Chapter two... 'The boldening of Bud', in which Monroe muses upon which aspects of fatherhood he's getting so stressed about, and in which Bud gets a few things out of his system and comes very close to telling his mother in law to go and boil her head.

Only very close, mind. He is Bud, after all, and this is only the second chapter, lol.

In keeping with my threat of shorter chapters to upload quicker (and spend less time faffing)… here we go. Coming soon… the gang get to the Winterfest!

Thanks all for the really lovely reviews! Ruth, thanks very much for sending the block-eating worms. They arrived safely from your router wearing amazon gift wrap and looking very annoyed ;)

I hope you continue to enjoy xxxxx

X x X

Monroe knew it wasn't polite to keep checking the time while in company, but professional habits and a vague wonder of where the hell Nick had gotten to kept steering his gaze back towards the clock. It was a quarter before eight already. Not that his arrival was as critical as it had been first thing in the morning, of course: Rosie was having a good day: unsteady on her feet but level with the horm―

"Monroe! Focus! An evil laugh, please?"

He turned back to the two expectant faces. Three if you counted Carrie's stare from behind her pet banana (crossed eyes, made with felt and coated in dribble.) He shook himself awake a little.

"Oh! Sorry... yeah." He rubbed his hands menacingly in the Vader style. "Mwahaha."

"Oh Mon-roooe! He doesn't laugh like that!"

Monroe looked at Denny in mute appeal, but he simply got a helpless shrug in reply that was almost unhelpful enough to compete with one of his own. "So how does he laugh?"

"You could try a little bit more villainy, mate."

"I can't do villainy on tap!"

"What are you talking about? You're a Blutbad! How hard can it be?"

"That was low," Monroe cautioned. But let it pass. "Alright. Uh... 'Mwah-hahahaaaa?'"

Theo narrowed his eyes but at least didn't reject his second effort outright. "Hmm. It needs to be more wheezy."

Denny, Carrie and banana looked similarly unimpressed. Monroe felt a little cornered. "Guys, can I just point out that Lord Vader wasn't really the laughing type? He was much more your kiss-me, laser-me, let-me-crush-your-rebellion… kinda... guy."

"Look, Theo's already shoved physical characterisation into a cocked hat by casting me as Yoda, so...with a bit of imagination... I'm sure you can come up with a dark chuckle of some sort." Denny frowned at the cross-legged Sith. "Theo - you're squirming. Go to the loo!"

"Den-neee! You're supposed to be Yod―"

"Fine!" He sighed. "Wet pants you will have, if sod off to the loo you do not!"

Apparently satisfied by Denny's return to character, Theo pulled up his hood and swept off to the bathroom, responding to Rosalee's offer of help with an exasperated "Sith, Aunt Rosie! Sith!"

They watched Theo disappear to the dark side of the shop and collapsed into the counter seats, exhausted. Carrie idly stuck her wet banana in Denny's ear, leading to a swift arm-change and appalled, vigorous head rubbing.

"How do you keep up with them, Denny?"

"Who says I do? I manage to make a right balls-up of at least three things a day. You can only do what you can do. Keep 'em safe. Try to keep 'em reasonably polite. That's a good start. Then work on tricky stuff, like education. And making them eat their veggies."

That what was worrying him. One of the many, many things worrying him.

There was so much wesen parenthood stuff that he didn't know and they hadn't really had much time to prepare. They'd spoken to other Fuschbau parents, and other Blutbad parents, but mixed couples were very slow in coming forward. Apart from Jan, of course. But as Denny pointed out, Theo hadn't displayed anything but his Koninglowen biology as yet, and it was impossible to see anything in Carrie except the Siegbarste's possessive reflex... and then again, that could simply be her age. Or total adoration of her adopted 'pet Denny.'

He watched Denny expertly open a bottle, produce a pre-mix carton and snip the corner with a penknife, pour it into the bottle and do it up again - single-handedly. That was his military training showing: calm, efficient, and well-coordinated. Oddly, this relaxed him a little: Denny's deftness with the equipment was just dexterity and experience. He had the dexterity in heaps and piles as a horologist, was happy to learn the skills, and he was grateful that his friends were around to help them cut a few experimental corners by sharing their lists of 'things to do/avoid'. It was a growing document on their fridge, added to whenever anyone came by. Some were more detailed than others.

