It started out as a feeling, which then grew into a hope…
A few drinks; that was all it was supposed to be. But it had turned into so much more.
Nick had come home early, glad that this case had wrapped up quickly. A triple homicide, two teenage boys and a girl, all killed by a Wendigo. It had been an utterly horrifying case, and Nick was relieved it was over. He stepped over the thresh hold of the front door, and was greeted by the sweet smell of Monroe's vegetarian lasagna. He walked into the kitchen, pulling off his coat and hanging it over the back of his chair. Monroe stood over the stove, clothed in his typical flannel shirt and blue jeans. He turned and smiled at Nick.
"Well, someone's sure home early." He mused, turning back to his cooking.
"The case wrapped up pretty quick. I'm just happy we put the guy behind bars." Nick said, taking a seat at the table.
"So, it was really a Wendigo that did that to those kids?" Nick nodded. "Sheesh, those are about the scariest of wesen. Cold-blooded killers, they are." Monroe set some plates and silverware on the table.
"No way man, Spinnetods have got to be the creepiest." Nick shuddered, remembering the close encounter he'd had with a Spinnetod not all that long ago. "Spiders are gross as hell. Creepy, too."
"Oh God, don't bring those things up while I'm about to eat." Monroe scrunched his nose up, making Nick chuckle. "Hope you don't mind lasagna." Monroe set the pan down on the table.
"When have you ever known me to not eat something covered in cheese?" Nick smiled, taking a big helping of the food.
"That is true. Just try not to eat it all, pig boy." Monroe helped himself to some of the cheesy dish.
After dinner, Nick had suggested that they both watch some TV and have a couple drinks. Monroe had switched on a Twilight Zone marathon, and they had both plopped down on the corduroy couch, beer in hand. The evening had started out with good intentions.
If only it had stayed that way.
After a little too much whisky, Nick found himself to be fairly drunk. He had just wanted to wash some of the troubles of the day down, and had found comfort in his old friend Jack Daniels. But after one too many drinks, Nick found himself running to the bathroom, vomiting.
"Nick, you okay?" Monroe knocked on the door.
"I'm good, but my stomach isn't." Nick said, leaning his head against the wall.
"Hang on, I'm gonna get you some antacid." Monroe shuffled into the kitchen, pulling a box of antacid tablets out of the cabinet. He let them dissolve in some water, and went back to the bathroom.
"Nick, open the door." Nick got to his feet, and pulled the door open.
"Mon, please make sure I never have that much to drink again." Nick said, taking the glass of water.
"Now sip slowly so you don't wig your stomach out." Monroe advised. "You look a little dehydrated, so the water will help with that."
"Thanks." Nick said, taking slow sips of his drink. He finished it off, and leaned against the wall. "I'm exhausted." He sighed, closing his eyes, which felt like they weighed a hundred pounds in his skull.
"Here, I'll help you up to bed." Monroe put one of Nick's arms around his shoulder, and helped him walk upstairs.
Careful not to shake him up too much, Monroe helped Nick get to his bed in his disoriented state of mind. He didn't bother telling Nick to get changed; he just told him to go ahead and sleep. He pulled a quilt out of the linen closet, and threw it over the Grimm. Just as he was about to go back downstairs, Nick mumbled something.
"Monroe, you still there?" Came his intoxicated voice.
"Yeah, I'm still here." Monroe walked over to the bed.
"Could you spend the night in here, with me?" The words tumbled out, without any hesitation.
"What, you mean like in the same bed?" Nick nodded slowly. Monroe quietly chuckled to himself, glad Nick couldn't see the blush blossoming across his face. "Well, I guess that's alright."
Now, as the nighttime had settled over Portland, the Grimm and Blutbad were sleeping side by side in the quiet house. Somewhere in his pleasure soaked mind, Nick was dreaming the sweetest of dreams. He scooted closer to Monroe on the bed, putting a hand on his chest. Monroe didn't bother moving him away; he was too entranced in the fancy of his own dreams. They stayed that way the whole evening, each of them sharing in a graceful reverie, as night enveloped them in sleep.