I was trapped on a boat.
Inside his house, he pulled the one note he kept in his pocket.
Monroe read it over, running his fingers over the words. On the opposite side, he wrote a note, the first for his new box. He wrote the date on it. Just to be sure.
He placed the note in a new mint box, one that wasn't sugar free. He was sure that someone would find it amusing.
The clock only chimed and he puttered off to bed, the words resting in his pocket.
N, I love you. – M. 5-18-12
In his pocket, the box rested. It had a few ideas to the human that used it. First of all it was a bit offended that the man had dumped its contents into a hole. There could be no sane reason for that. The second was that the person needed to get a diary. It was not for carrying note around. And the last was a memory from its predecessor.
"Take care of him. Keep his secrets. But when the time comes, give them away."
It thought the man was remarkably different form the girls and boys and men and women that walked past it in the super market. But this one had no need for its contents. Just its integrity to hold onto secrets.
It was happy for that.
In his bed, Monroe lay in his bed.
He pondered his relationships. How many would this hurt? Who would still speak to him afterwards? Could he take the risk? No, not now. Maybe not ever.
He would continue to help Nick. He would continue to ride along. He would continue to save the Grimm's sorry butt. He would continue to be the friend/co-conspirator/partner/confidante.
And if a box fell out of his pocket that was perfectly alright.
Nick is a cop. If anyone asks, he is not a very good cop.
Nick is a Grimm. If anyone asks, he is a damn good Grimm.
Monroe seconded that.
If you would like to know the brand, it is the Ice Breaker brand mints.
Again. I was trapped on a boat.
And attacked by a tiger.