".. und schnitt dann ei-ne Lo-cke.. gu- ahem.. gül-denen Haa-res von ihrem Kop-fe.. man, I'll never be friends with those umlauts I can tell you."
"Sounds good enough to me."
"Cause you're the expert on nineteenth-century German?"
Nick shrugged and continued to inspect a couple of crude pencil drawings in the old tome on Monroe's coffee table. They were at least as obscure as the text that accompanied them. There was a mermaid-like creature with unfittingly long and pointy teeth on one of the weathered pages; and a guy wielding an enormous pair of scissors on the other.
"So, from what I can gather your Heinrich-Heine-looking ancestor here succeeded in weakening the meerjungfer by chopping off a lock of her hair, which is just rude if you're asking me."
"Hm."
"And then, let's see.."
Nick was inadvertently following Monroe's long index finger sliding across the tiny script.
".. – da da da – .. ah yes, of course, the old classic", the blutbad smiled knowingly, "he chopped off her head. Hopefully not with those scissors though, that looks grim. No pun intended."
"Aha."
"Aha? Okay. Well. Afterwards he picked up her harp and started singing to the fish."
"That makes sense."
"And then he decided to grow some gills and go live in a palace under the sea."
"Good."
"Really, Nick?"
There was a new and mildly ironic note in Monroe's voice that snapped the detective out of his thoughts. He looked up at his recently acquired friend. The clockmaker was offering him the kind of half-reproachful, half-amused gaze that gave him tiny little wrinkles underneath his eyes. It made their brown vibrate with warmth.
"Have you been listening to a single word I said?"
"Um.."
Nick offered a guilty smile in return and brought up a hand to scratch his head.
"Dude, has your mind gone AWOL this evening? I thought you urgently needed my help with your little lorelei issue here.."
Monroe tapped the mermaid drawing with one questioning digit. Nick scratched his head some more. He'd known the clockmaker for half a year now, and still, he had no idea what the guy was on about half the time. Though he decided not to ask what lorelei meant. He just wasn't in the mood for another historical digression that was likely to take him all the way back to the Holy Roman Empire.
"Look, we're talking about a woman with a fishtail drinking blood from boatmen, here inPortland, and you expect me to realise that you were making up some crazy shit before?"
It came out a little sharper than intended, but, thankfully, the blutbad was not easily angered. Unless a bauerschwein was involved, of course. Or unless someone tried telling him how to live his life. Still, Monroe pouted as he let the book fall shut and took a sip from his sweet, dark ale. They'd had a couple already, it hit the spot on such a cold and rainy night.
"O-kay. What's up?"
"What'd you mean?"
"Nick. I don't even need my nose to smell the worry on you. Something's fishy here, and I don't mean your new case."
Nick rolled his eyes. That did not even deserve a comment.
"What's up?"
"It's nothing. It's just stupid."
"It's nothing? Or it's stupid?"
Nick looked away, but found that Monroe was quite able to bend his neck far enough for their eyes to meet again. Maybe he was a goddamn giraffe and not a wolf after all. Nick had not even realised they were sitting so close together on the clockmaker's roomy leather couch.
"Come on, you can tell your friendly neighbourhood blutbad."
This time, the detective could not help but chuckle as he picked up his own bottle. It was true, they had not been friends for long, but talking to Monroe had always been easy. When he listened, he truly listened. And when he replied, his voice was comforting, somehow, even when it was drenched in sarcasm.
"It's not that important, Monroe. I'm just thinking how I'm gonna make a fool of myself in front of my girlfriend's whole family, 's all."
"Yeah? How?"
"Juliette's taking me to her sister's wedding this weekend, it's gonna be this really posh thing, there'll be formal dancing and all that. Of course I couldn't tell Juliette I don't dance."
"Of course? Is lying to your girlfriend some kind of pathology with you?"
"Ha. Ha." Nick threw him a cynical glance. "Whatever. It's not like you can help. Sorry I got distracted, let's have another look at that -"
He reached to open the tome, but Monroe got there first, pressing his palm to the dark brown cover and keeping it closed. Their fingers touched on top of the soft, withered material.
"I can teach you if you want."
Nick withdrew his hand, somewhat quicker than necessary.
"Huh?"
"I did some ballroom dancing back in uni, you know, I was pretty good, actually."
"You gotta be kidding me."
"Hey, it was either that or rugby."
