Love and Obsession

by Jadwiga

Nick faces a Wesen that inspires so much terror that other Wesen would rather face a Grimm. In an attempt to try and discover a way to stop their new foe, Monroe goes undercover. The odds aren't in their favour and as Nick discovers there truly are more things in Heaven and Earth than he had ever dreamed. SLASH. Nick/Monroe. Supernatural Elements

1. Chapter 1

Beta: rae_fa – Thank you for your wonderful & indispensable help!

Pairings: Monroe/Nick

Warnings: mating bond, relationship!fic, knotting, supernatural powers, first time, bloodplay, Season 1 AU before the 'Woman in Black'.

Summary: Nick faces a Wesen that induces so much terror that other Wesen would rather face a Grimm. In an attempt to try and discover a way to stop their new foe, Monroe goes undercover while in the meantime Rosalee and Bud undertake their own research. The odds aren't in their favour and as Nick discovers there truly are more things in Heaven and Earth than he had ever dreamed.

A/N: This was written for the December 2012 grimm_exchange gift challenge on Dreamwidth for silva_draconis. ~ Please note the 'Supernatural Powers/Elements' part of the warnings as I know this may not be a common tag! ~

---

NOTE: The original submission is rated 'Explicit'/MA.

However, due to the restriction on concerning MA, this version of 'Love and Obsession' has been edited, i.e. (i) the sex scenes are slightly amended and (ii) the bloodplay has been minimised. This is to comply with the highest rating permitted on the site: 'M'.

To read the MA rated original version, please follow the link in my profile to A03. Thank you! Otherwise, there is no difference between this version and the one posted to Archive of Our Own & grimm_exchange.

---

Love and Obsession – Part One

O-O-O-O

The man scrabbled at the window, fingers slipping in his own sweat as he tried desperately to open the thick glass. The wood sill flaked under his nails causing him to wince as the splinters dug into vulnerable flesh.

As he worked on the latching, the man was aware of the oppressive silence that lay over the room. In this unnatural hush his harsh breathing resounded like thunder and the straining of wood underneath his fingers was akin to the deafening crash of trees falling.

Sweat glistened at his temples causing his hair to cling messily to the damp skin. He shook from the exertion of attempting to pry the window open and from the fear that pumped through his veins as blood, yet he pressed on with his efforts, until his entire world narrowed down into this one task: escape.

He spared only enough of his energy to listen for any disturbance outside the room. He didn't have long until his friend returned and it was imperative that he fled before that happened.

His friend…The man squeezed his eyes shut against the threatening flood of tears.

How could he have misjudged so poorly? How could he have believed that his friend was anyone – anything – normal? Yet could he be blamed? They had shared so much laughter, so much pleasure and sought so much comfort in each other that any blemish of there being something off was swiftly swept aside in favour of ignorance fuelled bliss.

Now, upon bitter reflection, the man admitted to himself that there had indeed been moments when an aura of nastiness had enshrouded certain words from his friend's mouth or when a peculiar perverseness pervaded his friend's activities. No, ours, thought the man, the admission twisting his gut with shame.

Why hadn't he heeded the warnings of his loved ones? Now it might be too late, for not only had his companion shared what he was, but what he wished them to do to cement their new found revelation.

The minute his friend discovered that he did not labour under the same illusion of desiring the same thing…yeah, there was no chance of…of…

The man bit his lip, drawing blood. He remembered the flash of colour that had transformed his companion's eyes completely, the manner in which the features had utterly changed to something so different that it had almost torn his reason from him.

What his friend was, by his - its? - very nature would demand payment – in the man's blood.

His friend had left him for a few scant minutes to 'excitedly' prepare for what he had in mind, to bring them 'closer together'.

There was no chance in hell that the man was sticking around. What had transpired had shaken him to the core and what the future promised was all sorts of wrong.

However, his task was made more strenuous by the fact that he had been trying for so long that his fingers were slipping in his own sweat…and blood. So driven by his passion to flee the man hardly noticed his torn finger pads.

The creak of a floorboard made the man stop, breath catching in his lungs. Despair sliced through his soul.

Please no was the chant that marched immediately through his mind. Breathless, he paused, ears straining.

Laughter reverberated in the distance but there were no footsteps. The man wiped his face leaving streaks of blood and resisted the urge to sob. He felt that he was going mad.

Trembling, he re-doubled his efforts. He only had the dim light of a side-lamp and the half-moon hanging in the night sky to illuminate his work. He had been too afraid to switch on the main light in case it roused suspicion from the other occupants in the house.

Suddenly the latching gave way and the window popped a mere few centimetres. Hardly believing his luck the man shoved the window the rest of the way open as quietly as possible. Rising he winced at the ache in his knees and at the flares of agony from his hands. Staring down he was horrified to espy the mess that were his fingers.

Shit.

Still…tough luck. He had no choice but to continue. Glancing around the man darted to the chest of drawers, yanking open the topmost compartment and snatching two cravats from the many he knew his friend kept. He wished he knew where his shoes were, but in the course of the evening he had removed them so he could relax properly, even shucking his socks when they had moved to the comfort of lounging in the rather warm bedroom and now his friend had stashed them somewhere out of sight. He had no time to search.

Wrapping the silken cravats hastily around his ruined fingers he hurried to the window and swung a leg over. He was not exactly in the best shape for this type of boys' own adventure, but he had no choice if he wished to live.

Somehow he managed to wait instead of instantly jumping out. He peered into the night trying to see if anything lurked in the deep shadows. He could see nothing, though that didn't mean more of his friend's kind weren't hiding in the darkness.

It was not a pleasant thought, but his fear of what awaited him within was more powerful than what might possibly await outside.

Swallowing and praying in thanks that his friend's room was on the ground floor, the man heaved himself over the sill. He landed with a stumble in the thick foliage that grew around the house.

Thorns tore at his jacket, easily ripping the material. He had managed to cover his face as he jumped, to protect the delicate skin. However, his feet were not so lucky; the thorns ripping his flesh. No longer caring, the man yanked himself to his feet and began limping away from the house. He knew he had to reach a populated street or he stood not a chance.

Unfortunately, the house he had escaped from was on the outskirts of Portland and he lamented the day that he had decided that this was a good thing instead of a fucking excellent location for murder – and getting away with it.

As he limped down the street he stuck close to the tall trees, which flanked either side of the street. The road may have been easier to walk or run along being smoother than the rough uneven surface of the pavement that bore up under his aching legs, but the man did not even consider the option for a second.

For the moon's beams fell along the long stretch of asphalt casting eerie blue-grey shadows. With his soul already aflame with anguish at what he had witnessed that night, the moon's glow resembled more the cold cruel light of hell rather than the wondrous illumination from a heavenly object to the man. So he steered clear and skirted past the few scattered houses that also rested on this street.

Seeking aid from them would do no good – others from the house he escaped from actually lived in them.

Just then a yell rose in the distance and the man allowed himself to whimper. The hunt was on.

Terrified now beyond all consideration of his physical well-being the man pushed himself to run, to jog…anything as long as it got him away from his friend.

Pavement slapped under his bare feet, the impact vibrating through his legs, each echo agony.

He turned into a long empty street stumbling down it in a mire of greyish pain and terror. He heard no sign of pursuit, but didn't trust this to mean that his friend wasn't actually after him.

Who knew what powers his friend possessed?

Shaking, breath whistling in and out of his lungs, the man cursed the fact he hadn't exercised harder.

Not that mere running would save him.

A rumble shattered the night and the man's heart leapt. A car! Hope flared and the man altered direction, heading where he had heard the noise. He crossed the silent road and cut through a stand of trees that blocked the other road from sight. Branches snapped at him, slowing his progress but he grimly continued.

The crunch of twigs and leaf litter behind him was enough to compel him onwards even as his heart thundered in his chest. Each breath was more painful than the last, as if he was swallowing needles.

His heart was swollen with his effort, slamming against his rib-cage with each and every step he took.

Then he was staggering through the treeline and into the road.

His hope died.

His friend was standing in front of him.

Tears flowed down his cheeks as despair seized him. No. Not now when he was so close! He couldn't speak he was so distraught and drained by his flight. His heart hammered away, boiling away in his chest.

His friend raised his hands. "Why did you run?"

He sounded genuinely baffled and the man weakly fell to his knees, gasping at the insanity of it all.

"I don't mean to hurt you. Why did you run? Did my visage frighten you so much?"

It was grotesque in a way, in the manner his friend painted rejection. Could the creature that his friend was feel such a mundane emotion?

Dazed with pain the man stared back at his friend and watched as his friend's eyes changed, swallowing the pupils and becoming one endless sea of colour.

His mind reared away from the terrifying sight, wishing to reject what he was seeing yet again. Yet he had no such luck for what he had been taught as a child was too strong to deny the existence of his friend's kind.

Instead the man's soul was consumed by the horror of what was revealed before him. There was no space for reasoning or logic in the black abyss of his thoughts.

His friend stepped forward hands outstretched in a mockery of assisting him to his feet.

The man spotted headlights and without thinking burst to his feet shocking his friend who had thought him incapable of movement.

"No! Wait!"

The scream of his friend was drowned by the screech of car tires as the man fell into the road, anxiously trying to reach the car.

He managed as the vehicle slid, brakes howling.

Dimly the man heard his friend roar then his entire body was encased in a living pillar of torment, which lasted only a moment before the material world receded.

O-O-O-O

Nick glanced up as he heard a thump. His gaze focused on his friend who was sitting in a chair drawn close to an extremely cluttered table. Currently, Monroe bore a disbelieving expression as he glared in annoyance at a particular book.

"What's the matter Monroe? Found something gross…again?" Seriously, Nick couldn't believe how many horrible depictions, let alone descriptions littered his ancestors' works. Sometimes less was more and Nick would dearly have loved it if his aunt and the rest of his kin had been more vague – or even poetic at a pinch – in their re-tellings of certain gruesome Wesen and their deeds.

Take now for instance: Nick wasn't sure if he wished to know what had placed that picture of 'really?' on Monroe's face or the aura of frustration…wait frustration?

"Monroe?"

Monroe looked his way and Nick blinked at the incredulity in the brown eyes. "Nothing disgusting…well, okay, maybe a little, but nothing you haven't come across already." Monroe waved his free hand at the discarded tome; his other hand still clutched a fountain pen.

"I know Grimms don't have any fondness for Blutbaden, but honestly Nick? Half the stuff in this record is hyperbole and the other half is sick. I get it, my kind really was the big bad wolf for a long time, but we've changed. It would be nice if that was recognised. It's not as if Wieder Blutbaden are a new phenomenon."

