Hi. I told you I'd be back. ;) This little oneshot is set after Tarantella but not for any real reason. Not really any spoilers.

Inksuarpok (Inuit) - 'The feeling of anticipation that leads you to keep looking outside to see if anyone is coming.'


Monroe glanced out the window. He was definitely not looking for someone. He was expecting to see exactly what he saw, which was, of course, nothing. Empty front yard and not a single car driving on the street.

He turned away from the window, refocusing wholly on his cello.

Still, Monroe narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

Four days. It had been four days since he'd last heard from the Grimm - Nick. Ever since Nick had begun using Monroe as his personal Grimmopedia he could scarcely go two days without Nick knocking on his door with some problem he needed help with, some wesen to hunt.

And the worst part? Monroe was starting to enjoy it. Nick really wasn't that bad. And he would've certainly gotten himself killed without Monroe long before now.

Maybe that's why he hadn't heard from him. The idiot probably went to fight a wesen on his own, like a Bauerschwein or Lausenschlange, and actually got himself killed.

Call him faithless, but Monroe was positive any decent Lausenschlange could rip Nick in two.

Nah, Nick couldn't be dead. If he died it would probably be in some gruesome, spectacular way. It'd be on the news. Or at least in the paper.

He drew the bow across the stiff strings, the sound resonated throughout his house.

Maybe Nick was investigating a Mauvais Dentes? How cool would that be?

Scratch that, Monroe thought, that would be terrifying.

He looked out the window again. Still no Grimm.

He sat back in his chair with a huff. Was he bored? He'd never been bored during cello practice before. He couldn't be wanting the Grimm to come over. He was a Blutbad for crying out loud. He should be wanting to kill Nick himself for everything his ancestors had done to Blutbaden, not waiting for some Lausenschlange to do it.

Except Monroe wasn't really angry. It was more like an irritation one feels they have to feel through tradition.

Nick was completely helpless and innocent. He wasn't like other Grimms, not that Monroe had met many.

What decent Blutbad could pass up the opportunity to mold a Grimm into someone to help wesen instead of a mindless killing machine?

Didn't he have a clock or something to work on?

Monroe froze as he heard a car door shut. Don't look out the window. He sniffed the air. It was definitely Nick; the Grimm was still alive.

Monroe schooled his face into one of proper annoyance as Nick knocked on the door.

"Really? You again?" he said as he opened it.


Get over yourself, Monroe, you're friends. So, writing Grimm is still really new to me, but these will be progressively more interesting as I get into it.