Title: Unbreakable Bond
Author: Jadwiga ( Luthienberen on LiveJournal / Dreamwidth )
Beta Reader: rae_fa
Disclaimer: I do not own Grimm or any of the characters. I am not any making money from this.
Pairing: Nick, Monroe friendship. (This can also be read as Pre-slash if you are so inclined.)
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: H/C, a little Angst, Spoilers for episode 6 & 7 specifically, but possibly earlier ones as well
Word Count: Overall ~ 19,103
Summary: A mysterious death in Forest Park leads to Monroe going missing. Nick races to find his friend.
A/N: This was written for the grimm_exchange on Dreamwidth for takadainmate.
Nick knocked on Monroe's door, juggling the six-pack of beer he had cradled against his chest, along with an array of other goodies. He hoped Monroe would hurry as the evening was damp and cold. An early mist was snaking its way around the houses in Monroe's neighbourhood casting everything in shifting shadows.
The gloomy atmosphere it created sent shivers down Nick's spine. Frankly he had never liked the deceptiveness of mist or fog; of how easily it tricked the senses, causing the mind to perceive what wasn't really there. Now that he was a Grimm and knew that monsters really did lurk in the shadows he was even less keen on anything that helped them hide.
Hey, you never knew when there would be a creature out there eager to exact some revenge on the new resident Grimm. So, Nick actually had a very good excuse for not being enthusiastic about what some people called 'atmosphere setting' conditions.
Nope, the only use for mist was to befuddle you and make it easier for anything with a vendetta (or a creature you're hunting), to attack first.
Nick shifted on his feet wishing Monroe would hurry. The night was deepening as the mist obscured the stars and moon, so that the minimal street lights were rapidly becoming mere dots in the murky sea winding around him. The faint yellowish pinpricks reminded Nick of the tales of Will o' the Wisps from Britain, lights borne by mischievous spirits to lure unwary travellers to their deaths.
On the heels of these comforting thoughts the wolf door swung open spilling much welcome light onto the porch. Nick almost dropped his treasure in shock and the rush of relief the light and the sight of Monroe brought.
"Hey Monroe, I've bought the beer."
His friend snorted. "I can see that. Want a hand?" Without waiting for an answer the taller man snatched the beer and huge packet of chips from Nick.
"You know," commented Monroe, "you could have waited for me to open the door and help instead of lugging all the food and beverages in one go."
"Why wait? It means we can get more movies in." There was absolutely no chance that Nick was going to admit that a bit of mist had spooked him, nor that he had been scaring himself silly with folklore legends. Monroe would never let him live it down.
Never.
Monroe raised an eyebrow and moved inside so Nick could follow. He sniffed as he did, grinning. "You do realise I know when you're lying right?"
Damn. "Don't know what you implying."
"Sure. Hey!" Thankfully, Monroe was distracted. He had caught the label on the beer bottles. "Oh dude, you actually bought over some quality beer! I knew I was having a positive influence on you!"
Nick laughed, revelling in his friend's pleasure. "Yeah…well, considering you keep huffing whenever I bring or drink that 'substandard' stuff as you call it, I figured surrendering was less painful than dragging the battle out."
Eyes a deep brown darted his way, Monroe shaking his head as he went into the kitchen and placed the beer and chips on the counter.
"Surrender huh? I obviously need to continue narrating the merits of excellent, quality, real coffee to you, since my efforts have succeeded so far."
Nick stepped up beside Monroe, his arm pressing against his friend's. Their bodies were so close that Nick was warmed by the heat rolling off his friend, his own body heat surely affecting Monroe.
"Narrating? You got the wrong word there. I think 'nagging' is more appropriate."
Monroe didn't even bother answering this blatant jibe, instead giving Nick a strong, but playful nudge with his shoulder.
Nick smiled in response, dumping the remaining items onto the counter beside the chips and beer. Not so long ago Monroe would have shied away from such physical contact, leaving it to Nick to always initiate touch at the very beginning of their relationship.
Monroe had been so cautious, drilling such discipline into his self in an attempt to suppress the bloodthirsty aspect of his nature. Feeling had been relegated to safer pursuits: the minute, exquisite repairing of clocks, the routine of Pilates and the sweet chords of cello music.
Then a Grimm, newly minted, had blown into his life and scattered his regime like leaves thrown about by a tornado. Thank goodness for Monroe being a Wieder Blutbad otherwise Nick would most definitely not have stayed a new Grimm for long, instead ending up as a dead Grimm.
So yeah, they had met, argued, fought over Nick continually barging into Monroe's world until finally they were becoming something more: Nick getting away with clapping his hand on Monroe's shoulder, nettling him and observing how much Monroe was thrilled at being the teacher of (admittedly, someone who was meant to be his mortal enemy) Portland's new Grimm.
This had continued right up until Angelina had shown up and almost destroyed their burgeoning friendship. Nick didn't blame Monroe for Hap's death, though he understood why Monroe blamed himself. He also understood why Monroe hadn't handed Angelina in, but personally, if she ever showed her face again around Monroe? Nick would live up to his ancestors' reputation and shoot first.
Afterwards Monroe had been quiet, brooding over those crazy days and the combined grief and guilt over Hap's death. He had not been receptive to Nick's displays of physicality. For Nick, touching was automatic and he hadn't realised how frequently he did it around Monroe and how fixated Monroe had become in his life until he had nearly lost it.
So, the whole stint with Holly had been a relief in one respect: it had re-balanced them. With one excursion into the forest and Nick's protest that Monroe was his friend to the gun-toting brothers they were back on track.
Now Nick could stand beside Monroe and relax in the comfort supplied at the causal brushing of their arms.
"Nick? You okay?"
Nick blinked, emerging from the pit his memories had taken him, to find Monroe staring at him with amusement, though he could detect slight concern lurking at the edges.