Nick knew it wasn't appropriate to laugh, but he couldn't squash the chuckle from bubbling out. "Sorry Monroe," he gasped at Monroe's intensified glare. "I sympathise, you know I do, but I doubt that any Grimm before me got close enough to a friendly Blutbad to discover the truth."

Monroe grunted. Nick put down the papers he had been holding and stepped away from Aunt Marie's – no his – weapons cupboard. He padded over to Monroe and awkwardly clapped a hand onto Monroe's shoulder.

"Hey. Why do you think I gave you the job of reviewing all my books?" Nick nodded towards the table strewn with papers, files, journals, clippings, photographs, drawings, etchings and who knows what else.

Monroe snorted, but there was no malice in his words when he said: "Because you have an aversion of me dictating to you?"

Nick squeezed Monroe's shoulder as hard as he could. "Hilarious Monroe. No, actually it is so you can amend the records, not just because you have vast wells of knowledge I don't-" Nick added quickly at Monroe starting to open his mouth, "but also so you can set the record straight."

His friend's rightful irritation vanished. Monroe's eyes sparkled in the bright lights of the trailer, turning the brown into shimmering pools.

"I'm amazed you trusted me with altering and adding to your Grimm library. It's like handling a piece of ancient history that is still a living breathing monster that could devour me if I'm not careful. Quite fun truthfully."

Nick laughed. "Yeah, your idea of fun is twisted Monroe."

"Grimms who chop off Reaper heads shouldn't judge."

"I recall you had something to do with that affair."

Monroe relaxed in his seat. "Hmmm…Wieder Blutbaden never tell of their exploits."

Nick rolled his eyes. "Sure Monroe. As long as you spill the beans in my – our – books you can maintain the Blutbad hush hush pact."

"Our…?"

Nick froze at the question and amazement in Monroe's voice. He met Monroe's stare and swallowed against the open, searching look the Blutbad was giving him. Nick suddenly felt more vulnerable and broken in a way he hadn't experienced in months, not since Juliette had walked away.

What he had said in a fleeting moment was true: Nick considered this trailer Monroe's as much as his. For goodness sake, they both spent far more time here than was healthy, pouring over the old notes and prodding the various colourful and occasionally colourless potions stored in glass or crystal bottles.

How many times had Nick called Monroe with a new surprise, a new toy to play with? Nick had lost count of the moments when Monroe had either phoned him excitedly or jumped him with a fervent gleam in his eyes when Nick swung by Monroe's place with a new piece of information or fresh idea…or the hours spent in cafés figuring things out or just 'hanging' quietly.

Yeah…Grimm and Wesen who went tumbling through the green forests of Portland, crying war and honing the arts of stealth and defence until they knew each other as wellas, if not better than themselves, could hardly shy away from sharing other facets of their lives equally.

Nick was embarrassed, face flushed and mind panicking. Nick knew that in a second he would ruin everything and the fear of offending Monroe and losing his friend as stupid as it sounded was enough for Nick to force himself to speak, if only in a joking sort of manner.

"Um…yes Monroe. I gave you a key to my trailer remember? Pretty much means that everything in here is as good as yours." Nick shifted on his feet. Affectionate exchanges between friends was not his forte or anything he had truly experienced in his life.

Juliette had been the nearest thing to a confidante and that was entirely different from two men sharing a close friendship.

"I…" Sweat made Nick's hand clammy on Monroe's shoulder, the fabric becoming uncomfortably damp. Monroe thankfully didn't say anything. "I trust you. You're my friend."

The confession was worth the major grin he received and the clasp of Monroe's free hand over Nick's hand that was clenched on the clock-maker's shoulder.

"Thanks Nick. I appreciate it." Monroe bit at his bottom lip. "I trust you too and uh…you're my friend just as much. I let you sleep in my house after all."

Nick nodded, eyes not wavering from Monroe's suddenly red irises. "True."

The back of Nick's shirt was damp, tendrils of sweat gluing the cloth to his feverish skin. Why was it so hot in the trailer?

I should open a window, mused Nick.

Monroe's fingers were tight on his own, calloused fingers rough and damn if the Blutbad was like a furnace. Nick was conscious of how ragged his breathing had become and he watched in fascination as Monroe's mouth fell open echoing his erratic inhales and exhales.

The tension was palpable and flummoxed Nick. He was unsure why this was happening and wished that his detective skills were useful for once in an area of his life not immediately concerned with criminal Wesen and human activities.

"Right…I should get back to this." Monroe's stutter was like a gunshot in the crowded interior of the trailer.

Nick startled. "What?" Nick winced. That had been louder than he intended.

Monroe was clearly uncomfortable. "I need to finish correcting this appalling travesty of a record and you should return to your indexing."

Nick wanted to laugh hysterically for a reason he knew not. Monroe was so painfully obvious when trying to dissolve tension or a scene which had involved more feelings than the participants knew what to do with.

"Okay. I swear Monroe it's as if I let a child get their hands on a treasure chest of candy."

Monroe gestured with the fountain pen (so much better than a silly biro he had sniped at Nick). "You mean your own personal slave Nick."

"Shouldn't I receive a cup of coffee then?"

Monroe growled, dropping his hand and shoved Nick gently, dislodging Nick's grip. Nick missed the hold straight away. "Just continue on oh wise and marvellous Grimm."

Nick pushed back at Monroe's shoulder, mostly because he missed his friend's touch. "You're obsessed with me cataloguing my weapons cabinet."

Monroe shook his head, raking a hand through his dark brown hair. "Right Nick. It is a terrible, irredeemable tragedy when your friend wants the best for you. Just how are you supposed to defend yourself if you don't actually know what's in there and what it's intended for? The whole 'waiting for something to pop up and then interrogate Monroe or Rosalee angle won't work in your favour forever you do realise?"

Walking back over to his cabinet Nick threw out over his shoulder. "Once upon a time there was a saying: 'if it isn't broke don't fix it'. Or in modern speak: it has worked so far so why tempt fate by indexing the frankly weird stuff in our trailer?"

"Crap, killing those reapers has made you insufferable."

Nick smirked. "Yet you stick around."

"Cleary because I'm mad too, I chopped off one of their heads as well. Always thought Reapers carried disease."

Before Nick could reply his cell rang shrilly.

"Shit." The clatter of pen and ruffling of papers joined the incessant ringtone. "We've got to change your damn cell tone. It is like having claws rake my brain."

Nick dashed over, joining the search. "I'll take your word for it."

Monroe gave up the search on the table and darted across to the bed crammed in the corner. He plunged his hands into Nick's jacket that was draped over the silk (honest!) covers. "New rule Nick," Monroe muttered as he now frantically rifled through Nick's coat, "keep your cell in your jeans pocket or hand it to me okay?"

"Brilliant Monroe. I'm sure to obey once we've found the damn-ah!" Nick triumphantly fished his cell from under a huge sheaf of documents.

"Burkhardt," he said into the now blissfully silent cell.

"Nick," Hank's voice answered. "We've been called out. A car accident this time."

O-O-O-O

A light patter of rain had started up by the time Monroe pulled up to the curb. He glanced over at his passenger with a raised eyebrow.

"This is as far as your personal taxi service goes Nick."

Nick turned to face him, grey eyes wide. "We're still a street away Monroe."

"Yeah we are. But let me ask you this man, does Hank know about us?"

Nick grinned. "Us? Didn't know we were dating."

Monroe sighed. He swore that Nick tried his patience on purpose. "You know what I mean. Does Hank know that you're friends with someone once accused of kidnapping a little girl?"

"No." Nick slumped back in his seat a pensive expression playing over his features.

"Look, I don't mind being a secret. I mean most of life recently since I turned Wieder has been about lying low, not being noticed, so this? This friendship of ours? It's as unconventional as it is: clock-maker and cop, prior suspect and accusing officer and let's be frank Nick, the only thing that explains why we did become friends is the whole Blutbad/Grimm aspect. Not something you can exactly share."

It was obvious that Nick was less than thrilled with Monroe's brutal if honest assessment. "I'm tired of constantly hiding vast areas of my life Monroe. And I'm sure we could come up with a viable option if we – I – did tell Hank about you. He has met you since the first case we all came clashing together."

"True…hey, did he really fall for our routine? We were terrible at pretending not to know each other."

"Wh-"

"No, Nick, not 'what do you mean', I almost gave it away and then you rather painstakingly obviously wondered aloud where my cups were…and found them straight away. Thank goodness he was distracted by being stalked by a Siegbarste."

Nick sheepishly shrugged his shoulders. "Okay, we were lucky, but I think we'll have to say something. I do spend huge chunks of my time with you. Hank is beginning to query where I am since I'm hardly at my apartment anymore."

"I'm not even sure why you rent that place, you're at my house so often that I'm beginning to suspect that a Wesen won't have to actually enter to know a Grimm hangs about. They'll just sniff your scent before even reaching my mailbox."

Monroe frowned as something had occurred to him. "Hank hasn't spoken to Juliette has he?"

"I don't think so. Why?"

"Because one the things she reproached you of, bar the whole insanity angle when you tried telling her of Wesen, was of the amount of time you um…spent with me, which I'm sorry I didn't cover up too well."

Nick looked out the windscreen, watching the rain slide down the glass. "Yeah…after that first dinner it sort of fell apart. I just couldn't tell her why I had to run off with you so frequently."

Monroe squeezed the steering wheel. "I told you man, I don't understand normal relationships, but I can guess that trying to say the reason you hang out with me the majority of the time is because the supernatural exists…"

Nick's hiss was sharp. "It doesn't hurt as much as it used to Monroe, but a 'told you so' is still not appreciated."

Monroe reached out, hauling Nick around in his seat to face him, ignoring the anger in his friend's dark expression. "I'm not saying that…well, not meaning to anyway. Listen Nick, what I'm trying to say here is that, tell Hank if you want, but be careful. Lies thrown in with the truth destroyed what you had with Juliette, which I'm partly to blame for-"

Nick shook his head abruptly. "No, you're not."

Monroe smiled wanly. "Sure Nick. But perhaps tread cautiously with your partner. One person in your life did not react well to a mere mention of the supernatural being real, before you even managed to get to Wesen, so don't use that line straight away or at all with Hank. You don't want to lose someone else from your life."

The angry look faded from his friend. Monroe relaxed slightly.

"Okay Monroe, I'll be careful, but I will tell Hank about you. I have to. It is becoming too hard to live a lie."

Nick opened his door, but as he slipped out he twisted back once more, voice earnest. "Just remember Monroe I chose you once and I will again."

What the fuck?

"Hey, what do you mean by that?" Monroe called after Nick who didn't respond just waved and jogged off into the wet night.

O-O-O-O

Nick ducked under the police tape that already cordoned off the lonely stretch of road, nodding to the officer on duty. An ambulance still sat on the far side. In the opening perched a distraught young woman who was talking to a paramedic with a police officer present.