Put tarpaulins over your clocks during feeding time. (Hank)

Under 1s + soup + spoon = no (Denny)

It is not socially acceptable to sit on your 2-year-old when getting their socks on. So don't be seen doing it. (Livvy)

Always slow down on the corners when chasing a toddler (Nick)

The latest addition was from Jan, as brief as ever:

'Get a key for the disabled toilets. You can buy them online. You will never feel safe leaving a buggy outside a public washroom and many of them are too squalid to contemplate taking them in for safety. Most disabled toilets have a baby change. Keeping a key will save you from looking for having to look for an attendant, and also the slight embarrassment of having to gate-crash the ladies' bathroom.'

The practical stuff was helping. He needed the tangibles. He could cope with the tangibles, the knowledge to absorb, and the check-lists. Weridly, his biggest worry was how worried he was going to be. He was petrified of clamping up and draining the joy out of the birth and the first few weeks for both himself and for Rosalee. He could control anger, desperation, rage and lust in terms of suppressing that woge. He was a good wieder. What he wasn't so cool at was forcing himself to unwind. He just didn't know how. But then Denny had told him that he existed in a constant state of total fright to begin with, when left with Carrie and Theo, but to look at him now, he could be a second father.

Denny gave Carrie a lopsided smile as she settled in the crook of his arm and closed her hands over his fingertips as he offered her the bottle. Banana was abandoned to the floor over the side of his forearm. He raised a brow at Monroe.

"Want a cuddle? While she's reasonably placid?"

"Oh! Ah... ok..." Monroe reached forward for the holding practice and Denny stood briskly to hand her over.

"Roll your sleeves up. She likes bare arms. Don't ask."

Monroe rolled the sleeves but held the question, then she was happy to settle back and feed as the little bottle disappeared into his palm. She sucked vigorously and gave him the occasional milky grin from behind the bottle teat. He grinned down at her. Ok, he needed lots of this with his little man, and he could probably settle down a little.

Then he noticed the bottle was empty. He stared at it, then down at her innocent green-eyed stare. "That was full! It was full about ten seconds ago! Tiny chick! How d'you manage that?"

"She drinks like a Koninglowen," Rosalee murmured wonderingly, reaching over his shoulder to stroke the soft black hair.

Monroe just about remembered to sit her up lightly and pat her back, spreading the muslin over his lap to protect it. Carrie released a palm-tingling belch that was probably audible from Portland PD. He couldn't help laughing at the force of it. "Holy... crap!"

"She burps like a Siegbarste," Denny sighed proudly.

Rosalee giggled. "She'd better grow out of that, or she'll date like a Skalengekke. It's just not feminine."

"Nah, she's not going to date anyway. She's going to grow up to be the most beautiful tomboy ever but have no interest at all in men, even as they throw themselves at her feet like drunken trip hazards. Nope, she'll remain peacefully hermitted until her early thirties, thus causing me not a single grey hair until I'm seventy-something."

Rosalee ruffled Denny's hair. "I don't think that's going to happen, honey. I think you'll be sweeping lovelorn boys off your doorstep with a broom."

This sounded about right. "And both you and Jan will end up volunteering to chaperone her high school Prom, wogeing at anyone that tries to dance with her, thus smashing all the principles of the Gezetbuch Ehrencodex into little itty bits."

"If Nick ever has a kid, she's allowed to dance with him, and that's about it."

Monroe frowned. "Why Nick's kid and not ours?"

"Because your little fella will only be three months younger. Dangerous romantic territory. They'll be in the same year at school, and everything. But given how well things are going for Nick romantically speaking, right now, his mini-Grimm will be luck to be as old as 10 by the time Carrie's 16, which makes for a pretty pure dance, in my book. Right, I'm going to make sure that Darth Vergeer hasn't peed in his cloak or something."

As Denny strode off, Monroe felt a bit guilty about the level of stress he'd allowed himself to indulge over his impending fatherhood, like it was a bad thing looming, not an amazing one. Something to be really thankful for. Unless Nick sorted things out with Juliette when she came back from Vienna, he seemed doomed to remain 'Uncle Nick' for a considerable time into the future ― to everyone else's kids. And when he did have his turn, Nick would be in a worse than he was in now: there may be very little information around about raising a gemischtwesen, but there was likely even less about raising a Grimm.

Speaking of which, where the hell was that Grimm?

X x X

It was a glorious morning. Early January, sure, but cloudless, and the sun cut through the breezeless sky, warming everything beautifully. It was more like early spring. Jan strode around the Winterfest perimeter, delighted by the speed at which their Lodge volunteers were getting the stall frames erected, the zipwire put in, and the refreshment tents set up. A couple of teen bibers had fun installing the beer taps and were giggling already. Jan glanced at them and they froze like small, round, guilty minions before scrambling back into activity, setting the tables out and trying to conceal their hiccups. Jan chuckled and moved on, crossing things off the 'to do' list.