"Huh? Nothing, just a bit lost in my thoughts."
"Don't strain yourself."
"Hilarious Monroe…not." Nick broke eye contact and picked up the bag of popcorn, waving it at Monroe. "Which bowl do you want me to pour this into?"
"None yet."
"Um, why?"
"Because."
"Okay," said Nick slowly. "Care to elaborate?" There was no answer so Nick watched in growing confusion as Monroe crossed to his fridge and pulled out a plastic wrapped dish. With great ceremony the Blutbad peeled the plastic off and waved Nick closer.
Walking to the small kitchen table Nick peered into the dish. "Lasagne?"
"Not simply any lasagne, but vegetarian, made with the freshest ingredients. Ingredients purchased at the local market of a calibre your poor taste-buds have probably never sampled." Monroe smirked at the end of his little announcement.
Nick was amazed, if impressed, at Monroe's sneering diagnosis of the state of his food experience. "Wow, Monroe, you know how to make a guy feel on top of the world instead of being an uncivilised grunt."
"I try."
Their gazes locked and they lasted barely a minute before laughing. After a couple minutes of uninterrupted laughter, Nick managed to stop, if only to save his lungs. Gasping for breath and wiping his tears away he straightened.
"So, why the lasagne? I thought I was coming over just for a beer and treat film night?"
Monroe looked serious. "And have you faint from lack of energy? You've been overworking yourself this entire week, dashing back and forth from the station, home and here asking Grimm related questions, not to mention that on at least three occasions, within two days, where when you did stagger through my door you inhaled three bagels and a bowl of my salad…which I was rather relishing at the time."
"Sorry?" offered Nick.
Rolling his eyes Monroe moved to the oven, which Nick now realised was already warmed and ready. With an efficient flick of the wrist his friend inserted the lasagne into the oven and shut the door.
Next, he pushed up the sleeves of his brown cardigan and fetched a bread loaf. Monroe continued his rant. "So, I figured you clearly weren't eating right and it is my duty as your partner in Grimm stuff, to actually feed you proper food before you get yourself killed by passing out at an inappropriate moment."
"Just as my partner?" Nick needled.
"Fine, as your friend as well, idiotic Grimm."
Nick however, ignored the embarrassed grumbling and smirking leaned next to Monroe. "That's what friends are for."
"Listen to yourself, do you ever grow weary of antagonising your friendly Blutbad?"
Nick pretended to grant this serious consideration. "Nope," he responded cheerfully, "because it's too entertaining not to and as you said you are friendly."
Monroe had a 'why me' expression on his face. "I may bite."
"No you wouldn't. I trust you." Nick gripped his friend's arm, turning Monroe to meet his gaze. He was anxious that Monroe believed him. The Blutbad looked uneasy but shrugged.
"Yeah, well, I may have to start."
Nick snorted. "Okay then. Want any help?"
"Yes, retrieve the garlic and butter paste from the fridge will you? I'm making garlic bread."
"On my way."
In the end they devoured the entire lasagne, Nick starving the second his nose caught the splendid aromas of Monroe's dishes. He was eternally grateful for his friend's concern.
Afterwards, once the dishes had been washed, they moved onto their film night. While Monroe warmed up the popcorn, Nick arranged the beer bottles on the low table in the living room and popped a movie into the player. It was the original 1941 classic The Wolf Man with Lon Chaney Jr. Monroe had been exasperated by Nick's selection, but the Grimm had succeeded in cajoling his friend into seeing the film on the basis of how many things the directors got wrong.
It took a few minutes of intense persuasion but at last Monroe saw the funny side and agreed to his plans.
The rest of the evening therefore was spent watching that and a handful of other classics until their snarking wound down to sleepy whispers, which itself eventually wore away into silence.
In the dim light of Monroe's living room Blutbad and Grimm slept.
Monroe was the first to awaken in the morning. A strict regime of Pilates before six thirty in the morning meant that no matter what time he went to bed his natural body clock rang the alarm for him to rise early and do his exercises.
Stretching, Monroe hit a warm solid object. In an instant he was alert, muscles coiling for a potential fight. Then his eyesight focused.
"What?"
Nick Burkhardt was sprawled over his couch. They must have fallen asleep while watching movies, neither stirring in the night to adjust their positions. Nick was lying in an awkward heap: one leg dangling off the side, head propped up on the armrest, while his right leg was bent on the sofa, with his foot, (thankfully absent of his shoe), was pressing against Monroe's left thigh.
Monroe dimly recalled how Nick had decided to curl up on the couch as they chatted, pausing only to inquire if Monroe was alright with that. He remembered saying no problem as long as Nick removed his shoes. Meanwhile, Monroe had stayed in his upright posture, refusing to relinquish the whole of his extremely comfortable couch to Nick.
"Brilliant. Now you are ingraining your scent into my house – furniture – during the night as well? And Blutbaden are considered territorial?"
No response came from the slumbering Grimm. Sighing, Monroe stood, arching his back to release any stiffness. Casting one more look at Nick, Monroe elected to allow him to sleep and gently lifted Nick's dangling limb onto the couch, all the time despairing at how mothering he had become.
"Forget Thanksgiving. Rather a permanent ban from all family occasions."
Muttering under his breath about a stupidly trusting Grimm – falling asleep in the house of a Blutbad nonetheless! – Monroe prepared for a session of Pilates.
Quickly Monroe became absorbed in his routine and it wasn't until Nick's cell-phone rang that he thought of his impromptu house-guest again.
He had just finished his shower and dressed in clean clothes, and was pottering around just outside his house, tentatively sniffing the air. Monroe would never admit that after Nick's strange behaviour last night he was now curious to double-check his territory.