The area was flooded with lights. Various people milled around trying to capture any last pieces of evidence before the rain washed it away.

Seeing Hank standing beside Wu only a hundred yards off Nick sprinted over.

"Hey Hank. What happened? Why have we been called to a car accident site?"

"Hello Nick," Hank answered. He was huddled in his coat looking weary. "And that's a good question. We're here because of Miss Lockmore's statement." The taller detective inclined his head to the young lady sitting in the ambulance.

Wu picked up the thread. "The gist is that Miss Lockmore said she was driving along at the speed limit when out of nowhere a man appears. It being very dark and how quickly he literally – and get this Nick – dove right in front of her car she barely had time to apply her brakes to slow the car down. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough and she still hit him."

Hank shook his head. "She's really broken up Nick. Miss Lockmore said that she was too shocked to move at first, not surprising under the circumstances, before she got out of her car. When she reached him he was already no longer breathing."

Nick blinked. "So? I admit it was odd that he ran right out in front of her car, but it sounds like suicide really."

Wu snorted. "Right up until the young lady glanced up and saw the other man."

"Other man?"

"Yes, he was standing back against the trees. The moon was bright at that moment and Miss Lockmore said he was really there."

"It couldn't be the shock?"

"I considered that," remarked Hank, "but a couple of us have checked the location our witness says he stood and the soil there is disturbed. Footprints that match our deceased and shoeprints that are obviously not his."

Nick frowned, mind churning over the facts so far. "What did this man do next?"

Wu cleared his throat. "Ah…this is where it becomes even more interesting. Apparently our mystery man simply takes one step back and vanishes."

"Vanishes?" Crap. Please don't be a Wesen.

"Yeah," confirmed Wu. "Vanishes. Not into the woods but right in front of her eyes. Miss Lockmore insists it was if the night and he just flowed together and became nothingness."

Nick's mouth went dry. "Did Miss Lockmore say anything else? What he looked like?"

Hank's voice took on a note of uneasiness. "Miss Lockmore described him as being tall, handsome – devilishly so – muscular, longish hair and green eyes."

Nick blinked. "Excuse me? Even with the moon and her headlights, there is no way that Miss Lockmore could see the colour of this stranger's eyes."

"Yup," injected Wu, "not a chance Nick. Yet she gives her word that she saw his eyes shine iridescent green."

Nick glanced towards Hank and saw how pale his friend was and the fine sweat on his brow. Hank saw him watching and said, "It may have been a trick of the light but in all other respects she is a reliable witness: the footprints prove her correct and Miss Lockmore is a long-serving veterinary nurse at a reputable surgery. She probably snatched a glimpse of his eyes when maybe a stray beam of light fell on them. That makes sense."

Hank's anxiety was a knife wound to Nick. He berated himself for not alleviating Hank's worries. By trying to bury the truth from his partner he was slowly driving Hank mad from being unable to explain or process what he had seen.

"Sounds about right," agreed Nick even as Wu shot them both 'what drug are you taking?" expression. He had to do something and this small platitude was all Nick had time to give.

Hank still seemed unsettled but said nothing to contradict Nick. Instead he shook himself and pressed on. "At any rate we have ID'ed the victim: a Stefan Kwiatkowski."

"That's some name there."

"Try pronouncing it Nick," replied Hank sourly.

"To give you a laugh? I noticed you spelled it out."

"Because I don't wish to embarrass myself any more than necessary." Hank rubbed his forehead. "Let's inform next of kin."

Nick grimaced. This was the part of the job that was the most testing. He also now feared there were Wesen involved.

O-O-O-O

Another car, another stop. The house they had parked by on the curb was normal; nothing out of the ordinary. Just another family about to have their lives ruined for an indeterminable amount of time. Grief was a funny mistress, people reacted in different fashions and suffered for various periods of time, some never recovered.

Sighing Nick mentally prepared himself for what would happen next.

It was Hank still sitting that made Nick aware there was something amiss. "Hank?"

His partner scrutinised him. "How did you reach the crime scene Nick?"

"By car?"

Hank was sceptical. "Amazing feat then Nick since you either caused your car to vanish considering you didn't retrieve it from wherever you parked the damn vehicle, or took a taxi. And if you hired a taxi why didn't we see you pull up?"

Nick wondered how he could squirrel out of this and then remembered he had decided not to lie anymore. Licking his lips Nick met Hank's cool gaze. "I had a lift."

The surprise etched into Hank's face killed Nick a bit inside. Had he poisoned their trust in each other so badly that his own partner was stunned to receive a direct reply? Angry at himself and even more furious at having to conceal so much, including Monroe who was now an indispensable part of his life Nick forced out as much of the truth he could afford right here.

"Monroe gave me a lift in his car."

Hank was silent for minute. "The clock-maker guy? The one who keeps popping up all over the place?"

"Yes."

Hank's shoulders were a tense line, mouth shut tight against whatever he wished to say. The silence in the car was crushing and Nick tried to convince himself that the judgement he felt burning in that yawning void was just his imagination.

Hank finally spoke. "So he just happened to be hanging in the same area as you?"

How much to tell? Nick debated how much of the truth he could reveal. As much as possible.

"We were at our place." That was true, they had been at the trailer and as Nick had said to Monroe, he considered the trailer not just his but Monroe's as well.

Yeah…that freely granted admission caused Hank's to stiffen even more. His partner was now assessing him with something close to disappointment.

"He's a good friend Hank. He has helped us remember? Monroe doesn't deserve the censure in your eyes." The urge to defend Monroe was instant and overrode Nick's need for caution in this delicate matter.

Hank however, didn't appear perturbed. "Sure Nick. Just tell me one thing. This didn't cause your break-up with…"

"I never cheated on Juliette, Hank." What are you implying?

The vehement answer satisfied his partner. "Okay then, we clearly have to talk more on this later though."

Relief was dizzy inducing. "Of course Hank. You can meet Monroe too if you want."

Hank climbed out of the car. "Oh, that's for certain. Come on Nick. We have a job to do."

Feeling as if he had just completed a training session in the forest, Nick followed Hank up to the front door.

O-O-O-O

Informing Mrs Kwiatkowska of her husband's death had been strangely easy. She had taken the news with equanimity and Nick was surprised to note a lack of surprise. Instead her tone held a ring of finality to it as if they were simply delivering news she had long feared.

As she served them tea at this late hour Nick examined her more closely. Why would a wife act as if her husband's death was expected unless she knew something…or was guilty?

By Hank's puzzled glance at him, Nick knew his partner was thinking along the same lines.

"Mrs Kwiatkowska," attempted Hank again.

The lady in question smiled sadly. "Ruth, please Detective Griffin. I think that will be easier on both of us."

Hank blushed a faint red in embarrassment. "Thank you Ruth. I notice that your name is spelled differently to your husband's?"

Ruth added a slice of lemon to Hank's tea, before handing the delicate cup to him. "It is the way in Poland Detective Griffin. The ending for some Polish surnames changes depending on whether the wearer is male or female. As Stefan's – my husband's – name was 'Kwiatkowski' , ending in 'ki' my surname therefore changes to the feminine ending 'ka'."

Steady hands passed Nick's cup to him. Nick nodded in thanks.

"So you are Polish?"

"No, Detective Burkhardt, I'm American. Stefan is Polish. I met him through family friends. However, for his sake I followed the norms of his culture."

Ruth closed her eyes briefly. "I loved him so much."

Past tense, thought Nick. "Ruth, you didn't seem all that shocked when we informed you of your husband's death. Can you explain why that is?"

Ruth laughed bitterly. "And naturally that is suspicious." She dismissed their uneasy utterances with a shake of her hair. "I'm not surprised Detectives because for the last year Stefan has been keeping rather bad company."

Hank leaned forward. "A gang?"

Ruth stared at him and when she spoke it was severe. "Worse. He was spending the majority of his free time with his new best friend Raynor Sunders."

If Nick had been a rookie he would have been stunned at how much vehemence could be enunciated in two words: the name of an individual. However, he was not a beginner and so the passion displayed was not startling, but it was intriguing.

Curiosity chewed at Nick. "I have to ask Ruth, how could this Raynor be worse than a gang?"

Ruth's whole demeanour transformed, lovely hazel eyes losing their sadness and now blazing with something close to fury, face like stone. "Because he twisted my husband into a mockery of what he once was. Raynor," the name was spat with equal measures contempt and fear – interesting considered Nick – "whispered depravities into Stefan's ears. Oh he was cunning. At first he captured my husband with the idea of friendship.

"Stefan worked long hours as an accountant and wasn't the most outgoing of men." Ruth's hands curled in her lap. "So when he bumped into Raynor at the grocery store and they chuckled at knocking over their shopping then proceeded to commiserate about their jobs…you know how it is."

Nick exchanged looks with Hank. Yeah they knew. How many friendships had started so mundanely? More than could be counted probably.

Ruth's hands were white. "Stefan was so happy at first. I was happy for him too, therefore I ignored the feeling of wrongness when I first met my husband's new friend. I tell you Detectives, I have never experienced such powerful evil radiating off a person before nor coldness. Raynor hated me on sight. He loathed me even more when I tried convincing Stefan that the manner in which Raynor spoke of things was unpleasant, with always an under-layer of cruelty."

A sob escaped, the only sign of how grieved she had to be. "My God, that creature was insidious. He so cleverly put a spin on whatever he said or wanted my husband to do that it sounded innocent in the beginning and if anything went sour my husband managed to portray it in a good light – pinning the blame on the other party! You ask why I am unsurprised by my husband's death? Because the road he was travelling down only has two endings: death or worse."

"Worse?" asked Hank. "What's worse than death?"

Nick winced at the pitiful expression shot at his partner. "You're a police officer and you ask me that?"

Hank shrugged.

Ruth raised her hands to wipe her face. "Stefan was hurtling down the pathway of darkness and despair. Evil only solicits greater evil and the way in which my husband followed Raynor's lead could only result in death. Or in losing your soul."

Ruth stood, mouth trembling. "Are we finished Detectives? I don't think I can talk for any longer now."

Hank stood as well. "Of course. We will have to question you further however."

Ruth nodded briskly. "I understand."

Nick could feel Hank's eyes on him, but the poisonous idea from earlier was still circling his head so he wished to ask Ruth one more question, but without Hank present. "I'll join you now Hank. I was just wondering if I could Ruth's bathroom."

"Okay, don't be long." Hank did not sound pleased.

As Hank's footsteps faded Nick met the cool assessing gaze of Ruth. "I have a question."