Nick blinked. Maybe the full moon was affecting the blutbad after all. Monroe had refused to leave the house and meet him at the trailer during his 'time of the month', so Nick had agreed to come over instead, not without making Monroe promise that it was safe. The not-being-eaten-for-dinner kind of safe. But so far the clockmaker had been just his usual, eccentric self. This, however, was whacky even by Monroe's flexible standards, which Nick was about to tell him when he opened his mouth, but what came out was:
"How many more hidden talents can you possibly have?"
"I couldn't tell you", Monroe grinned with sudden ambiguity.
For a moment their eyes locked, and that moment was pure perfection. Which, strange as it was, happened to be the exact thought in Nick's mind at that exact point in time. 'What the fuck' was another thought, one that became acutely relevant when Monroe jumped up from the couch with barely justified enthusiasm and walked over to a large, flat box perched on top of a cabinet. Once he lifted the lid Nick realised it was not actually a box, but a record player.
"Uh..", the detective opined, lifting his hand in a vague 'thanks, I'll pass' kind of gesture – that Monroe remained blissfully unaware of since he was already crouched in front of the cabinet, rummaging through its contents. Out came a cardboard box crammed full of records.
"Let's do it."
"What, now?"
"Sure."
"Uh, that's a stupid idea, and I've got the wrong shoes, and anyway, I don't think it's -"
"Come on", the clockmaker was happily sifting through his records, nodding approvingly at some of them, "even a Grimm is allowed to have fun from time to time."
"Fun?" Nick grumbled.
"If we ponder over it for too long it'll just get weird."
"What, even weirder?" Nick grumbled.
"A waltz is a good dance to start with", Monroe ignored him. "Have you got a favourite one?"
"Have you got a screw loose?"
"Shostakovich it is then."
The clockmaker looked rather pleased with himself when he stood back up, carefully pulling the thin black disc from its paper sleeve. Resistance was futile, like every time that Monroe got an idea into his head. He never did things by halves. And yet, Nick felt like he was missing a couple of links between Monroe finally giving up complaining about his frequent visits a couple of months ago – and wanting to waltz! It seemed the full moon bore its own kind of danger that he didn't think of enquiring about.
But he did not feel like going home yet, not when it was pouring outside and the clockmaker's living room was warm and cosy and comfortingly old-fashioned, just like its owner. So he took a hearty gulp of ale and watched as Monroe busied himself with the record player. Nick had never seen such a thing in his life, but that wasn't really what he was looking at. Monroe's shoulder blades moving underneath the chequered shirt and the sleeveless cardigan were too distracting. It wasn't helping that Nick knew exactly what the blutbad looked like if peeled out of his clothes. He remembered the couple of times that he got to practise his life drawing skills on Monroe very vividly. Which, of course, wasn't strange at all. The Grimm just happened to have a good visual memory, which came in handy when trying to establish which one of the gazillion different wesen in his books had been trying to kick his butt recently. And Monroe.. Monroe had a remarkable body. For a guy. He was slim, but broad, with the most harmonious proportions and perfectly toned yet not bulky muscles in all the right places. That, of course, was nothing but Nick's objective assessment from a hobby artist's point of view. It didn't mean to imply -
The music came on to interrupt his ever so slightly misguided train of thought. He recognised the tune, it was from a movie or something. Monroe beamed at him, stretching out a hand.
"Come on. I won't bite."
Nick wiped his palms on his knees, not entirely convinced. But, maybe, it wasn't such a bad idea after all. At least he could be one hundred percent sure that nobody would ever find out about this, ever. Monroe was the only mate he had who was neither a colleague nor a friend he shared with Juliette. Not yet, anyway. She kept meaning to invite Monroe over for dinner, what with the clockmaker saving her life and all, but Nick always came up with an excuse on Monroe's behalf. For some reason, he wanted Monroe all to himself. And, well, it looked like he got just what he'd asked for.
"I must be going crazy", the detective muttered as he got up. Monroe was patiently waiting for him to approach, watching him closely out of big, dark eyes. Something was definitely a little off about him, Nick was beginning to see it now. Still, there was no need to be nervous. It was just learning a couple of basic steps, for God's sake. It would come in really handy at the wedding.
"You can be the guy", Monroe grinned once they were standing face to face.
"Oh, thanks", Nick made sure to keep a comfortable distance.
"I'll be the lady."
"Who's 'bout half a head taller than me?"