His sharpened hearing meant he heard the ringing tone of Nick's phone and backtracked into his house, re-entering the living room to discover a dazed Nick scrambling around on the floor for his cell. Monroe watched in a few seconds in amusement before walking forwards to help.
"Morning Nick!"
Nick shot a frantic look at him before continuing with his uncoordinated search.
"Sooo, not a morning person then." Damn was this funny. He should have Nick sleep over more often.
"Come on Monroe! A little help would be appreciated. Where could I have possibly left my phone?"
Deciding to take mercy Monroe frowned and swept the now messy room. "It can't be far. You're uneven approach isn't exactly helpful." Monroe picked up a cast off undershirt. "Okay dude, how did you even remove this without my noticing. Sheesh."
Nick declined to answer, instead trying to shift beer bottles and sweet wrappers – ahhh the chocolate Nick had smuggled over – in a desperate attempt to seek out his cell.
Electing a more obvious route, Monroe tracked down Nick's jacket, rummaging through the leather pockets until…"Eureka! Nick, I found it."
Loping back into his living room Monroe held out the cell-phone to a grateful Nick.
"Thanks Monroe."
Nick didn't even glance at the screen to check who was calling, he simply hit the receive button. "Detective Burkhardt."
Monroe didn't bother listening, if it was a call from the station Nick would most likely be shooting off. However, he wouldn't be shooting off empty handed if Monroe had anything to do with it.
He was busy in the kitchen, brewing a wonderfully fragrant Guatemalan coffee, and spreading a bagel with goat's cheese, when Nick wandered in. He was still in a disorganised state: shirt not fully done up, hair a bramble bush and feet only clad in socks.
"Morning Monroe."
"Ah, civilised discourse has returned."
Nick's grey eyes clearly informed Monroe he considered that highly unfunny, but was willing to forgive him.
"That was Hank. A body has been discovered in Forest Park off one of the main trails. I need to head on up."
Monroe reached for a paper bag. "You don't suspect anything creature related?"
Nick shrugged. "Not at the moment, but I'll keep my eyes peeled. What are you doing?"
"Breakfast. If you think you're escaping without any think again." Waving the now full paper bag, Monroe continued. "I've packed a bagel with goat's cheese and chive, plus an orange for some healthy vitamins. Now, if I can pry out a spare thermos I'll pour you some coffee too."
Monroe could smell Nick's surprise and pleasure. "Thanks Monroe, you didn't have to do this."
"Whatever. Just change and borrow a comb, seriously, you look like you took a dive through some undergrowth."
"Yeah, yeah." Obeying, Nick turned and headed for his bathroom.
"The police department so need to start paying me."
Biting into his bagel Monroe set about unearthing a spare thermos.
It was nine by the time Nick reached the crime scene. He had eaten his bagel and orange in the car, though the orange had made a complete mess of his hands and fingers, not to mention his car seat, but still had his coffee.
Nick hauled himself out of his car bringing his thermos with him. He desperately required that coffee to wake up his remaining sluggish brain-cells, which were informing him of his craziness in drinking too much beer chased down with a boat-load of sugary treats.
Maybe Monroe has a point about refined sugar, thought Nick as he walked over the trail to the crowd of police officers milling between the tall trees. He flashed his badge and was led through the sylvan gloom into a bright clearing lit by the morning sun.
He managed to catch sight of the forensic team before Hank's voice arrested his attention.
"Hey buddy! Over here!"
Smiling, Nick bore left and joined Hank where he was standing by a man dressed in hiking gear.
"Morning Nick, had a rough night?" Hank gestured with amusement to his thermos.
Nick snorted. "Wouldn't you like to know Hank? Hey, wipe that smirk off your face."
His partner simply chuckled and then sobered. He turned to the man beside him. "Nick, meet Faxon Wald, Mr Wald, Detective Burkhardt."
"Nice to meet you," said the young man, holding out his hand.
"I wish it was under better circumstances Mr Wald." Nick shook the proffered hand while surreptitiously examining Faxon Wald.
The young man in question wasn't tall, perhaps an inch shorter than Nick. Mr Wald was dressed in a dark green shirt, a paler leafy green vest poking from underneath. On top of his shirt he wore a sleeveless padded vest, this one a khaki colour while his pants were a mottled beige and olive pattern. Okay, so green was obviously this guy's favourite colour – all shades apparently.
Glancing up at his face Nick met wide eyes. For a blissful moment everything was wonderfully normal: Mr Wald had delicate features that made him decidedly pretty instead of handsome, with hazel eyes and longish brown hair falling into his face.
Then Faxon's face transformed for one brief second and Nick's morning was ruined. His face shifted, cheekbones becoming sharper, eyes larger, the irises now golden mixed with strands of brown. His lips reminded Nick of blood they were so deep a shade of red. His hair was much longer, a shifting sea of russet locks intermingled with an occasional flash of yellow. It recalled autumn days to Nick, when the forest became a blanket of beautiful reds, rich chocolate and bronze leaves.
If anything his true face was even more beautiful than his human visage and Nick found himself blinking at the sudden spell it put him under. Drawing on all his Grimm powers Nick fought off the befuddling sensations refusing to become ensnared in whatever enchantment Mr Wald was weaving.
What are you?
Breathing harshly Nick focused and Mr Wald's human form reappeared. Instantly Nick could see that Mr Wald knew who he was: a Grimm.
His frightened eyes said as much.
Realising that he was still gripping Mr Wald's hand and Hank was shooting him 'are you okay?' expression Nick dropped it and did his best to radiate friendliness. If Mr Wald was innocent then he had nothing to fear: Nick only hunted the bad ones.
He wished though he had drunk Monroe's coffee.
"So Hank what have we got?"
"A dead hiker, he was part of Mr Wald's group."
Nick nodded. "What happened?"