Ruth didn't say anything, just remained silent. Nick ploughed on. "You said that Raynor was evil. Apart from what he said, did or the emotions you felt from him…did you notice anything else strange? Peculiar noises he may have made? Growls, hisses or moans for instance? Maybe he moved faster than the average man? Or his eyes were an odd colour…you know, may have flashed under the lights in the kitchen for example, appearing like one unbroken shade?"

Nick asked the last part very carefully, picking his words with the caution of a man navigating a minefield. He never let his eyes wander from Ruth's face and saw the second his questions hit the mark.

When Ruth answered her voice was strained thin. "I may have once seen Raynor's eyes turn a solid green and perhaps – when I was exhausted from lack of sleep Detective – witnessed the flicker of sharp elongated teeth."

Fuck, it is a Wesen, but what type? "Thank you Ruth. If you remember anything else please call."

Nick pulled out his card and handed it over. "I'm available at any time."

Ruth examined the thin square. "Who are you? No ordinary cop would ask me those questions."

Zipping up his leather jacket Nick hesitated. "I'm…someone who will believe you when you think you're crazy. No matter how strange call me if you think of anything else."

Ruth led him to her door, but prevented him from leaving by laying a shaky hand on the leather. She searched his face for sincerity and whatever she saw convinced her that he was speaking the truth.

"I will Detective." She pulled the door open.

As Nick stepped outside a thought occurred. Turning partially back, he said, "Sorry Ruth, but one more question. If you had to put a name to what you think Raynor is, what would you say?"

When Ruth answered her hazel eyes were fever bright and her voice smouldering with conviction. "A demon Detective Burkhardt, a demon from Hell."

O-O-O-O

On the heels of such a mind-blowing confession, after a rather tense Hank had dropped him off at Monroe's, Nick barely refrained from bursting into Monroe's bedroom and dragging the Blutbad out of bed to interrogate him on the possibilities of demons and demon –like Wesen.

However, recalling how cranky Monroe had been lately due to missing his Pilates in the morning, Nick succeeded in reigning in his wild desire to fling himself at Monroe and demand explanations. If it was also partly because Nick didn't wish to be slung like a dead reaper over Monroe's shoulders, (and they still had to have that discussion on not showing up human Grimms), as he was carried to his own bedroom by an irritated Blutbad then he could be forgiven for once displaying the better part of valour.

Padding as quietly as he could into the bathroom Nick cursorily washed his face and brushed his teeth. Slipping under his covers Nick wondered when his life had reached the point that he was seriously contemplating demon-Wesen.

No, really, when?

O-O-O-O

The wonderful aroma of food cooking drew Nick out of his slumber. The promise of Monroe's breakfast persuaded Nick to drag his weary ass out of bed and down the stairs.

Accompanied by the soft ticking of the many clocks decorating the house Nick padded into the kitchen to find Monroe standing by the stove wearing just a plain white t-shirt and green boxers.

"Morning Monroe."

Monroe looked up from where he appeared to be frying vegetables if the smell was anything to go by. "Morning Nick! How was the case last night? Any clear leads?"

Nick shrugged and walked over to the coffee press. "Want any coffee Monroe?"

His friend rolled his eyes. "Not likely for me to say no Nick. Don't think you'll get away with evading my questions though. I can be pretty stubborn when needed."

Nick laughed as he began pulling Monroe's mug plus his own (and how had he not noticed he had his own mug now?) out of the cupboard. "Tell me about it Monroe. Your stubbornness almost gets you killed on a regular basis."

"Knowing you Nick is enough to darken my chances, but hey, I thought we agreed to screw the status quo a long time ago."

Smiling now, Nick turned with his arms crossed over his chest watching Monroe fondly as he worked his magic. "I was present Monroe so I do remember." The dark flavour of coffee was beginning to tantalise his nose as he spoke with Monroe. "As for my case, feed me and I'll spill all the secrets of the crime-scene."

Bright brown eyes flashed at him, amusement sparkling in the liquid depths. "Classy Nick, you're building your reputation as story-teller. Must be a Grimm thing having a desire to regale tales, whether on paper or orally."

Nick shook his head and quickly darted across to whack Monroe on the arm. Monroe snorted. "Pathetic." Gripping Nick's arm he manoeuvred him to face the coffee machine. "Go and brew my new special blend Nick. Maybe it'll be afraid of you."

Digging in his heels Nick reclined against Monroe, so that his back was touching Monroe's chest. Tilting his head Nick smirked up at Monroe. "For that Monroe I'll make you pay at our next training session. And just for you, with your favourite: axes."

Monroe glared at him, but there was no real heat in his expression or words, "You're evil."

"I try."

Ignoring Monroe's mock growl Nick returned to brewing the coffee, because Monroe liked his just so and unfortunately the conniving Blutbad had succeeded in convincing Nick that he also had to have his coffee in the same manner.

That was the end of enjoying the late night horrid brown sludge that they concocted when trapped in the police station to the small hours. Lovely.

Prepping the plates as well as he waited for the coffee to be ready, Nick closed his eyes briefly. To be truthful he was unsure how to approach telling Monroe of his suspicions. With the sun's bright rays filling the small kitchen with a glorious warm glow the thought of demon-Wesen seemed like the wild imaginings of a child.

Yet he had to have peace of mind and Ruth had appeared quite serious in her verdict. If someone else died because he didn't share his admittedly odd hypothesis then Nick knew he would never forgive himself.

The machine finished brewing the coffee and Nick quickly poured their mugs and then went over to join Monroe again at the stove. A frying pan was sizzling and Monroe was pushing spring onions and peppers around. The smell was fantastic.

"What are you making?"

"A Spanish omelette Nick." Monroe tried reaching past Nick for the herbs he had lined up on the counter, but was prevented by Nick refusing to budge and the hot pan.

Nick inhaled the scent of forest, herbal shampoo and Aloe Vera aftershave that Monroe always dabbed on. It was uniquely Monroe and whenever Nick smelled that combination he relaxed, thinking of his friend.

"Some help would be brilliant Nick." Monroe peered at him. "Or don't you want to be fed as you demanded earlier? Some of us not only want to eat, but also to be informed of certain events."

Picking up some random herb Nick tossed it from hand to hand, "Only if you're good," he replied, jesting. Riling up Monroe was great fun and was a slice of normality in their lives. It helped remind Nick that he had a life outside being a Grimm and a cop, even if lately the line that defined both roles was becoming more blurred by the day.

"I'm not sure how to describe what happened actually."

Monroe plucked the jar from him, frowning. "How can you not? You're not new at either the cop thing or the Grimm stint anymore. And I'll say this: lack of words will ruin the image of you being all scholar-like, penning our heroic adventures down."

Snorting Nick picked up a bowl containing the prepped eggs. "I am sorry for tragically destroying your image of me, though at least you will be able to capture our legacy with your wild imaginings."

"Uh huh, thanks Nick. No, don't add the eggs yet! So…any words yet? What's the problem?"

Nick sighed and turned so his front was plastered against Monroe's side – and when had this closeness become normal? "I can't really describe or explain because the evidence is confusing and to be honest, a little creepy."

The bowl was tapped with one long calloused finger and Nick cautiously poured the beaten eggs into the frying pan. Scraping at the egg-vegetable mixture Monroe glanced at Nick, brown eyes shining with curiosity. His breath puffed over Nick's face when he talked.

"Confusing and creepy? Okay Nick, I don't think I should let you out of my sight anymore when you go on cases, because I have the horrible sensation that I'm going to hate what you say next."

Nick smirked, even as the memory of last night caressed him with the undercurrent of danger he had sensed. Almost absentmindedly Nick tugged Monroe's shirt down where it had ridden up when Nick had re-positioned himself.

"Let's say I came across reports of a person – I'm guessing Wesen - having an aura of well…" Nick licked his lips. Again the notion of demon-Wesen sounded silly, however, his Grimm instincts were all standing up screaming at him, plus Monroe was now gazing at him with concern.

"Nick?" prompted Monroe. When he didn't reply Monroe turned down the gas and if possible leaned in more towards Nick, twisting his own body so that now their fronts were almost flush against each other. "Hey buddy, you can't leave me hanging like that. Aura of..?"

Titling his head back, damn Monroe being taller, Nick forged ahead. "Aura of pure evil topped with a mouthful of sharp pointy teeth and…shit Monroe this is going to sound as if I drank a bottle of whiskey in one go; eyes that changed to green. Completely: as in the pupils going AWOL. Monroe? Whoa. Are you okay?"

Monroe had gone deathly white and the second Nick had mentioned eyes transforming green without possessing pupils Monroe had actually knocked the frying pan askew, almost sending oil onto them and a hairs breath from setting them both on fire.

"Monroe?" Nick seized Monroe's arms, panicking at Monroe's strange and frankly unusual reaction. "Monroe? What the hell? Monroe? Say something. Please. Anything. Even 'idiot Grimm' would be fine."

Nick stared up into the wide frightened expression – frightened?

Fuck. What has gotten you so afraid?

Coldness settled into his limbs as the ominous feeling Nick had been experiencing since this case multiplied.

Perspiration pimpled out over his skin as Nick fumbled beyond Monroe, managing to switch off the stove and practically falling onto Monroe in the process. It did thankfully however cause his friend to awaken from whatever stupor he had been in and to grab Nick in a bone crushing embrace.

Clasped face first into Monroe's t-shirt Nick struggled to breathe. He felt as much as heard Monroe mutter into his tousled hair: "You didn't meet this Wesen did you Nick?" A sigh tickled Nick's hair.

"No, wait stupid question. Of course you haven't, you're still alive."

Growing increasingly alarmed because Nick had never heard Monroe this distraught, not even when the Reapers were in town, he succeeded in wrenching his head up so he could prop his chin on Monroe's chest. Monroe met his gaze.

Nick knew his face was flushed and he could see an answering flush in Monroe's. He also watched as Monroe's eyes bled red, face Woged out into the wolfish mask Monroe was no longer ashamed or shy about wearing around Nick.

Whatever Nick had said, had caused this reaction in a Wesen that didn't exactly have many natural predators. It wasn't a comforting thought or a cheerful perspective in facing this thing.

So maybe demon-Wesen isn't so off the mark. Shit.

"What's going on Monroe? What has you so scared. What is this Wesen?"

Monroe ran a tongue over his fangs. "Something I prayed I would never encounter." Breathing harshly Monroe said, "Tell me everything Nick. I don't want to freak you out in case I'm wrong."

Nick scoffed, "Too late for that Monroe. I'll tell you, but you better be explain ASAP why the mere description of this Wesen is enough to send the big bad wolf running."

"The ordinary big bad wolf Nick, if I'm correct in my assumption, would be fleeing for the hills right about now. A pack of Grimms are better than what I am thinking of."