"Never mind", the clockmaker shrugged, "just think of me as Juliette in some serious killer heels."
Nick was still busy processing what that mental image did to his brain when Monroe helped himself to his hand, casually guiding it to his own back and pulling the Grimm a little closer in the process.
"Your left one goes here, just below the shoulder blade. But no gripping. Big faux pas."
Nick's fingers were a little shaky as they sank into soft, fine wool.
"And the lady's.."
The clockmaker's own fingers felt pleasantly heavy on his shoulder, thumb touching his bare neck.
"May I have the pleasure..?"
Monroe offered him his other hand with unexpected nonchalance – and the detective took it with an even less expected lack of hesitation. Maybe that last ale was one too many after all. Monroe's hand was warm and huge as itwrapped itself lightly around his own. Nick's face felt just as warm all of a sudden. He quickly looked down at the two pairs of shoes facing each other.
"So, what d'I do with my feet?"
"Alright, it's easy as pie, you start out with your left foot: step forward, step to the side, close. One – two – three, repeat. That's it. We don't have to do the spin turns straight away."
"Or ever."
"But don't keeping looking down. Faux pas numéro deux."
"How many of them are there?"
"Probably enough to keep your in-laws-in-spe entertained?"
"Great. Encouraging."
"That's why we're practising, Nick. Lead."
"Huh? Already?"
"Sure. Your feet will figure it out, you'll see."
"Hope you don't consider a second career as a dance teacher."
"Stop distracting, just wait for the beat and.."
So Nick led.
"Ouch, dude! I'll still be needing those toes!"
"Sorry! Told you I got the wrong shoes.."
"Don't they teach 'left' and 'right' at the academy these days?"
"Whatever, let's try again."
This time they managed to make it all the way across Monroe's spacious living room and almost into the kitchen without any toes getting hurt in the process. Nick even succeeded in keeping his eyes off the floor eventually, resting them on Monroe's clavicle instead. The clockmaker tended to be a little neglectful when it came to doing up his shirt. It was going pretty well now, or so the detective thought.
"Nick?"
"Yeah?"
"Are you aware there's music playing in the background?"
"Huh?"
"Do you hear that three-four time?"
"Come again?"
Monroe sighed and stopped dead in the kitchen doorway, releasing the young man's shoulder. Disappointing his friend hurt Nick's feelings just a tiny bit more than it should have. It wasn't helping that the clockmaker proceeded to poke fun at him.
"Hey, has a jägerbär stepped on your ear or something?"
"Fine", Nick snapped in frustration, trying to wind his hand out of Monroe's, "if I suck so hard I better get going, don't I, and by the way, this was your stupid idea, so -"
He felt awfully embarrassed, yet Monroe refused to let go, not allowing him to get away.
"You don't suck, man", the blutbad reassured him, gently squeezing his fingers, which in every other situation would have been completely inappropriate. But, admittedly, it did make Nick feel a little less like an idiot. "You're just.. rhythmically challenged. We should do it the other way 'round."
"The other way?"
"Yeah, you should be the lady, that'll make it easier to learn."
"Uh.."
"Unless that would threaten your masculinity too much."
Monroe flashed him that ambiguous, almost suggestive grin once again. Nick had never seen this kind of smooth, predatory confidence in the blutbad before, not in his human shape at least. If he didn't know any better, he could have sworn that Monroe was flirting with him, all whilst holding him at half an arm's length. He could have sworn there were tiny specks of red in the blutbad's eyes. Maybe he shouldn't have come to visit during full moon.. was not at all what Nick was thinking right now. This was fascinating, and worth studying. The more he learnt about wesen, the better.
"What's threatened?!", he barked as he grabbed Monroe's left hand, pressing it to his waist and forgetting that this wasn't even where it was supposed to go. "Show me what you got."
"You bet." Monroe's eyes were glowing from somewhere deep within, like every time he smiled. "Put your hand on my shoulder."
Nick didn't need to be told twice. He remembered drawing Monroe's naked shoulders, the way his pencil scraped across the notepad and the thoughts that accompanied that feeling. Not even thoughts, just a vague urge to touch.
"Feel my body.."
From this close, Monroe barely needed to lift his voice above a whisper.
"Eh..?"
"I mean, you know, just feel the way I move and follow. Don't think."
"Well, this isn't awkward at all."
"Shush now", the clockmaker nodded over at the record player, "this is my favourite part. Just listen."