It was Mr Wald who answered. "He wandered off after I expressly warned everyone not to!" Waving his arm behind him, the young man continued, "We began our hike very early, not long after the park opened: about five this morning. Around six I called a halt so we could rest. Navigating is hard work and everyone in my group are beginners at hiking.
"Anyway, Mr Jones was upset. We had just stopped as I mentioned for an hour to eat and refresh ourselves and I was informing my group that no-one should walk away from the trail into the forest – firstly since it is prohibited anyway. Secondly because once off the main trails you can become easily disoriented, especially if it is your first time."
Nick studied the creature who gazed back at him, fear and wariness rolling off his frame. He was hunched, hands clenched at his sides. He was probably wishing he could bolt, run away from the resident Grimm.
Damn.
"And then what Mr Wald?" Nick asked, aiming for professional – professional cop that is, not professional creature hunter.
"You may call me Faxon," replied the creature.
"Faxon, what did Mr Jones do next?"
Faxon shifted on his feet, darting a look at Hank who was plainly puzzled by their witness' reaction to Nick. Nick knew to expect some probing questions later. He wished fervently that he could avoid such a confrontation, it was growing harder to conceal his second job from those he cared for: Juliette and Hank – at least he had Monroe; otherwise Nick knew he would be insane if not dead by now.
"He moaned and complained for the rest of our break. He even kept up a monologue while we ate and then…" At this point Faxon's voice turned angry, pitch shooting higher.
At the edge of his vision Nick saw Hank become alert at this and an encouraging note entered his voice as the dark-skinned detective said: "What Faxon? Did Mr Jones hit you or someone else in the group?"
"No!" was the indignant response. "He littered."
Nick wasn't sure he had heard correctly. "Pardon me, did you say littered?"
"Yes! Just tore open a bag of chips, scattering them all over the ground and then he proceeded to drop the packet onto the shrubbery by the trail." By now Faxon's face was a tomato-red colour. "I asked him to refrain but he ignored me, shouting about stupid rules and how constraining I – we – were all being. Next thing I knew Mr Jones stomped off a little way down the path all but snarling under his breath."
Nick watched as Faxon rubbed a palm over his perspiring brow, transferring his hand to his hair to run his fingers through the brown mane.
"I decided to call a finish to our rest period and suggested everyone gather their belongings. In recompense we would have an extra hour to explore." Faxon dragged in a lungful of air, which appeared to do little to steady his obviously cartwheeling nerves. He cast another wary glance at Nick, subtly edging closer to Hank.
Nick pretended not to see and closed off the part of him that ached at the injustice of the creature's terror for him; for his ancestry.
Instead he prompted Faxon to continue: "And?"
"Nothing until maybe an hour later, roughly seven fifteen since I cut our stop off after a mere 20 minutes – we had caught up with Mr Jones (after another hiker and I cleared his litter up), and proceeded with the guided hike. There was little talking, as the majority just seemed to want to drink in the sights and splendour of the magnificent red alder trees…" Catching their raised brows Faxon hastily got back on track.
"What I mean is that there was relevant silence for those ninety minutes. I didn't hear anything untoward. However, as we reached a bend Mr Florence suddenly stumbled.
"Naturally we halted and checked to see if he hadn't injured himself when Mr Haywater, the poor unfortunate who was supposed to be Mr Jones' partner on the trail noticed that Mr Jones was missing."
"He didn't notice before this?" interrupted Hank. "Surely from your description he isn't a man easy to miss?"
Faxon snorted. "After that debacle, unsurprisingly Mr Haywater had no desire to stay near Mr Jones. Consequently, he elected to walk with Mr Talon who was up until then without a partner."
"Hmmm, okay," Hank scribbled in his notebook. "Continue."
"I and my assistant Rose naturally were alarmed. We grew more so when we heard Mr Talon say that Mr Jones had continued muttering and fallen behind him and Mr Haywater. Then Mr Talon admitted he had tuned him out and couldn't say when he last heard Mr Jones."
"Where was your assistant? Shouldn't Rose have been at the back, ensuring no-one strayed?" asked Nick frowning. Something didn't feel right.
Faxon sighed, glancing over to the edge of the clearing where the trees began to huddle in closer together.
"Yes, Detective. However, she was lax and I am ashamed to say I didn't note her absence, focused as I was on my section of the group. I immediately organised the group and within minutes we were retracing our steps. It took us I estimate twenty minutes of walking and keeping our eyes peeled until we came across Mr Jones' pack."
Faxon shrugged remorse on his face. "I admit detectives that I was blown by the discovery, both Rose and I at that point were desperately praying that he had only wandered off to answer nature's call, as leaving your pack behind is begging for trouble. We requested that everyone remain on the trail while we searched the nearby area. Thankfully, we had enough volunteers that we could achieve this quickly.
"In the end though, we discovered Mr Jones not far off. We followed his footprints and litter into the clearing. Next we tracked him perhaps 200 metres out. Well, once I ascertained he was dead I had no choice but to lead my team back to the trail and call Rose on our walkie-talkies. Then I filled Rose in and left her to call in our emergency and maintain calm. I returned to keep guard over the body and ensure nothing –animal or human – did any further harm to him. You know the rest"
Nick nodded. "Thank you Faxon. We'll call again if we require further assistance. You may re-join your hiking companions."
Faxon didn't hesitate, he just mumbled thank you in a breathless and terribly relieved voice. He shook Hank's hand, shot Nick a nervous wave then practically bolted over to a young woman whom Nick guessed was probably 'Rose'.
He turned to Hank who was examining him. "Any idea while Faxon acted as if you were going to eat him?"
Nick tried for nonchalance. "No idea. Maybe I reminded him of somebody who bullied him in school?"