The cool air felt strange on the back of his neck. It used to rest on (or invade) the back of his collar, but he'd had it all cut. It was shorter and blunt in front of his ears, neatly trimmed into the back of his neck, and still very thick but neater on top. At least now when he woged the mane would just reach his shoulders. Before, his mane had been halfway down his back before he shifted back to human and it was an absolute nightmare trying to clean stray hairs off. Sally, the manager of Theo's nursery, had commented that the cut took about five years off him, which was pleasing. Because he actually felt like he had years ago, before meeting his ex and her whole insidious Klaustreich tribe ― his energy and confidence fully returned and a huge pride established. But now… he had his kids and Denny. And the rest of the gang. There was no loneliness in this life.

He checked the last of the stall signs and booth-building sets off his list and sent off the delivery guy with a grateful handshake and a free coffee and bunch of snacks. They were gratefully received, but the guy still seemed rightfully bemused as to why they would go to the trouble of having a funfair in the middle of a forest. Admittedly, the trees got in the way, a little, but there were plenty of clearings for the woge-battling, the refreshment tents and so on…. They just had to sign-post everything really well. Like the children's playground: a project which Bud seemed to be taking really personally, if the loud blustering from the rearward copse was anything to go by.

Jan turned and saw Bud monologing at some considerable length while the climbing frame assembly guy stood with folded arms, chewing gum and staring flatly. Bud was sweating as he expostulated and seemed to have gone a dangerous colour. A pre-full-woge colour. Jan jogged over.

"...I mean, what age were they pitching this frame at? Did they even think about it? B-Because if you're little enough to be excited by that teeny, tiny slide, then your legs aren't going to be big enough to climb those steps to get to it. Off this side of the platform you've got a climbing wall ― or a deadly drop for toddlers ― and on that side you've got monkey bars. Monkey bars! You need to be at least six years old to have the arm strength for those! And if you're six, how much fun are you going to have on a seven-foot slide?"

"I'm just here to put the thing together. Done that. So I'm taking my proof shots for m'boss and going. Have a nice fair."

"C'mon… just leave your tools! We'll do it different ourselves."

"No can do." The guy shrugged, and Jan notched up his jog to a run as he saw veins standing out on Bud's forehead. The bibers in the refreshment tent stopped what they were doing and turned to stare. Bud was not done.

"L-look! This thing isn't going to keep any kid's attention for more than five m-minutes! We'll have to spend the whole time either hovering for safety or… or… chasing them round the fair because they won't stick to the play area, and I got other stuff I need to do today and I DON'T HAVE ENOUGH PAIRS OF HANDS!"

As Bud exploded into stressed fur and bucked teeth, Jan got between them, jerking his head meaningfully at the frame assembly-guy to make himself scarce for a moment. The guy scuttled away gratefully to have a smoke in the cabin of his truck.

Jan looked down, concerned, as his friend strode up and down. This clearly wasn't about climbing frames. Or at least, not just about climbing frames. "Bud? You alright?"

"N-No thought goes into anything!" He spluttered, breathing like a man nearly drowned. "It makes me mad! If―If I decided I was gonna put a fridge door back upside down 'cause it's easier to do it that way, would I get paid? No! W-Would I get re-hired? No way! But the guy who designed THAT-" he pointed vigorously at the ill-constructed monstrosity, "the guy that designed THAT is probably driving around in an Au-Audi, drinking at Starbucks and feeling REALLY HAPPY WITH HIMSELF!"

"Alright Bud, stop." Jan clamped his hands down on the stress -vibrated shoulders, found the little pressure point running down from the back of the neck on the left side and squeezed lightly. Bud looked up, all confused at first as Jan applied pressure, then went completely cross-eyed. Then quiet. His breathing slowed and he shifted slowly back to human in a disorganised, pitiful sort of way, parts of him de-furring faster than others. He got there in the end, though, his teeth retracting one at a time.

Bud wiped his face with shaky palms to check that he was still there, in his socially-acceptable skin. "Th-thanks. Did I... FULL woge?"

"No, but you weren't far off it. Are you ok?"

"I-I think so... a little woozy, maybe."

Jan guided him over to an upturned crate and pushed him lightly down on it while he mopped his face, one elbow propped on a knee, the other hand clamped white-knuckled round the edge of the crate. The Bibers in the tent were bustling around again, pretending they hadn't seen anything, except for Bud's wife Janie, who was looking painfully out at him, and her sister Sally, who had a hand on her shoulder. Bud gave Janie a vague sort of wave.

"How did you do that? I felt my pulse just... drop."