"You're terrible at not freaking me out Monroe. Never try and comfort a dying person."

Monroe didn't even crack a small smile. Instead he inclined his head to the living room.

Beyond worried now Nick coughed, suddenly uncomfortably aware of how close they were standing. It was still painful having to wrench his fingers from Monroe; the loss of Monroe's heat was acute.

Monroe's hands fell by his sides as if he didn't know what to do with them now he was no longer holding Nick. Swallowing harshly Nick led the way into the living room.

O-O-O-O

Slowly the background noise of Monroe's clocks were filling the living room to the point where they were no longer a background melody, but instead the main foreground attraction. It was driving Nick insane, something previously impossible as he associated these clocks – many which Monroe had tended with his own hands – with warmth, security…home.

Nick had just finished describing the details of last night and now Nick was waiting for Monroe to explain why he had reacted like a terrorised lamb in the kitchen.

As he waited for Monroe to speak – slumped against the soft back of his sofa, while Nick perched on the edge of the armchair at an angle to the sofa – crazy scenarios whirled around in his head.

Nick had just decided upon a particularly outrageous one – a mutant Wesen (a blend of the most violent Wesen out there, including Blutbaden, Jägerbärs & Lausenschlange) with supernatural powers (no more X-Men movies for him) running amuck – Monroe raised his head from where he had tipped it back on the head rest.

His face was still white, but it was human. The features were drawn however, eyes maintaining a tint of ruby.

Nick braced himself for the worst.

"Nick…I swear that what I am about to tell you isn't a lie or something belonging in a supernatural television show okay? You've got to believe that I am being deadly serious, because this thing? This Wesen will destroy you and all you know about otherwise."

Sucking in a hiss Nick gazed at Monroe. He put up his feet, dressed only in slipper socks and Nick realised with a start that he was still in his pyjamas, and nudged Monroe's knee with a foot.

"Monroe, you are the only person in the world that I trust enough that if you said the Archangel Michael had visited you, announcing that the apocalypse was round the corner and we had to fight a legion of demons then I'd believe you without blinking. So whatever you have to say, no matter how fantastic? If you say it's true then I'm on board."

Monroe's face was actually quite handsome when hued a deep scarlet, the red in stark relief to his scraggly beard and curly hair. I did not think that. Nick tried brushing off the stray thought.

"Thanks Nick," Monroe smiled past the embarrassment and pleasure. "Though that was a rather apt comparison under the circumstances."

"Huh?"

Monroe growled. "Unfortunately, yes. Nick, the only Wesen that fits your profile: vanishing into thin air, sharp teeth, green eyes without pupils and an aura of malevolence is a Wesen Esser. Quite literally a Soul Eater."

Monroe shuddered as he said the name. "I suppose you would recognise a Wesen Esser as a demon."

"So I was right with my guess!" Nick was so incredulous he was actually correct with his wild assumption that he shouted.

"Nick?"

"Um, sorry Monroe. Just when Ruth said 'demon' I began to wonder if she could be right, though I did think I was insane to take it seriously. So demon-Wesen really exist? How about angels? "

Monroe sighed. "Yes, demon-Wesen exist Nick, but not the type you are thinking of. The demons Grimms and humans are familiar with aren't Wesen Esser. And if I thought for one single breath that we were dealing with those type of demons – the spirit breed – then I'd be dragging you to my church and asking my priest for help.

"Because let me tell you Nick," Monroe leant forward, hands tipped with claws clasping Nick's hands, as if it was imperative Nick understood the sincerity in Monroe's warning, "those demons? They don't simply destroy you from the outside in; they can infiltrate your very body. Possess you so that you are no longer in control, but having to watch as the poisonous spirit uses your body like a puppet to commit malicious acts, whisper evil words and sicken your soul to the verge of death…yet there is no escape because the demon has invaded your body and your soul is trapped until the demon is exorcised."

"My god…"

"Not God Nick. They're not of heaven, but of hell."

Fire and coldness erupted in Nick. The cold sensation from before still pervaded his limbs but now a fire burned in his soul.

The two feelings were opposite, yet the same; iciness from the fear instilled by the horrible threat of losing one's ability to choose and being forced to commit acts of a malevolent nature because another being was in charge of your body; and hot anger that this might have happened to Stefan Kwiatkowski.

"So a Wesen Essercannot possess a person?"

Monroe shook his head. "No, but that only makes them slightly less dangerous. It does make them ever so easier to fight, if you know, you consider fighting the equivalent of a hundred Dämonfeuer hyped up on steroids easier."

"Then what happened to Stefan?"

"Just what his wife described. Soul Eaters cannot perform possessions like their non-material brethren, but they can cause an obsession in someone. You mentioned that Stefan's personality had changed close to his death? Ever since he met Raynor?"

"Yes, Ruth was very adamant on that aspect."

"Right and Stefan growing more callous, casting aspersions on other people, agreeing with Raynor on what he said, even when it was said with a definite undertone of cruelty? Stefan's unusual fixation on Raynor itself, how it developed is also disturbing. Coupled with the glimpses of Raynor Woged out that Ruth caught, it all screams obsession."

Nick was confused. "Obsession? I know it has to be bad, but even a human can cause someone to become obsessed."

Monroe was grimmer than Nick had ever seen him. "Yes, but a Wesen Esser can create an obsession that literally poisons the soul. They can turn a previously good, sweet person, who has never said an unkind word in their life, into a twisted mockery of themselves. Nick, when I say 'obsession' I mean that it is part of a Soul Eater's nature."

Monroe hesitated. "Put it this way Nick, a Wesen Esser could turn an Eisbiber to evil, make them commit murder and/or torture even their own children. They do it as easily as we breathe, or butter toast. They corrupt you because it is fun. Not because they need to eat, but because it brings them joy. Fuck…it is as if their entire nature is designed to honey their words so you would think of nothing of driving a knife into Hank's chest and justifying it afterwards. There is no demonic possession, you chose to do that. There is no excuse."

Nick inadvertently squeezed Monroe's hands so that their joined hands went white-red from the pressure.

"Fucking hell." Nick understood what they were facing now and what had made Stefan fall so badly. "But why was Stefan running? From the witness account I believe that he was running away from Raynor."

"A game gone wrong? Maybe he discovered what Raynor really was. Though in that case I am surprised he ran, from what Ruth describes her husband was fully under Raynor's power."

"So how do we fight a Wesen Esser?"

Monroe looked haunted then. Nick watched as sweat beaded Monroe's brow and trailed down his friend's cheek. "Fight? Not easily. Their words are not their only weapons; they have well…supernatural powers to call upon."

"Magic?" Nick wasn't sure why the prospect of magic shocked him after what he had seen happen to Adalind.

"Of a sort. Wesen Essercan manipulate the energies that flow around us. They can seize these flows of power and the spiritual essence of the living creatures of this world and mix it with their own spirit, their own energy to work spells. That's how magic was explained to me anyway. They're just very good at accessing and using this vast energy web."

Brilliant. So I'm up against demon-Wesen that can essentially tap into Earth's powerhouse. Mutant X-Men theory wasn't far off then.

Nick pulled his hands away and dug his palms into his eyes ere propping both feet onto Monroe's lap. "I'm getting why you said a pack of Blutbaden would turn tail and lope off into the woods Monroe. Any chance these creatures are in my library?"

"I don't know," answered Monroe honestly, one hand dropping to rest on Nick's foot. He swung his own long legs to rest on his precious coffee table. Looked like the situation called for uncivilised behaviour from both Grimm and Blutbad.

"Maybe. Wesen Esser stay under the radar mostly. I am surprised that one revealed himself not only to Miss Lockmore, but allowed Ruth to catch sight of their true selves. And I do think it was deliberate as usually Wesen Esser prefer not to catch the attention of those, not only Grimm, who would either try and destroy them or ruin their fun."

"Can they die?"

"They are mortal Nick so yes they can die."

"Just not easily."

"We're not that lucky, no."

"What's the next step then Monroe? You know these things better than I do."

Monroe's eyes turned fully red, features transforming. "First, we discover where Stefan ran from and allow Hank to interview Raynor. If he catches wind of a Grimm on his trail then we stand no chance. Surprise is our best shot of destroying Raynor."

"Destroying?"

"You can't imprison him Nick. No jail can hold a Soul Eater for long."

Nick nodded. "Okay." He had no love for Raynor and from what Monroe had told him, a demon-Wesen was evil incarnate, one step from being as horrific as a demon that could possess. Not something that heralded any quarter to be given. As it was, it sounded as if fighting Raynor would take everything they got and then some. Perfect.

"And it would be best if anyone you know, Grimm informant especially, left Portland. They would only be in mortal danger if they stayed."

"Bud and Rosalee…"

"Rosalee would never leave."

"True," admitted Nick ruefully. "But I'll try with Bud. He is loyal but has a family."

"Okay Nick." Monroe's stomach growled. "But first, breakfast."

O-O-O-O

They were cleaning up after breakfast when Monroe suddenly lifted his head and sniffed the air.

Nick recognised that contemplative mannerism; Monroe had picked up a scent that didn't belong in his territory. He silently cursed that he wasn't dressed and therefore did not have his gun to hand.

So, while he ran to Monroe's workstation and plucked the key to the cabinet from inside a clock, (where else would Monroe hide it?), he asked, "What's the matter Monroe? Who or what is it?"

He seriously hoped that it wasn't Raynor. They were not even mildly prepared for a Wesen Esser at this stage.

Monroe's soothing voice filtered to Nick as he unlocked the cabinet, withdrew a metal box and swivelled the combination lock. "It's Hank. He just parked and is walking up the drive."

Relief flooded Nick, heart slowing its frantic race. "What is Hank doing here?"

Retrieving his gun from the now opened metal box, Nick packed everything away neatly and walked into the living room to meet Monroe's incredulous stare. "Really Nick? He dropped you off here, so Hank probably figured you need a lift into work as your car isn't parked outside. Unless you were planning on flying or using me as a personal chauffeur? "

"Good point Monroe, though I could live without the sarcasm."

Monroe grinned and flapped a hand. "You would miss it Nick."

Nick rolled his eyes. The sad thing was, he most likely would miss Monroe's special brand of disdain and direct to the matter quips. His life was not where he imagined it that he would miss Monroe's little quirks, but now that it was, Nick wouldn't trade it for the world.

"Gloat all you want Monroe. You'd miss my…what do you call it? Oh right, silliness and reckless desire to protect everyone I meet." Nick just wanted to stuff a sock in his mouth, because this was embarrassingly touchy-feely.

Apparently facing a potentially unbeatable foe makes me sappy. Great.

Monroe was smiling, the mirth actually reaching his eyes, considering how downright fearful and serious he had been only half an hour ago when they had been discussing their frankly chilling situation. "Going Wieder clearly has side-effects."