Hank didn't seem convinced, his dark eyes scrutinising Nick doubtfully. "You've never met him before?"
"Are you implying that I not only know the guy but beat up him or something? Come on Hank that's not fair."
"Sorry man, it is just weird the way Faxon acted as if he expected you to pull your gun on him."
Nick knew that he couldn't really plausibly account for that without confessing the truth (which was insane enough for Hank to question his sanity) so he kept it simple. "I'm out of suggestions Hank. How about we stick to the case? We can solve Faxon's behaviour later – if it's possible."
His partner shrugged, willing to let it slide for the present. "Alright. Well, when we arrived here we found Mr Jones face down among some trees as Faxon said roughly 200 metres from the clearing."
Hank led Nick out of the clearing where forensics was attempting to pick up some clues as to the last actions of Mr Jones.
The two detectives made their path through the majestic trees, shoes sinking into the welcoming earth and stepping over twisting trees roots. Finally Nick glimpsed through the brown tree trunks the sight of police tape and his colleagues. He had been aware of their voices for longer, a murder scene wasn't the quietest of places.
Hank halted and Nick realised they had reached Mr Jones. The man was burly, blond head uncovered. He lay face down at an awkward angle. His left arm was outstretched but the right was bent so that the right fingers were almost touching his temple. His body was slightly turned to the side, torso twisted to the side, his legs bent.
Then Nick blinked in amazement. "Where are his clothes? He's only got a thin t-shirt and boxers on. Not even shoes or socks!"
Hank nodded grimly. "Yeah and that isn't the strangest thing either Nick. The soles of his feet are covered in cuts and bruises as if he walked a long way, however, we can't find his tracks, only this one leading from the clearing. His neck is broken but again there is no indication of him falling or anybody breaking his neck, it's like he decided to lie down here and his neck just broke on its own."
Nick wanted to ask if Hank was serious but he knew his partner wouldn't lie. Nick stared around the scene: Mr Jones was the single still object amid the bustling police team. He gazed into the forest. The sylvan expanse looked right back, expressionless.
The rustling sounds of the forest brushed his ears. The hairs on Nick's arms rose and he felt something ancient stir in him. An instinct that was all Grimm shrieked. Nick stared pensively into wooded park, something about his surroundings were tripping all his alarms.
Now that his instincts had awoken and were whispering that whatever had caused Mr Jones' death was dangerous – and that nature wasn't as innocent as it seemed – Nick knew that he would hitting his aunt's books and contacting Monroe as soon as possible.
"Yes," he said addressing Hank. "Something strange happened here."
He slapped his partner's arm. "Shall we return to the station? I think we've done what we can here. Let's see what they've got back there."
"Cool."
Nick accompanied his partner back to the clearing and his car. All the while his back crawled and his nerves trembled. He felt as if Forest Park had come alive and were watching him with narrowed vision. He could also swear that Faxon stared at him with the same blank expression.
The second Nick reached his desk he poured himself a large mug of Monroe's special brew and drank it almost in one go. He could hear phantom Monroe bewailing his savagery but boy did he need that coffee.
Relishing the wonderful taste of the hot brown liquid and how it soothed and refreshed him, Nick found he could partially throw off the dread instilled by the all too alive forest and Faxon's transformation.
After polishing off the contents of the thermos the next two hours were jam-packed with activity. Both Hank and he had to write up the witness statements and any observations they had so far. Then Nick started searching the database for similar deaths or for disappearances within the last six months.
Meanwhile, Hank carried out background checks (ably assisted by Sergeant Wu) on Faxon, Rose and the people who had elected to go on this hiking tour on one of the many trails in Forest Park.
It was midday before Nick and Hank could stop and grab some lunch. They discussed the case, dwelling on the peculiar circumstances. The nameless alarm that Nick had managed to suppress to the background while working returned full-force and he shuddered, even though the office was warm and well-lit by the sun.
The mist from the night before was no-where to be seen yet Nick could have sworn the same emotions it elicited were present now, haunting him. He resolved to see Monroe as soon as he could escape.
Once safely ensconced at their desks, Nick pulled out his cell-phone and text Monroe asking whether he could come over for dinner. He added that he would bring take-away (vegetarian naturally) so Monroe wouldn't have to cook.
It wasn't until near four o'clock that an anxious Nick received a response saying sure and asking if everything was okay.
Okay, maybe I shouldn't have sent four texts in quick succession, mused Nick guiltily.
Yes, Nick replied. My case is just weird. I'll be there at six.
See you, was Monroe's reply. Don't worry I'll protect you.
Nick caught himself ere he could laugh out-loud. Monroe knew how to kick him out of his brooding.
Excusing himself Nick pretended to need the toilet. However, instead he took a left and leaning against the wall called Juliette. He had to tell her he wouldn't be returning until late and not to wait up for him, because if things went as Nick thought they would, after his conversation with Monroe he would be visiting his aunt's trailer. Though it was his trailer now…
Anyway, he couldn't allow Hank to overhear as he would question why Nick wouldn't be home since Nick wouldn't actually be in the police station. Yeah, not an exchange Nick wanted right now after that scene with Faxon.
"Hello Nick."
The dark-haired detective smiled and dived into his ready-made excuse, feeling a little guilty for the necessary deception.
Nick sighed. He was glad to finally leave the station. He was hungry and his nerves were jangling.
Slipping into his car Nick drove to a Chinese Takeaway he knew well and ordered anything that didn't contain meat and actually smelled promising. Loaded and thoughts already bending towards Monroe, Nick stepped on the gas.
Within half an hour he was driving up to Monroe's house and parking on the curb. Nick climbed out of the car, managing to snag the two bags holding the enticing scents of Chinese food. As he walked to the door Nick marvelled how the sight of the small house filled him with comfort and security.