Jan chuckled. "I'm not sure what it is ―I only know it works. When I was a teenager, my mother had to do that to me from time to time, usually when I was fighting with the thermostat or VCR. Occasionally she overdid it and turned me into a noodle. Would you like some tea?"

Bud shook his head vigorously. "N-no thanks. Well, actually I'd love some. But there's a lady in the tea tent who I'd... no thanks, no tea just now."

Behind Janie and Sally, Jan saw an elegant blonde lady in her early seventies, all briskness and Jane Fonda hair, bustling about and rearranging the drink carafes and cookies that Bud had spent a good half hour laying out. Jan couldn't help noticing that she had a lot of consideration for applying her own order to things, but less consideration for hygiene. Bud, bless him, had put disposable gloves on while piling the cookies onto the plates.

"Your mother in law?" Jan asked quietly, and at Bud's unusually miserable nod, sighed. "Ok. I'll get your tea. Milk and two sugars?"

"Lots and lots and lots of both this time, p-please, th-thank you very much."

Jan went and fetched, feeling that it was a measure of how out of sorts Bud was that he let him do it, rather than subjecting him to ten minutes of wesen-rank anxieties about Koninglowen making drinks for Eisbibers. He collected Bud's tea and his own coffee, then stopped at the truck where the climbing frame assembly guy was just loading everything back inside. He only had to explain that Bud was trying to make an event successful under the interfering eyes of his mother in law, then spend a few minutes nodding sympathetically while assembly guy muttered about how unreasonable bosses could be if their frames weren't followed exactly 'to spec', with photo evidence. Jan provided him with a generous deposit for the safe return of his tools, and took the box over to Bud, holding the drinks in his other hand.

Bud's eyes brightened hugely when he explained that they could probably make some amendments to the design to split up the 'little people' and 'littler people' sections.

"Oh.. that... that's just such a weight off my mind. Thank you."

"Perilous climbing frames aren't really something I'd given much thought to," Jan admitted. "Theo's balance is good enough that I never felt the need to 'hover'."

"Matty's the same," Bud said. "He could probably go to sleep on top of the climbing wall without falling off, but if I'm not standing really close when he's clambering around, Betty does 'the eyebrows' at me."

"She's critical?"

"Yeah. N-not in the in-your-face way, just more... I could do everything 'a little differently', apparently."

Jan winced. No wonder the poor man was so highly strung. Dealing with three of his own children, an adoptee in Matty, and having to keep it all together under the disparaging eyes of his mother's wife… he shuddered. "Grinding criticism is the worst. And when you rise to it, you get accused of getting all het up over a 'helpful suggestion'."

Bud sagged with relief. "I-I was beginning to think it was just me over-reacting to everything."

"That's what it's meant to do," Jan muttered, thinking of his father and sister. "Look, next time she makes a 'suggestion' and you end up feeling riled, ask yourself whether you would've felt equally upset if Nick, Rosalee, Denny or Hank had made the same comment. Because then you'll have a better idea of whether you were upset that your idea was rejected, or about the way it was done."

"Are you talking from experience?"

"Oh yes." Jan nodded and sipped at his coffee.

"So what do I do? Because there's been a lot of that lately. She's not very convinced about Janie and I trying to adopt Matty. Him being half-biber, half-lowen, and all. S-she seems to think it'll make things difficult for the whole family. That I'm making things difficult for the whole family."

"She's not spotted that Janie wants to adopt him too, then?"

"Apparently not! No, this is all my terrible idea, and I'm pressuring Janie into it."

"Of course. Because your reputation for bullying knows no bounds, Bud." Jan sipped his coffee.

Unexpectedly, Bud tittered, even as he carried on wiping his face off. "You know what? I don't think this is even about family. I think she just can't handle Matty 'cause he'll go right from stacking things to growling if she messes him around."

"And yet YOU handle Matty absolutely fine ― half-Lowen or not. Perhaps she's a little unnerved that you're made of sterner stuff than she thought."

Bud sat up a little straighter. "Am I?"

"You've earned the respect of a Grimm. And become good friends with a Koninglowen, a Blutbad, a Fuschbau and a Siegbarste―"

"Uh... she doesn't know about Denny being Siegbarste. She just assumes that he's also Koninglowen because she thinks he's your boyfri- AGH!"

Jan chuckled as Bud ran off the edge of the conversational cliff, flailed, then plummeted down to the gritty ground of awkwardness. He threw him a rope. "Relax, Bud, it's alright. I know our arrangement is a little difficult for some people to get their heads around."

"Like our mutual friend and social-worker, Mrs Greenaway?"

