to use what little strength he has to focus his attention on the source of the voice.
"Nick, please, say something!" The voice belongs to Theresa Rubel. Her eyes are welled with tears, and her voice shakes with each new word it forms. Though she was so strong moments ago, she can feel her resolve crumbling as she looks on at the scene in front of her.
Words. That's all. Words. Nick's brain tries to wrap around the simple task of speaking, but it seems too difficult. Instead, he looks to the mass in his arms. The shock of the moment had seemed to erase his mind and memory, and he nearly cries out when he recognizes the slain body. There's a name in the back of his brain, fighting its way back into his thoughts.
Juliette.
He should say something, anything, but he can't. He can't even begin to force a scream or a sob past those lips. All he can do is try and block the pain- both the physical and mental- from protruding in his brain.
"Nick, I-I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…" Trubel places a hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort her friend as best she can. But as hard as she tries, she knows somehow that it isn't enough. Her walls finally broken, she begins to cry.
Somewhere outside, a car pulls up into the driveway. Hank, Renard, and Wu all pile out of the vehicle, urgency in their footsteps. As soon as Hank had heard of Trubel's plan, he had phoned the others to come with him to the Burkhardt-Silverton residence. As much as he knew the young Grimm could handle things on her own, he also knew what heartbreak the situation would bring. He needed to be there for his friends. He doesn't bother to use the key Nick had given him, and he doesn't need to; the door is still slightly ajar from Trubel's act of heroism. The three men file in, quietly as to not disturb anything. It's a sight that's hard for all of them to swallow. Renard and Wu hang tentatively back, while Hank steps up to the plate. His first move is to help Trubel to her feet, and give her a much deserved hug. He can feel her body shaking with each sob, and he responds with a gentle pat to the back. He knows this was just as hard on her as it was the rest of them. Juliette may as well have been her surrogate mother, and to lose someone that special was never easy. As she pulls away from the embrace a few moments later, he gives her an empty, but still sympathetic smile.
His next task is Nick. He knows this will be hard; it's taking a great deal of strength not to cry himself. Steady hands hold Nick's shoulders, urging him to stand. When that doesn't work, Hank stoops down to his friend's side. He takes a moment to prepare himself before pressing forward.
"Nick, we're just gonna stand you up, okay? Think you can do that for me?" His voice is firm, but undemanding. When there's no reply, he sighs. "Captain, do you think you could give me a hand here?"
Nodding, Renard finally enters the main room. All business at the moment, he helps hoist Nick up while Hank gently guides Juliette's body to the floor. The two share a look before turning to Nick, waiting, watching. Nothing.
"He's in shock. We should get him to a hospital." Renard says it so simply, it's as if the fact that there was a dead body on the floor never crossed his mind. Hank finally stands, helping Sean to steady Nick.
"Sir, what… what about the body?"
Wu's voice is almost so faint that they don't quite hear it. Another look is shared, this time between all of them.
"We'll have to call it in. Trubel can stay behind and give a statement. She can say it was self defense, that Juliette came after her. That is, if you're up to it." Nodding at Trubel, Sean finally shows some sympathy in his features.
"Y-yeah, I can do that." Though she sounds unsure, Trubel knows how delicate this situation is.
"Alright. That means that you'll have to make the call."
Giving a solemn nod, she leaves to go the kitchen, and to get the phone.
"Hank, help me get Nick onto the couch. He'll have to wait for the ambulance, but for right now, he needs to lie down."
"Got it."
"It's been three days. Why hasn't he improved by now?" Monroe's voice is quieter than usual, full of grief and sorrow.
"Monroe, Nick just lost the love of his life. I wouldn't be surprised if it took him a while to readjust." Rosalee sighs. She knows how much this is hurting him, to watch his best friend deteriorate. It's killing her, too. But she still holds on to hope, because she has to do it for the both of them.
"I understand the grieving process. But Rosalee… I mean, he hasn't spoken in three days. Shouldn't that be a cause for concern?"
Putting her wooden spoon on the counter, Rosalee looked down into the pot of pasta on the stove. She can't meet her husband's gaze, not right now. "Monroe, the doctors are trying everything they can. It may take some time-"
"What if it doesn't work? What if this is permanent? What... what if he never talks again?"
The break in his voice finally makes her turn around. Monroe's eyes are swollen from days of crying, and fresh tears are forming, threatening to spill across the invisible scars of tears past. His face is dark, and his lips are trembling.
"Honey…" It's all she can manage. Wrapping her arms around him, Rosalee musses her fingers through Monroe's curls, trying to pull him closer. As she feels his body shake with the first rocky breath, she feels the little hope she's been holding onto slip away.