It was amazing really: a Grimm finding sanctuary, reprieve, in the abode of a Blutbad. Nick grinned. Amazing but about time.
Nick didn't want to be like his ancestors. He wasn't sure he even wanted to be too much like his Aunt Marie. Nick understood he had to kill the bad ones, but if he had listened to the voices of all the Grimms that had preceded him he would never have given Monroe a chance after the first time.
So, while the death of his aunt grieved Nick still after all these months, he was grateful that because of the lack of support and knowledge in the world he had been thrust into, he could forge a new path, a new beginning. Creating a rapport with Monroe had been the start and Nick believed he was a better Grimm – and a better cop – for fighting alongside a Blutbad.
Monroe was the best friend a man – anybody – could ask for, and Nick had every intention of them creating a new history. Well, they had already begun, so essentially continuing to build a new Grimm heritage for other Grimms to emulate. Now he had to convince Monroe to add to the books Nick would write.
If he had children then at least they would know the truth and the good ones like Monroe wouldn't have to fear too much – only enough to warn them of not surrendering to the bad.
Monroe was safe, though Nick knew he couldn't hunt Monroe down even if he went wild and yeah, that scared him, turned his stomach sour, and made him a bad cop, a terrible Grimm. However, Nick couldn't make himself think of a situation where he would lose Monroe like that, because life surely couldn't be so cruel?
Monroe was the only one who knew of Nick being a Grimm and probably the only one who could comprehend the struggle between tradition and changing as the old ways aren't always right. He was Nick's friend and Nick wanted to believe that any children of theirs would play together: a new generation. So, Nick visited Monroe, weaselled his way into the life of this solitary Blutbad, enshrining himself fully so he couldn't be removed without being taken out permanently.
He let Monroe know he would be there for him so there wouldn't be a case of 'one day'. In return Monroe supported Nick and offered the same sentiment. They never discussed how vital each was to the other. Monroe had Juliette's number, image and scent so if the occasion arose he would protect her if Nick couldn't. That said it all really.
Nick would do the same when Monroe met that special someone, whether they be Blutbad, human or other creature, heck even a pet!
Buoyed by arriving at Monroe's, Nick mounted the steps and watched the stained glass wolf swing away. Monroe, dressed in a blue-green checked flannel shirt and beige trousers, grinned at him.
"Seriously Nick, you need to stop hauling in all the food in one go."
"Because it might hurt my delicate hands?"
Monroe said, "No, because you may be on my territory, but that doesn't automatically mean you're safe."
Nick smirked. Translation: you should keep a hand free to grab your weapon you idiot. Considering how easily Angelina had smashed through his car window Monroe had a point.
"Okay, I'll wait for Prince Charming next time. Do you have his number?"
Monroe narrowed his eyes. "Yeah and he's debating whether he wants a stray Grimm in his castle."
"Hmmm…well the stray Grimm comes bearing mixed fried rice and Chinese mushrooms."
"Then strays are welcome."
"You mean one stray Nick Burkhardt, Grimm, not 'strays'," Nick corrected.
"Right I forgot, you're possessive. Are all Grimms like this?"
"No idea and possibly best not to find out," replied Nick cheerfully as he darted inside, Monroe following with one of the bags of Chinese and shutting the door securely.
"True. This Blutbad doesn't need another Grimm, one is enough."
Monroe sniffed. "Oooo…nice. Grab the plates Nick and I'll get the cutlery. You can fill me in while eat."
Nick did just that. Sitting opposite each other at the dining table Nick regaled Monroe with everything that happened to him since leaving Monroe's house that morning.
Eventually, with only a small amount of rice and noodles left on their plates Monroe leant back, sipping the wine he had opened. He had an unfocused look as if trying to recall a memory or fact.
Absentmindedly the Blutbad rubbed his chin, his fingers making a rasping noise against his beard.
"If I'm correct Nick, and I doubt I'm not, then we're in major trouble."
"That sounds appropriately ominous."
Brown eyes caught and held his grey ones and Nick swallowed at the gravity he saw there. None of Monroe's usual cheerfulness was present. Rather Nick discerned the tell-tale flashes of red that signalled Monroe was reacting to a serious threat. Brilliant, just what Nick needed.
"What Monroe? What am I – we-" amended Nick at his friend's growl, "-facing?"
"From the sensations you described in the forest and the transformation of your prime witness, I would say we are dealing with elves."
For a moment Nick didn't react. Monroe's announcement was hard to grasp, practically anti-climactic to what he had expected. However, experience kicked in and Nick said cautiously, "Elves?"
Monroe just raised his eyebrows, seemingly unsurprised by his friend's reaction. "Yes."
"I'm assuming that you're not referring to the elves the average person is familiar with?"
"Yes," and damn if that wasn't pride in Nick in Monroe's voice. Nick grinned.
"So?"
Monroe waved the hand not holding his wine glass. Nick sipped his beer.
"Elves. Popular legend has done much to distort them. However, to be perfectly honest elfin or elven folklore, depending on which you prefer, isn't straightforward in of itself. Throughout the ages the term 'elves' has been used interchangeably with 'dwarves' and depending on which source, so has their height and attributes.
"The elves you are most likely familiar with are the ones from Nordic tradition – or Tolkien's elves if you wish. The Norse believed the elves were similar in stature to humans but more beautiful: stronger and divine. They were right to a certain extent.
"Humans forget mythology isn't clearly-cut. The Grimm brothers knew that, so did your fellow Grimms. Other folklore depicted elves as small creatures that either helped humans or exchanged human babies with changelings. So elves were possibly mischievous and spiteful or helpful."
"So, what are elves?" Nick asked, attempting to unearth a common thread.