"Lack of meat in the diet Monroe…enough said."

Red flashed in Monroe's eyes just as the doorbell rang. "You're about to face Hank just in your pyjamas and slipper socks…I'm cool with that, but are you with the inevitable teasing? Enough said."

"Crap." Nick dashed for the stairs. "I'll be down straight away! Be nice."
Too late Nick remembered that Monroe only had his t-shirt and boxers on. "I'm never going to live this down," he muttered as he fought with his trousers.

Laughing at Nick's actions, Monroe went to answer the door.

"Morning Hank," a very wary Hank was standing on his doorstep, expression moulded in a friendly if perhaps strained manner.

"Morning Monroe. I'm here to pick up Nick. I dropped him off last night?" Hank added as if his leaving Nick here was something that Monroe might not notice.

"Yeah Nick is just getting ready. We just finished breakfast. Why don't you come in?" Monroe stood aside as Hank stepped over the threshold. His shoulders were stiff.

"Oh, hey, have you had breakfast? There is still some Spanish omelette left, so if want any I can rustle up a slice for you with a cup of coffee or tea?"

Hank looked taken aback by Monroe's enthusiasm. Monroe couldn't blame the guy, it had to be weird suddenly acknowledging that Monroe, a prior suspect, was his partner's best buddy and that they for all intents and purposes shared this house.

Allowing Nick into his territory and furthermore permitting the Grimm to treat it as his own was something that still amazed Monroe. Blutbaden weren't good with sharing anything they considered 'their property', yet here he was letting Nick crawl all over his space as if it was completely normal.

That fact said something about their friendship, the strength of the bond between him and Nick had to be close to unbreakable for such a sharing of territorial instincts and self.

He hadn't told Nick yet, because as he warned Nick, humans in general weren't good at the Wesen thing and while Grimms were slightly better, informing your friend of 'bonds' and 'profound trust' was a bit much for a human to take.

This was more than pack…it was one of the ties that made up a pack. So, yup, he didn't have words for it, not without rambling; just feeling and action.

Aaaannnnd…he was on a tangent. He could easily get distracted sometimes.

Hank was surprised and a little awkward as he replied, "Spanish omelette? Can't turn down home cooking. Coffee too since you are offering."

Monroe grinned. "Cool, follow me Detective."

"Hank is fine." The dark-skinned detective followed Monroe into his kitchen which still smelled of the terrific aromas of cooked breakfast.

"Hmmm…something smells good."

"Wait until you taste" promised Monroe as he went to the oven slipping on a glove. Carefully he opened the oven and removed the frying pan that contained the remnants of the huge omelette he had made. The lovely golden colour was interspersed with red and green of the vegetables he had used.

"There's no meat as I'm a vegetarian. Hope that's okay?"

Hank nodded. "Hey, I'm not turning down a free meal."

Monroe chuckled. "Good to hear. How much?"

Hank walked to Monroe and glanced at the pan. "Half of what you've got?" He sounded cautious.

"No problem, you can have all of it if you want."

Hank looked hesitant. "You're sure?"

"Wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it."

"Okay then."

Monroe eased the omelette onto the plate and then hurriedly poured a mug of his special brew. "Cream? Sugar?"

"Yes, but I'll do it."

"Yeah, everyone has their own way of drinking coffee." Monroe pulled out what Hank needed and watched the detective stir and begin to eat standing up.

"Thanks for this."

"You're Nick's friend so it's no big deal. Sure you don't want to sit?"

Hank shook his head, "No, refined paranoia, Monroe. The moment I relax there will be another call."

Monroe was amused. "I've noticed this trait in Nick. Do all homicide detectives act so paranoid?"

"Paranoid? What are you two talking about?" Nick entered the kitchen looking scrubbed and with the tang of minty toothpaste drifting on the air. Monroe's nostrils flared and he tried to control his reactions.

No need to traumatise Hank further – at least before Nick decided to tell him everything as Monroe suspected he would. Hopefully, before this Wesen Esser tried to cast them under an obsession or more likely kill them.

"About how whenever we relax to eat a tasty meal we are likely to be called out," replied Hank taking a break in gulping down the omelette. "Good morning Nick." He glanced at Monroe, drawing out from the back of his throat an appreciative noise. "This is fantastic Monroe. No wonder Nick hangs here so much. Does he do anything in return the lucky bastard?"

"Hey," protested Nick, but happiness saturated with relief soaked his scent that Monroe and Hank were actually getting along.

Monroe smiled inwardly. Early days and all that. "He does the laundry now that I've trained him on how it should be done. Ouch!"

Nick glared in mock anger at Monroe. He had crossed the kitchen to stand beside Monroe and at Monroe's jibe had poked him in the side.

Hank was examining them closely while he ate. Monroe knew he was desperately curious as to why and how their friendship worked. He prayed that Hank's initial conclusions were favourable.

"Ignore Monroe; I do plenty around the house."

Monroe rolled his eyes. "Sure you do. Walking around checking all the doors and windows, while good security measures, isn't always reassuring." Monroe spared a fond glance at Hank to involve him in their banter as much as his rusty social skills allowed. "I can see where this paranoia you mention bleeds into Nick's life."

Nick just snorted as some of the nervous tension drained from his stance, "Anything new since last night Hank?"

"No, but today we should interview Raynor."

Nick discreetly shifted closer to Monroe to quickly press reassuringly against him. "I think it might be wise to split up to expedite affairs: you interview Raynor while I run a background check on Stefan and Raynor. That way I may unearth any other prospective candidates or evidence we can use against Raynor."

Hank chewed his final bite and sipped from his half-full mug. "Fine by me. I'll pop in with you to confirm Raynor's work details then I'll be on my way. Do we need to pick up your car?"

Nick shrugged. "We better, just in case I find something. Can't ask Monroe to drive me about right?"

Monroe raised an eyebrow. "If I'd known you would have guilty feelings in Hank's presence I would have invited him over ages ago."

"Funny Monroe," Nick went over to check the fridge. "Damn, we forgot to shop. Ugh…" Nick peered over his shoulder as he realised what he had said, dark hair flopping into his eyes. "I mean, I owe you a shop Monroe."

Hank assessed them both, but let whatever he had to say go. "Almost ready Nick."

Nick straightened quickly. "Right, I'll fetch my jacket. Bye Monroe." Nick's eyes were intense, the grey dark with worry. Monroe could taste his friend's tangible concern: be careful.

"Bye Nick," he returned the sentiment, his own fear for Nick's safety causing the wolf to brim close to the surface, claws and teeth a hair's breadth from ripping free.

Nick understood the silent communication and casting one last anxious glance exited to grab his jacket.

In the silence Monroe observed Hank who was drinking his coffee. Hank's pleasure at the heat and flavour of the brew warmed the kitchen. The reminder of the deadliness of Hank and Nick's case – and Monroe's case now – was as sharp and intense as claws sinking into his flesh.

To fight the Wesen equivalent of a demon was serious and terrifying. Monroe had not been exaggerating when he had told Nick that these creatures were evil and to fight them would be harder than anything they had ever encountered.

Their souls were at stake – Monroe had done his best to underscore how a Wesen Esser could create an obsession in someone, Wesen or human and that their entire being was designed to ensure that they were successful.

A pack of rampaging Blutbaden would be far more welcome and easier to take on. For the first time ever in his life Monroe wished that there was more than one Grimm haunting Portland's streets, even though that was no guarantee of success, it would be better odds than now.

As it was there was only Nick, Hank, Monroe and Rosalee if Monroe was correct in assuming her dedication to helping them out. At least unlike Hank they knew the true nature of what they were up against.

A desire to protect Hank swelled within Monroe as well as the urge to reveal a small fraction of his world, the Wesen one, to the detective. Monroe knew how much Hank's friendship meant to Nick and heck, if Monroe could assist in any way to make the transition for Hank easier then he would.

He was so glad his family couldn't see him now.

"Er…Hank?"

Monroe watched as Hank drained the last drop and looked up. "Yes Monroe?"

Monroe licked his lips. He wished he was smoother at such things. "Nick mentioned in passing your case and well, it uh seems. That is-"

Hank's amused demeanour at his behaviour was encouraging where usually it would be irritating as it signalled he was receptive to Monroe's bumbling attempts.

"I read a lot of what people would call 'odd, crazy' books okay? Um, you know, the paranormal sort." Hank became still, expression closed.

"Anyway, just saying that one part of it screams of the supernatural –and you being an educated man, you're not going to dismiss the unusual out of hand, no matter how strange and insane it may sound."

Shit, this is awkward. Monroe waved his hands. "Anyhow…rambling on as I normally do, stop me man if I don't make sense, or less than usual anyway. Right, if you come across any further paranormal aspects, glowing eyes, vanishing and reappearing acts, stuff somehow happening without a 'logical' explanation? Call me, I uh...run a group that collects and deals with such things, our collection of recorded accounts could be of assistance."

Okay, he didn't run such a group, but how else to approach Hank without sounding completely insane? Granted, paranormal investigator group wasn't necessary more normal, but it had the coating and allure of an organised association rather than the brutal truth of, 'by the way I'm a Wesen, demons exist and you're dealing with one. Did I say that Nick is a Grimm? No? Right, a Grimm is...' and so on.

Yeah, no.

"Therefore, what I'm trying to say is, just be open to the supernatural, as who knows what's out there?" Wow that didn't sound the least bit weird or threatening at all.

Hank was staring at him. His skin was greyer as if reliving his recent brushes with what humans would call the 'supernatural'. His eyes were bright with alarm. Monroe breathed deeply and resisted the urge to stammer on. Seriously, not needed right now. He had freaked Hank out enough thanks very much.

Finally Hank spoke. "You believe the supernatural exists?" His voice was peculiar as if he was implying that those who did were automatically crazy. Monroe didn't blame him.

"Yes, even had many strange encounters myself."

Hank clenched his hands. "Like?"

Monroe sensed Nick lurking outside the kitchen, heart rate as loud as a waterfall. He reeked of anxiety, fear and anguished hope. Monroe couldn't stuff this up so he offered what life-lines he could. Friendship meant you did your best and Monroe was going to do his best.

"Seen some odd creatures in the woods," he pretended not to notice Hank's sharp breath. "One creature was upright – I was just strolling along on a walk mind you, hadn't drunk any alcohol – was hairy, furry. I'm getting ahead of myself. I saw someone ahead examining a patch of flowers and was about to call out when I stepped on a twig causing it to break. The person looked up, but the instant it turned to me I swore its face changed so it was wolfish then flowed straight back into human features."

Monroe shrugged and watched Hank. "I have more, but Nick will probably start yelling for you."