What happened next was nothing short of magic, but not the hexenbiest kind. Monroe did something to Nick's body that had never been done before. Somehow, he convinced it to melt into the music and become weightless. The Grimm had no idea how his feet knew where to go all of a sudden, how they knew to follow Monroe's lead of their own accord. Whilst all Nick seemed capable of doing himself was gaze into the clockmaker's eyes in wonder. Monroe was right, thinking and dancing didn't mix.
They floated back across the lounge and all the way around the couch and the coffee table – which was when Nick realised that they were doing turns, and reflecting on that almost made him lose his balance for a second. But Monroe's hand on his waist was there to catch him, firmly pulling him back into the flow, and closer. There were only a couple of inches between them now. He could feel Monroe radiate heat through the thin layers of clothing.
"Much better", the blutbad whispered, and Nick wasn't sure if he could make out a hint of fangs, "you can do it."
The Grimm looked away, burning up. Staring into Monroe's face was getting too intense to bear, but he couldn't bring himself to stop this exhilarating pace, even if it made him dizzy, yep, that last bottle of ale was definitely too much. Damn Monroe and all the beautiful imported booze in his fridge! Nick was wondering if the clockmaker was a little tipsy himself, because -
"M'roe?"
"Yeah?"
"s'your face supposed to be in my hair?"
"Huh. Sorry", Monroe breathed hotly against his scalp, "got carried away."
The clockmaker leaned back, not missing a single beat, and when their eyes met again Nick knew that his friend was about to kiss him. Which, of course, was a completely ridiculous notion. How could Nick even know what Monroe looked like when he was about to kiss anyone! Let alone him. Monroe did not even like people. Or wesen. So there was no point in the Grimm lifting his chin a little, or wondering if he was actually going to let -
"Shit! My phone."
Nick couldn't have let go of Monroe any quicker even if the blutbad were a walking, talking hot plate burning away his fingertips. He turned around with some urgency, fumbling in his pocket.
"Switch off the music."
He had not even realised he was out of breath. Or that his hands were so sweaty it took him two attempts to unlock the screen. "Can people not take a break from dying for once", he heard Monroe grumble just after the waltz tune came to a halt. Yet this wasn't work calling. Nick felt like a little boy caught with both hands in the cookie jar as he lifted the phone to his ear.
"Juliette."
He really did his best to try and focus on his girlfriend moaning at him for being late whilst watching Monroe walk back to the coffee table. The blutbad picked up the beer and brought it to his lips, taking long, slow gulps with his eyes closed, then proceeding to empty Nick's bottle in the exact same manner. The detective shook his head, his own mouth feeling dry all of a sudden.
"Sorry I got held up, honey, I'll be there in ten."
He rushed to pick up his book and out into the corridor, pulling on his jacket. Monroe was leaning in the living room doorway.
"Sorry. Juliette was expecting me an hour ago. Didn't realise what time it was."
"Really?" Monroe chuckled, yet the smile failed to reach his eyes this time. "Maybe I should hang up a clock or two for your convenience."
"Anyway. Thanks for the translation.. and the, uh.."
"Whatever you need, Nick. Though we haven't really practised you being the guy."
"Yeah, thanks, I think I'm getting enough practice at that on a daily basis."
Nick hoped that Monroe would laugh and joke along and that it would dissipate the slight awkwardness that had crept in between them, but the clockmaker shrugged wearily.
"I'm going to bed."
It was a little too much information.
Nick heard the music come back on as he walked to his car, the same waltz again, from the start. His heart was still beating in rhythm with it.
Random author's notes, in case anyone is interested:
1) The German line in the beginning translates to "and then (he) cut a lock of golden hair from her head".
2) Heinrich Heine was a 19th century German poet. One of his most famous poems is called "Lorelei" and revolves around a mermaid/siren-like creature drawing sailors to their death. "Meerjungfer" is an old German word for mermaid. This is not a canonical wesen.
3) I was thinking of MY favourite waltz whilst writing this, Shostakovich's "Waltz No. 2" (featured in "Eyes Wide Shut", amongst others). Though it's actually too fast-paced for learning how to waltz I'm thinking.
4) Monroe uses a version of a Russian idiom at one point, "a bear has stepped on someone's ear", meaning that someone has no ear for music/rhythm. The only reason I made him say that is because Russian is one of my native languages and I like this idiom XD. Sorry for complete randomness!