Monroe raised an eyebrow. "As I've said they're a bit of both. Elves can be tall and beautiful or small and stunning. They can dangerous or wonderfully helpful to those who are good or are good to them. They can be ugly and vindictive or simply wish to have fun which unfortunately for humans can be damaging. There's a reason why you should be wary of accepting an invitation from the elves to visit their homes: for you a handful of days may pass but upon your return you discover years have flown by. You really don't want to meet a bad elf nor necessarily a good one unless you're damn careful."
Nick groaned. "Brilliant. So what type of elf is Faxon?"
Monroe looked unsure. "He doesn't quite fit any category; however, I would lean towards the taller more 'divine' race of elves. He may be a young elf, as it is unlikely a fully matured one would be so intimidated by a Grimm."
"I hope that doesn't mean what I think it does."
"Well what do you think?"
"That my family haven't had a lot of success with elves in general."
Monroe however smiled in reassurance, leaning forward to briefly touch Nick's hand. "No just that most elves have a confidence that's hard to match. I'm sure your Aunt Marie – and you owe me for saying her name – would have taken on and won against some elves."
Nick chuckled, quickly brushing Monroe's arm in return. "Thanks Monroe. So, hypothesis?"
Monroe frowned. "My best guess from your description of Mr Jones' behaviour would be that either Faxon, or his brethren, were angered by his lack of respect for nature and for Faxon's authority. You don't want to cause any harm to nature when an elf is present, particularly after one has warned you. Elves are connected to the forest, the water-ways to life.
"They can call upon the strength and spirit of the forest to aid them. Their enchantments are powerful and can easily lead an unsuspecting human astray."
"So," postulated Nick, "Mr Jones may have been taken to their world and chased until he died? But how about his neck?"
"Whatever hallucination he was under it led to his death and as for his neck I can't answer that. Our trouble is how to deal with it. If a bunch of elves consider that clearing or that trail their territory we have serious problems."
Nick nodded in agreement. "How do we stop them? Will reasoning work?"
"Unlikely if they have been riled up enough to kill, though worth a try if you can't find anything in your books. All I can suggest is that elves have interbred with humans and while these humans were stronger, faster and more gifted than normal humans they could still die from mortal weapons. Therefore, your gun or a sword should work."
"But it will be more difficult and potentially suicidal?"
Monroe was clearly reluctant to agree. "Maybe, but elves love music so I can always play and distract them."
Nick was incredulous. "Are you an idiot Monroe? I've been a bad influence. That's far too dangerous."
"Huh huh, no more than you rushing in by yourself. Find something in your books otherwise that might be all we have."
Nick rubbed his eyes. "Fantastic. We also need to know where to look: is it really just the clearing or further afield or does Mr Jones' body mark the barrier to their world?"
His friend was contemplative. "I could probably sniff it out. Your senses picked up warning signs; mine have a chance of scenting the barriers. You'd be safer anyway; I'm likely to notice the beginnings of any magic."
Nick couldn't argue that. "Okay, I'll hit the books and update you in the morning. I should be able to sneak out to the forest tomorrow by 11am as long as I clear it with the Captain."
"So soon?"
"I have the horrible feeling if we wait any longer we'll have more bodies."
"Have to agree with you there."
"Will you be able to meet me there?"
"Yes, wait… let me grab a pen and you can write down instructions. I'll loop around to you. If we arrive separately we'll be inconspicuous."
Nick wrote swiftly. "I'll tell you if you have to bring anything."
"Sweet, just remember to bring supplies. You really don't want to be trapped overnight in the forest without them, in case we are dazzled by the elves. They can be dangerous like that."
Nick jumped up. "I won't forget." Monroe followed him to the door where Nick yanked on his jacket. Smiling up at Monroe, Nick said, "Be safe Monroe. See you tomorrow."
"You too Nick."
Nick was conscious of Monroe's penetrating assessment all the way to his car. He prayed that Monroe had overestimated the elves even as his instincts informed him that his Blutbad pal was right.
Nick spent the next few hours ensconced in the trailer he had inherited from his aunt. At first he hadn't known where to look. Over the past six months Nick had slowly familiarised himself with the contents of his aunt's – of his – trailer, but there was so much to learn that it was impossible to even know a fraction of what was contained within these seemingly fragile walls in a year or two years.
Nick Burkhardt knew that it would take him probably a decade to truly learn what his ancestors' books held and how to utilise all the weaponry and assorted vials full of interesting, if slightly disturbing, potions.
However, he couldn't allow that fact to damper his spirits and with a will Nick delved into the records attempting to pry out information on the elves.
It took him three hours before he uncovered a particularly frayed and yellowed text with the simple word Elfe.
Taking that as a sign Nick gently hauled the journal off the shelf and started flipping through the pages. The writing was German, though throughout there were snippets in English and nearer the back…
"Whoa…" Nick breathed in awe. "You did meet elves."
Right there in front of him was handwriting he recognised. Aunt Marie had added her own notes to their family's tales. Nick read eagerly, devouring his aunt's account. And what a story his Aunt Marie had to tell.
Nick turned the pages, feeling his amazement grow, occasional flashes of disbelief quickly doused as experience and his aunt's words whispered in his ears.
At one point Nick rose to walk to the weapons cabinet. Opening the door he peered inside. Not seeing what he wanted Nick leant in further, hands searching, running over the various knives, swords, daggers, a javelin, guns and other myriad killing devices.
Then Nick's probing fingers hit something at the bottom of the cupboard that caused a tingle to run up his arms. Breathing shallowly, Nick balanced carefully on his haunches and released the leather bindings and metal catches that secured it to the cupboard floor.
Cautiously Nick pulled the weapon out marvelling at the fine black casing. Pulling it out of the casing Nick held it almost reverently. It was splendid. In his mind's eye Nick could see, taste, and feel the place where this weapon had been forged from fire.