That woman was such a monumental pain in the posterior. She meant well, was kindly, and even Theo could now chat to her without voicing his political dissent by doing a raspberry, but she had plenty to say about Denny living with him and the kids 'within very uncertain emotional parameters,' citing the Nursery Christmas family photo by way of example. Of course Denny was in that: Theo would've had a tantrum if he got left out. What infuriated Jan about her approach was that she continuously operated on the basis that they were having a relationship in secret to 'protect the children'. This was exactly what they weren't doing. It was a mutual decision to get to know each other better and get some sort of rhythm into their lives as friends. If it went beyond that, and the children were happy about it, they would be out as a couple. Public. But never hiding. For a Jagerbarin, so sensible with her wesen issues, Mrs Greenaway could be remarkably blind to the human ones.

"I preferred Cleo Granger," Jan muttered. He had very fond memories of Mrs Greenaway's predecessor. Some of those memories were cuddly and horizontal.

"Yeah, she was nice. Not so traditional and disapproving of everything." Bud's eyes snapped wide open again. "N-not that you and Denny are doing anything to disapprove of! God, no. And it's your own business, y'know, whether you're sharing um… ah… a garage and living room or not. Or, even if you were together, it wouldn't matter to any of your friends because we can all see him being your partner, other half, um―"

"Thanks for the blessing," Jan said, touched, but steered the conversation gently on. "So what are you going to do about Betty? Because you and Janie have made up your minds. Matty will be yours. She needs to learn to live with it, but in the meantime, you need to be able to live with her."

"I dunno. Any tips you can give to stem the tide of disapproval… th-that would be great. Oh, just to give you an example, I mentioned over dinner the other night that I wasn't so big on fridges anymore. Now it's kinda halfway round town that I'm gonna throw the business in and campaign for children's climbing rights, and that I'm a damn fool for doing so. Anything you can tell me to deal with that stuff…. Please!"

"Be stubborn, but be mercilessly pleasant."

"Oh. I hoped you'd give me permission to sit on her or something."

Jan laughed. "You don't need my permission for that, Bud. I'd pay to see it. But seriously, keep your foot down and your tone friendly and even. That way, if she keeps on at you, it's going to be her that ends up sounding shrill. Not you."

Bud's nose wrinkled a little as the woman herself swept over, just as they were getting ready to re-build the frame. "Uh oh. Looks like I'm about to get some practice."

"Mercilessly pleasant," Jan reminded, and moved himself out of the way to start removing the monkey bars. Bud beamed suspiciously at his mother in law as she approached, showing so many teeth that even Janie looked unsettled. Jan bit his lip and got stuck into the dismantling.

It became pretty clear pretty quickly that Bud was having to hold his ground on the reasons for taking the frame apart and rebuilding it, but Jan was pleased to see him holding his shoulders back, trying to look relaxed, and filling his conversation with 'I see what you means'. Followed by 'I'm going to do it this way anyway's. It wasn't precisely the brand of merciless pleasantry that Jan had in mind, but it was a step in the right direction in terms of Bud putting his foot down.

"Need a hand?"

The low voice came from the other side of the monkey bars and Jan saw Renard standing opposite with hands in his pockets, wearing jeans, boots and a Ralph Lauren short-sleeved grey teeshirt. Jan pointed to the tool box. "Thank you. There are a few spanners in there. Are you here on canton business, or police district business?"

"Both. On the face of things, I'm here to help you promote the special constabulary."

"And underneath that?" Jan raised his brows slightly, hoping that no sneaking, intelligence-seeking, stalking or coercing was going to take place during the Winterfest. A lot was riding on the success of today, socially….

"I fancy candy floss," Sean evaded neatly. "And a go on the test-your-strength machine. But don't worry. There's not going to be any... trouble."

"Glad to hear it," Jan replied. "If you do have any trouble, Hank, Denny and I will be your 'heavies' today. I'm sure we can find discreet ways of removing 'troublemakers' from the fete. I want Nick to have a good time today. It's important that people get to meet 'Nick', not the Grimm. Besides, he has duties."

"Duties?"

Jan took a few more of the monkey bars down from the parallel bars and dropped them down to the grass. "Apart from the responsibility for being duct-taped to Monroe to keep him company, Nick will also doing the children's face painting. They will take a dim view if he has to rush off and be violent somewhere."

"Does Nick know about these grim duties, yet?"

"No."

Sean smiled slightly. "Can I be there when you tell him?"

X x X

TBC… coming soon… the danger of competitive wesen…Nick's artistry is challenged and slightly mocked, and Wu arrives at the Winterfest…