Pressure Points

Monroe hadn't heard from Nick for a week. It was strange, really, but he would have said he didn't mind if anyone else would have asked.

He'd started noticing it a long time ago. Nick had started changing. Too much was happening for the detective to keep up with. There had been a particular string of brutal serial murders a few months back, that Monroe thought maybe had started it. Kids had started showing up dead. Little kids, maybe three to four. It had all started as a kidnapping spree, until they had started showing up with their throats slit. Nothing had pointed to Wesen involvement, and Monroe couldn't even try to help.

Then there was the case, not even three weeks after resolving the murdered children case, that had put Nick into the hospital again. This time was just as bad as it had been with the Siegbarste, except, this time, Juliette had ended up getting hurt, too. And Monroe himself had suffered a few abrasions, but he'd avoided the hospital. Nick didn't talk for a whole day after that, just stared at the wall when he was awake and listened to those who spoke to him.

That was when Nick had started to visit Monroe's less and less. It had been so different, every night, when no one knocked at his door, when no one demanded their way in, when he had no one to share the extra bagel and coffee with. He knew Nick still blamed himself for what had happened, but Monroe didn't try to deter him. He knew arguing would make it all worse.

It had been a week later that Monroe had passed Juliette on the street. She stopped him, asked how he was. He asked how Nick was. That was the moment that Monroe had found out Nick had broken up with Juliette. He found it hard to believe, even harder to stomach.

A few weeks had went by without any contact from Nick, before the detective had one day shown up at his door like the old times. He had said he needed help on a case, but, in the end, hadn't remembered to bring any information. Monroe didn't ask. He had just offered him a cup of coffee and some pretzels and they had ended up watching the entirety of a football game together without sharing a word.

That's when, maybe, Monroe thought Nick was getting better. He started showing up again, nightly, sometimes, and they would spend the evening together. Whether they talked, watched TV, or just sat in silence was a different matter. Sometimes Nick just came and crashed on Monroe's couch. Monroe would only throw a blanket over him and busy himself with clockwork. He hadn't minded, really.

And then it had stopped. One week ago. Monroe knew he should have called, but he hadn't. He didn't know why he hadn't, but he hadn't. Maybe part of him didn't want to know. Maybe part of him didn't want to realize that Nick had relapsed.

He tried Nick's number first. He didn't get a response. Nick either had his phone turned off or he was busy.

Then, he tried the precinct. They didn't cooperate at all. Well, Monroe thought as he had hung up, he couldn't say he didn't try.

And now today, today he was sitting outside of Nick's house, eyeing the door with some reproach. Nick's car was parked out front. The lights in the house were off.

Monroe opened the door, trudging up to the front of the house. The shrubs had been overgrown, the flowers had been long since dead. Of course, he had never said anything. Juliette had left, after all. Monroe didn't feel like Nick had a green thumb. He rapped his knuckles against the door, only mildly surprised when it swung open. He walked inside apprehensively. "Nick? You home?" There was a noise from upstairs that said he was, as it sounded like he'd dropped something. Monroe sighed, closing the door and locking it before heading upstairs. "I just wanted to see what you were up to, since you seem to have the uncanny abilty to not answer... your... phone... Nick?"

He had rounded the corner to find Nick sitting on the bed, staring at the wall, his fingers toying with his gun absently. It wasn't a weird scene, couldn't have been, because Nick was a cop and Nick owned a gun. But there was just something...

"Hey Monroe."

"What are you doing?" he questioned, walking into the room slowly. Nick's reaction was instantaneous.

He swung his legs off the bed, towards Monroe, pointing the gun at him. Monroe froze where he was, catching the motion but also seeing, for the first time in a week, Nick's eyes. There was something in the green orbs, past the tears collecting and past the confusion hazing them, that was a wild kind of anticipation. Monroe had seen that look in a few people's eyes before. It was one of the scariest things he had ever seen in Nick's.

"Stay there! Don't come any closer!"

"Woah, woah, man... It's okay," he mumbled, showing his hands. He'd been through this predictament before. Not with Nick pointing the gun. Not with Nick having the wild look in his eyes.

"It's not... It's really not."

Monroe stayed silent, judging the distance across the room, judging Nick's shaking hands, assessing how much time he would have to get out of the way of a bullet that may or may not be shot.

"You really have no idea. Sure, maybe you can see them all, too, but it's not the same... Not hardly."

"Let me help." The words came out from his lips of his own accord; he hardly knew that he said them. He watched Nick's expression change, steeling himself all the while. He thought he was ten seconds away from having a bullet in his chest.

He was wrong. He was so wrong.

"You can't," Nick whispered, before turning the gun on himself so fast that Monroe barely had time to shout "Nick!" before the gunshot went off.

He wouldn't ever forgive him. He wouldn't ever forgive that stupid Grimm. And it wasn't the blood, the red staining the bed covers as Nick's face went tranquil, as he fell backwards. It wasn't the last breath he heard Nick take before the room was silent. It wasn't even the fact that Nick, Nick, of all people, had committed suicide...

It was the tears. The tears pooling in his own eyes, stinging them mercilessly, blurring his vision as they tumbled over. It was the fact that the gunshot would haunt him for years to come, that it would always be there, ringing in his ears. It was the fact that his hand was outstretched, reaching for Nick, but that he'd never really find him again. It was the fact that he hadn't even had the time to react before Nick had pulled the trigger, point-blank ending his own life.

He wouldn't forgive him. Ever. He wouldn't... just as he wouldn't live it down. He wouldn't forget. He wouldn't forgive and he wouldn't forget and he wouldn't ever be able to have a conversation with the one friend he'd come to trust...

He didn't move from the door when the blood scent became suffocating, when the neighbors came to see what had caused the noise, when the cops come, when Nick's own precinct had shown to find their best detective lying dead. He didn't move when they had told him he had to, only let them guide him away from the scene even if it was imprinted behind his eyelids. He didn't feel them as they poked and prodded at him, checking for signs of shock or physical damage. He didn't hear their questions as they demanded answers on what had happened. All Monroe could see, over and over, was Nick, Nick pulling the trigger, Nick bleeding, Nick falling back...

He wouldn't forgive him. He wouldn't. He couldn't... just as he couldn't forget.

Um... before you ask me why, let me say I don't know! I started on another fanfic, thought This sounds like he's gonna commit suicide -.o and it led to me to this.

As for the content, it may not be quite in character. But, by the end here, in my mind's eye, I picture Nick being on some kind of drug(s) by then. (Yeah, I really don't see Nick ever doing this in the show if things got rough, but it's another side of the spectrum that I explored. And cried over.)

I hope you enjoyed it, overlooking the depressing angle.