Hank swallowed, his face was pale, but something similar to gratefulness lurked in his eyes. "Thanks Monroe. I, uh, will think about what you said."

"Cool. Glad you're open minded Hank. Just remember," Monroe added as he followed Hank to the front door returning Nick's awed smile with a 'no biggy' one of his own, "keep your eyes peeled for the supernatural."

"Sure. You ready Nick?"

Nick grinned. "Yup," he looked at Monroe and said softly, tone bristling with affection. "See you later Monroe, have a good and safe day."

Warmth at Nick's obvious concern from him, pooled in Monroe's belly and he couldn't help the gruff acknowledgement of care that escaped him. "I'll be fine Nick. You're the one who stampedes around with guns. Be careful huh?"

Hank was obviously uncomfortable at their display of, there was no other word for it, tenderness. Yes, there is, whispered Monroe's treacherous inner monologue, love. "Good to see you have a friend outside work Nick. I'll wait in the car."

Nick was startled, a flush infusing his cheeks. "No need. Bye Monroe."

"Once more, bye Nick."

Hank coughed and said, "I guess I'll see you around Monroe."

"Sure, Nick and I were discussing having you over for dinner sometime. Just tell Nick when you're free and I'll prepare the tastiest meal of your life."

Hank laughed. "That's great." Grabbing Nick's arm he hauled his reluctant partner through the door and down the drive. Monroe smiled and waved them goodbye.

O-O-O-O

The ride to work after leaving Monroe's was silent apart from Hank's one comment as he started the engine that Monroe seemed like 'an okay guy'. Nick had relaxed, for the first time since his life as a Grimm began hoping that for once relations with his non-Grimm side would go smoothly.

Bar that comment Hank was quiet, brooding in his seat, not even saying anything as he drew up to Nick's apartment, allowing Nick to hop into his own car and follow Hank to the precinct. Nick suspected that his partner was mulling over everything that Monroe had confided in him, probably weighing the risk of revealing his own recent experiences.

Nick wished with his very soul that Hank would begin to accept what had been happening to him, so that when Nick finally shared the rest Hank wouldn't freak too much. He just needed a break…a shot at making things right with his partner and Nick knew he had created some of these issues himself by pretending not to see what Hank had witnessed.

As it was, Monroe had decided to help him for which Nick was grateful beyond words. He sometimes thought that Monroe was a dream, something too good to be real, someone too loyal to be Nick's friend – and Nick didn't have many friends even before Monroe. To be honest, aside from Hank, Monroe was his only friend and the only one so far with whom he had fitted in so perfectly from when they had first met.

Getting out of his car Nick joined Hank as they entered the bustling precinct managing a small smile despite the current situation.

"Ready for a big day?" asked Hank as they dropped into their chairs.

Nick grinned, happy that Hank was trying. It had to be hard meeting someone you probably (rightly) thought may have had something to do with breaking up with Juliette.

"As always Hank, maybe Harper will have some good news for us."

Hank switched on his computer, lips curled up. "That would make a change." Snatching up a pen and pad Hank scribbled a few lines down.

"Looks like you have already found your information Hank."

"I wish, just preparing my notes for when I interview Raynor."

Nick nodded, a sick feeling coiling like a serpent in his belly. "You sure you're happy meeting Raynor alone?" Nick knew what Monroe had said, but he was concerned about Hank facing a demon-Wesen, a Soul Eater, without back-up.

"No problem. He might be less defensive anyway with just one of us grilling him. From Ruth's accounts he strikes me as one cold dish."

"Maybe, call if you need me."

"Er…sure Nick," Hank shot him a wary look, clearly a little mystified by Nick's peculiar behaviour.

Nick tried harder to act normal. If he put Hank off balance further he would do all the damage necessary to ensure Raynor became suspicious and then they were screwed.

With a curt nod Nick dove into his own research, faking an 'I'm alright, honest' attitude.

It seemed only minutes later that Hank was rising to leave. "Guess what?" he commented as he slipped on his jacket.

Nick leaned back in his chair, a picture of casualness, even as his heart hammered. "What?"

"Raynor's address…" Hank threw his notepad at Nick.

Nick took one look and hissed. "That's only a couple of roads away from where Stefan was discovered!"

Hank's manner was grim. "Yeah, convenient huh? I wonder where Raynor was as it seems rather unlikely he didn't know Stefan was in the vicinity especially as Stefan was barefoot."

"That will be fascinating to find out. Good luck Hank."

"Thanks."

Nick seized Hank's sleeve as he passed. Hank stared at him, confusion writ over his features.

"Be careful Hank."

Hank examined him closely while Nick tried telling Hank with his eyes the dangerous nature of this case. A little of his warning seemed to penetrate for Hank squeezed Nick's hand briefly before pushing it off his sleeve.

"I will Nick, see you soon."

Nick watched Hank leave, clenching his fingers so tightly on his desk that his fingers went white.

O-O-O-O

Hank glanced at the building and surrounding grounds that was listed as Raynor 's work-place. It appeared pretty innocuous: small three storey, painted white, set back from the main road in a private lot. There were a few cars parked which screamed of money. A truck also stood idling to one side.

That was intriguing; Hank wondered what they required the truck for. Was there an office move in the process? Or new furnishings perhaps? Filing that question away Hank entered through the glass door into a cream decorated reception.

A young woman was sitting at the reception desk so Hank asked her whether he could speak to Mr Sanders on police business. A pinched expression settled on the receptionist as if either his profession or his audacity to call without an appointment was painful and warrant for distress.

It wasn't an unusual reaction, but with the so far weird vibes this case was giving, (and Nick come to think of it), Hank felt immediately more on edge than normal.

Come on, calm down, Hank repeated to himself as he waited. Only seconds later the receptionist returned.

"Mr Sanders will see you now," she said formally, tone chilly.

"Thanks. Shall I go straight through?"

"I'll take you," was the answer.

Hank ignored her rudeness preferring to note his route. This building certainly had an eerie atmosphere. Paintings lined the walls as they walked down a hallway, otherwise bereft of decorations.

The subjects of the paintings were scenes of Portland, but somehow all with a pallor of gloom over them. Hank couldn't describe it, but if there were people they were either happy, but almost a forced happiness, while other people had face contorted in suffering. Houses just loomed, dark shadows filling the background.

One last image depicted a moon hanging in the sky over a forest, the moon was full and tinged a pale blue. Nothing inherently scary or creepy, but it seemed to promise something, Hank wasn't sure he cared to know.

Thankfully, the receptionist at this point knocked on the door and at the sharp command to enter led him into a spacious private office.

A man rose as he entered and said, "That will be all Jane."

Jane left without a word.

Strange, thought Hank.

"Good morning Detective Griffin, I am Raynor Sanders. I understand you wished to talk with me?"

Raynor stepped around his desk holding out his hand to shake. Hank was surprised, Raynor did not fit the (admittedly bizarre) description of their witness, Miss Lockmore. He was by no means tall, nor muscular.

He was shorter than Hank, actually he was well…small, maybe 5'6, maybe 5'7 at a push. He was slender though that didn't mean he wasn't muscular to some extent under his clothes. Raynor did however, have longish hair that brushed his chin when not sleekly combed back. Though of course, appearances can change…

No, not going there now. Hank forced the memories of the figure in the woods and the theatre to the back of his mind. Now was not the time to engage ideas of shape-shifting monsters.

Instead Hank shook Raynor's hand, suddenly aware of how delicate it was and easy he could crush the appendage. He hastily let go. Raynor simply smiled. Hungry lions had friendlier smiles. The unsettled sensation in his stomach took a firmer grasp and Hank recalled Nick's very intent plea with a jab of unease. "Yes, Mr Sanders, I am afraid I have bad news."

Raynor stiffened and gestured to his desk. "Please sit Detective Griffin."

Hank did so and observed with interest the picture angled on the desk. It was of Raynor and Stefan. They were in the woods and both men were smiling. Raynor had an arm slung over Stefan's shoulder and was gazing up at the taller man with badly disguised adoration. Stefan meanwhile was caught in the act of laughing, eyes crinkled with laughter and oblivious to his friend's rapt stare.

Raynor noted his fixation and he lost his smile. Instead the delicate features twisted and oh fuck…went grey.

Hank almost panicked when as if it never happened the grey cast vanished, leaving Raynor's skin a more normal pink. Raynor seemed unaware of his momentarily alarm.

"What business do you have here Detective?" The tone had lost a bit of the welcome he had received.

Raynor's presence was a burning brand, oppressive in how it drew close around him, almost suffocating in its weight. Hank took out his pad and pen so he had something to occupy himself and distract him from fancies of people changing appearance and abnormal auras.

"Early last night I'm sorry to inform you, that Stefan Kwiatkowski was hit by a car. He died upon impact."

Raynor for a single moment did nothing; still as graven stone then as if he had been hit by a hammer, he shattered. Tears sprang into his pale blue eyes, overflowing easily. He bit his lips as if to prevent himself from saying anything.

Yet what was the most shocking was that Raynor squeezed the glass of water in his hand so tightly that it formed cracks, the noise startling.

Hank leant over quickly to try and pry the glass loose but before he could, it shattered, glass shards cutting deep into Raynor's flesh.

"Shit," breathed Hank. "Do you have a first aid kit? Do you need an ambulance?"

Raynor stared impassively at him only responding when Hank grabbed his wrist. "No," he said, voice brittle. "There won't be any lasting damage."

To Hank's horror Raynor opened his hand, the blood stained glass shards looked like gruesome Christmas decorations. Raynor's blood dripped onto his desk and down towards his wrist, collecting on Hank's hand where it grasped Raynor.

Hank swore and fumbled for his cell. Raynor however reached over and with a strength Hank couldn't believe he possessed, pried Hank's hand loose.

"Put away your cell Detective Griffin. I let my emotions get the better of me. I will fine."

Raynor pulled the handkerchief in the breast pocket of his suit jacket free and pressed it against the injured hand. Hank grimaced at the sight. That had to hurt yet Raynor expressed no pain whatsoever.

Slowly circling back to his seat Hank reluctantly did as requested. "Are you sure Mr Sanders?"

"Perfectly," Raynor met his eyes with ones still shiny wet. "Now tell me Detective what happened to my friend and who killed him."

Hank raised an eyebrow, but recounted shortly the circumstances. When he questioned Raynor on how close Stefan had been to his residence and his state of undress anger rolled off Raynor, even as no sign of it appeared in his manner.

More than once Hank glanced at Raynor's hand as he spoke. The sopping wet cloth was a disturbing image.

Hank was always conscious of how Raynor filled the room, it was as if the burning brand that Hank had experienced when first greeting Raynor was constantly tightening its hold on, binding him in a coil of despair.