It was beautiful yet dreadful. This was meant to kill, to maim: to destroy. The entire purpose of this weapon had been to protect his aunt. Now Nick prayed it would protect Monroe and him.
In his excitement Nick called Monroe, not realising the hour.
"Whaaa? Who is this?"
"Monroe, it's me."
"Nick?" His friend still sounded sleepy but more alert. "Do you know what time it is?"
"Ummmm…."
"It's three in the morning. Unless you're about to be eaten I'm gonna to be annoyed okay?"
Nick ignored Monroe's complaint. "Sorry Monroe, I just got caught up and it is important. I found a weapon that might just sway matters into our favour."
There was a brief pause before Monroe responded, voice even. "Brilliant. And you couldn't wait until we saw each other oooo..later this morning at eleven? I swear I'm going to buy you a clock for your trailer."
"Still upset about ringing so early? Did you hear what I just said? We have the answer to our case!"
"Make that build you a clock; at least I'll know it definitely work."
Nick rolled his eyes. "Monroe."
"Yeah, yeah, I heard you. I'm thrilled, honestly, however I would like to sleep before we go hunting elf – and so should you."
A bit deflated and maybe just a smidgeon embarrassed he had called Monroe before it could even be termed the crack of dawn, Nick agreed. "Sure. See you shortly."
"I will. Goodnight Nick."
"Goodnight Monroe."
Pocketing his cell Nick carried his find back to the table and placed it next to the journal. Gazing down at Marie's entry he traced the pattern her pen had made: the curves and straight lines each a reminder of the woman he had considered his mother.
Forcing back the tears prickling his eyes Nick promised Marie he would add his own entry to match hers after this case was over.
As he switched off the lights and locked the trailer securely Nick resolved to ask Monroe to supply his own view on their current mission.
Central was already heaving when Nick arrived after only four hours sleep. He had locked up and been back at the house by three thirty that morning, however, by the time he crept in and used every skill he possessed to prepare the necessary equipment for his and Monroe's excursion it was nearing four o'clock.
Consequently, when he awoke at eight Nick was groggy and wincing at the far too bright sunlight that was stabbing cruelly into his vision. Squinting against the glare he had stumbled out of bed and into a hasty splashing of water on face. He was late and Juliette was long gone.
Just remembering to run a comb through his hair so he at least appeared groomed Nick had hurtled out of his house and driven as close to the limit as he could to reach work.
Hank grinned as he dropped into his seat gulping a cup of coffee he had snatched on the way in. "Late night with the lady?"
Nick snorted. "Yeah, as if I'd tell you Hank."
His friend shrugged. "No stamina that's the problem. You should follow my example Nick."
"Huh huh. Some of us have better role models."
"Ooo…straight to the bone Nick. Maybe the late night was a good one?"
"Okay Hank, I think you're now officially weirdly invested in my private life."
"What private life? You said yourself you have no time for social pleasures."
Nick laughed at Hank's teasing, before he could reply however, Captain Renard appeared by their desk. "Gentlemen, gather what you have. There is a conference on the case in my office in a couple of hours. If you need to re-interview any witnesses do so now."
"Yes Sir," was the dual replies. Nick inwardly frowned. Two hours? That meant the meeting was a ten, and he was meant to meet Monroe at eleven. Not much leeway.
"Nick?"
The dark-haired detective blinked and found his partner staring at him. "You okay? You drifted for a moment there."
"Yes, I'm fine."
"Right, let's go then. I want to talk to Mr Talon again since he was the last to hear Mr Jones. Grab your jacket."
Nick had been about to call Monroe to warn him he might be late, but with Hank looking at him he had no choice but to follow.
The rest of the morning was the same; every chance that arose for Nick to spend a minute to phone Monroe was obstructed by Hank or someone in the office requiring his attention. Then, all of a sudden the conference was happening.
The hour to eleven crawled. The clock on Renard's desk was cruelly slicing the seconds and minutes away and watching it was pure agony. Damnit, he had his own clockmaker to go and see! Yet not even the clocks of his trade were being helpful.
When eleven ticked into place and the meeting showed no signs of relenting Nick was desperate. He would have excused himself for a moment if the Captain hadn't pinned him with his dark gaze.
Even Hank was glancing at him strangely, his expression clearly asking what was wrong with Nick. By the time midday clicked into being Nick was frantic. His Grimm senses were screaming at him and his aunt's warning that he ought to trust his instincts were driving him over the edge.
Thankfully, Renard spoke the magic word right then otherwise Nick was seriously entertaining the thought of how to convince everyone he was suffering an attack of some kind.
"Dismissed."
Correctly interpreting the notion that the Captain would wish to speak to him about his slightly crazed behaviour Nick was the first to get out of the room and race off. Hank was on his heels.
"Whoa Nick! Where's the fire? Nick?"
"Got…got an important appointment," panted Nick. Then, knowing Hank could outrun him, put on a spurt of speed and succeeded in losing a startled Hank around a corner.
Racing into the mocking sunlight Nick jumped into his car and drove a couple of streets before pulling over – he wanted to ensure no-one followed him.
Fumbling with his cell-phone Nick dialled Monroe's number, throat dry when he saw the missed calls from his Blutbad friend.
It rang and rang.
Forcing himself to be calm, Nick tried again. Same thing: just a constant ringing. Nick attempted a third time and was simply cut off, the line going dead with a sound that cut open Nick's heart: it reminded Nick the noise a heart monitoring machine might make if a person flat-lined.
Dread curdled in his stomach.
"Where are you Monroe?" he whispered in the silence of his car.
For a split second Nick stared blankly ahead, then purpose flowed into his veins, replacing the winter of fear with the passion of action. He had to find out. He had to get to Forest Park now.
Nick drove as if he had a Jägerbär pursuing his car.