Shivering minutely Hank struggled to focus. He frankly wanted to get out of this office, because he was afraid and not certain why. Raynor had uttered no threats and apart from being stronger than he looked, plus the freaky hand thing, there wasn't a solid reason to be so perturbed.

"Stefan's wife indicated that you were a bad influence on her husband. Do you know why she would say this?"

Raynor's composure broke a second time, a snarl actually forming. "Because she was a jealous bitch and could see that I loved Stefan more than her."

"Were you lovers?" Hank was hopeful, up to now there wasn't anything Raynor had said that he or Nick could use to suggest that Stefan had been at Raynor's and possibly running away from him, leading ultimately to his death.

"No," spat out Raynor, tears now a mere trickle, a flush rising anew in his wan cheeks. "He would never cheat on his wife, but I was more devoted to Stefan than Ruth ever could be. Stefan knew that, but Ruth was always trying to convince him otherwise, poisoning him against me."

Hank murmured encouragingly, "Did this make you mad?"

Raynor's breathing was harsh, it bordered on hyperventilating, causing Hank to become alarmed again. He really didn't wish for a repeat performance of the glass incident. "Of course it did Detective, but Stefan was beginning to see sense, he realised how his wife was lying to him about me. We were…" Raynor gulped, "We were planning on going away for a while. I…I wanted to share something with Stefan…"

"What?" prompted Hank. He knew this was important. He just needed Raynor to tell him what he was going to reveal to Stefan.

Raynor however, didn't answer. "But she frightened him…and now I won't be able to!"

Raynor's howl caused Hank to instinctively to jump to his feet, hand on the holster as the smaller man slammed his hands onto the desk, practically shrieking, "Someone took Stefan from me!"

Pale blue eyes glared up at him and in a heartbeat bled a shimmering emerald, pupils swallowed by the sparkling raging green sea.

Pure terror fixed Hank to where he stood, frozen in the act of reaching for his gun. His heart was racing so fast that Hank feared it would burst through his chest. Worse was the mind-numbing shock short-circuiting his brain.

Hank's mind fled and all he could manage was to scramble his thoughts as the instincts that man normally buried rose to the surface. They were screaming to run, that whatever Raynor was, it wasn't human because human eyes did not transform to solid green with no pupils!

Raynor's presence was now magnified and if Hank previously felt constrained, now he could barely stand up under the onslaught of grief, despair and terrible anger emanating from Raynor.

Then when Hank had neared the brink of collapsing or surrendering to the urge to run the presence retreated and Raynor was slumping back in his seat, pretty features once more arranged calmly.

Hank breathed as if he had been drowning. Each inhale was life-affirming. Sitting because his legs were jello Hank knew he was a quivering mess.

Thankfully, Raynor appeared little better, hardly aware of Hank transfixed with dread, a fact Hank was profoundly grateful for as he somehow managed to gather himself in time to meet the gaze of the creature that called itself Raynor.

"I apologise for my outburst Detective Griffin. Stefan's death has been a ghastly blow to me. Are there any further questions?"

Fuck no. Not unless you are in chains. "No thank you. Not at the moment, but please don't leave town."

Raynor inclined his head. "Naturally."

Rising to his feet Raynor said, "Since that is all I'll escort you outside."

Hank would rather swallow the shards of glass scattered on Raynor's desk, but couldn't say so. Therefore, he permitted Raynor to accompany him to his damn car and answer his question of the truck, 'oh office refurbishment'.

"Goodbye Mr Sanders. Thank you for your help."

Raynor shook his hand, "You're welcome Detective."

Hank carefully got into his car and drove off glimpsing Raynor watching in the rear-view mirror. When he was two blocks away Hank pulled over, parked and lifted his right hand examining the palm and back.

When Raynor had shaken his hand, he had used his injured hand. Except it wasn't hurt anymore, the handkerchief had slipped and Hank had felt the flesh: smooth, unbroken, soft.

It was as if Raynor had never shattered the glass in his hand at all.

O-O-O-O

Nick's morning went as well as could be expected. Nervous tension suffused his being and every time he recalled Monroe's description of a Wesen Esser and the fact that his partner, Hank, was interviewing the suspected Soul Eater…understandably Nick was jumpy.

He barely fended off well-meaning jokes from Wu as he attempted to act normal. When Harper called to say she was ready for them to come, Nick near sprinted out of the door.

Unfortunately, while the news confirmed some hypotheses it did not straight out point the finger to Raynor. Realising he wouldn't be able to concentrate as long as Hank was absent, Nick decided to head for Bud's home.

He needed to warn him of the very real danger that was lurking at their door.

O-O-O-O

Fifteen minutes later Nick was parking outside Bud's house. He knew Bud was home because he had called on ahead, urging Bud to be there as he had to speak to him. The Eisbiber had been anxious as was his nature, but had said he would be waiting.

Jogging up the path Nick grinned when the door opened as he approached. He appreciated how observant Bud was, it had saved his life before now.

"Hey Nick," greeted Bud enthusiastically, if worriedly.

"Hey Bud, can I come in?"

"Yes! Of course!" Bud jerked the door fully open and flapped an arm. "You're always welcome."

Affection tickled Nick inside. It was so rare for Wesen to greet him so warmly, even those who knew he wouldn't hurt them. He treasured that treatment. It hurt Nick that because of his association with them that this joy might soon sour and be lost.

"Thanks Bud." Nick quickly darted inside and obsessively checked through the window to ensure he hadn't been followed. It was too early for that, because Raynor shouldn't know of him yet, but Nick had no intention of Bud being hurt.

"What's the matter Nick?"

Nick turned to see that Bud had caught him looking and was now gnawing at his bottom lip, face twitching slightly.

Nick glanced around. The living room was completely empty. He couldn't hear any sounds. His throat was tight as he asked, "Where're your wife and children Bud?"

Bud frowned. "My wife is upstairs, my children are in school. What's the matter Nick? Are you okay? Has someone threatened you? Are you in danger?"

Holding up his hands to placate Bud's well-meaning concern, Nick said as calmly as he was able, "At the moment I am fine Bud. As for whether I'm in danger…if not now, I will be soon. That's what I've come here about."

Bafflement echoed in Bud's voice: "Can I do something to help? I will you know. Eisbiber help their friends."

Nick couldn't stop the genuine fondness which arose at those words and wished he didn't have to send Bud away. Yet he had to, if Bud and his family were to have a chance to survive.

"My current case involves a Wesen that Monroe has identified almost positively. What do you know of Wesen Esser?"

Bud's face drained of all colour and the abject terror which pooled in his eyes had Nick's stomach drop and hope die.

Well, that answered my question. Nick knew that Eisbiber weren't considered the bravest Wesen, though he personally didn't adhere to that philosophy, however, Bud's reaction matched Monroe's initial response, which wasn't comforting. When a Blutbad has the same acute horror at the mere name of a Wesen as an Eisbiber, then you know you're dealing with a creature that is the quite likely the nightmare of the Grimm. Hooray my life.

"I'll take that as a yes…"

Bud just gaped then literally sat on his carpet too shaken to make it to the couch. Alarmed, Nick dropped next to Bud. "Bud? Listen, I've already had Monroe give me a near heart-attack with the whole silent act, so if we could skip that I would be relieved and very thankful."

Bud blinked and Nick noticed he had Woged. Trying to soothe Bud's agitation Nick gently laid a hand on Bud's arm. "Come on Bud, I need you to pull yourself together. I came to tell you to leave Portland for a while, just while I sort things out with Monroe."

His words had the desired effect because Bud became animated. "L…l…leave?" he stuttered.

Nick nodded. "Yes, currently I don't believe or have reason to, that this Wesen Esser knows me. However, he will soon and I don't want him to discover you, because you visited me at the wrong time." Nick inhaled deeply, needing to quiet his own distress. "Bud, you have to pick up your children now, pack a few bags and get as far as possible. Do you have family? Actually tell John too, it is best if he leaves too."

How Bud successfully wrapped his head around Nick's ramble, Nick had no idea, but what Bud said next was painfully sweet in its display of loyalty. "Fine Nick. I'll tell my wife and John. We'll pack then I'll grab the children." Bud levelled a determined stare at Nick. "Then they'll leave – we have family and they'll just vanish from sight – while I stay. You…you're going to require help. Someone to back you up when you and the Bl..Blutbad dive right in."

The salty taste of his tears were a shock. Nick rubbed a hand over eyes and cheeks. "Damn…Bud, you give all Eisbiber a run for their money with your courage and friendship. I can't let you take that risk though Bud, from what Monroe says, these Wesen Esser are one step removed from the Hell sent demons."

"He's correct," said Bud, face still white and drawn, eyes bright. "That's why you've got to let me stay. Nick, I just feel really strongly that if I don't stay something awful will happen."

Nick was at a loss, Bud's desperation was thick and as much as he wanted to deny Bud, to order him to leave Portland, his senses were whispering otherwise. How many times had Monroe berated him to listen to his instincts? To allow his 'sixth sense' a chance to be heard? Enough that if he had a weapon for each time, he would own his own museum's worth.

That part of him that spoke from somewhere beyond his rational process was now scratching at his mind. The message was beyond words, it was simply a emotion so strong, insisting that Bud should stay that Nick was overcome.

Obeying his training – the nagging fond voice of Monroe – Nick answered the only way he could, "Sure Bud, you can stay, but you'll have to bunk with Rosalee, another friend. I don't want you alone."

Bud just sighed deeply, relief evident. "Thanks Nick."

"Thanking me is possibly premature." Nick stood. "Now let's go fetch your wife, and inform John as well."

"Right! My wife and kids will be off in a few hours Nick."

"Aim for three hours Bud. Seriously, this isn't the time to dally. If you or John require support, from a police perspective especially, call immediately. I will pull every string I've got." Raynor isn't going to touch a single hair on your family's heads, nor John's. Not now or ever. Even if I have to go down with him.

Oath sworn Nick said goodbye and left, phoning Monroe to inform him of Bud's position and Nick's wish that he stay with Rosalee. Since Monroe was with Rosalee right then, Nick was fortunate to receive the green light immediately from her.

"I'll come for Bud myself if you want," finished Rosalee, "and Nick? I'll read through every book I possess in case I can find even a snippet that may be useful."

"Thanks Rosalee, are you certain-"

"Don't even try Nick," interrupted Rosalee. "Haven't you learnt by now that Fuchsbau are just as contrary as Eisbiber? We'll beat this Wesen Esser. You and Monroe, stubborn duo, are not alone Nick."

Nick smiled, awe at the devotion of his friends bubbling up. "I think we have noticed."

It was with renewed hope that Nick returned to the precinct, his oath now made lighter with the addition of Rosalee and Bud.

O-O-O-O