A/N sorry it took so long. It was a hard chapter to write. Please allow leeway as to the container type, I liked this for the chapter title. Again, many, and humblest, thanks to LittleBounce for bearing with me despite addressing problems aplenty of her own. To you, the heartiest of handshakes. Oh, and forgive the name change...it was Adi's idea.
Chapter 6
"You must be feeling better," Adienne remarked, pulling aside the privacy curtain to reach her patient, the boggart, bogeyman, wesen's nightmare, Deat-on-two-legs, etcetera. She ran through a few more epithets that came to mind as she wrangled the IV line out of his way, flushed the commode and settled the modesty-preserving towel more securely on his shoulder before they began the return to his bed.
That he'd even demanded to go (in a crabbily endearing way reminiscent of her son's formative years) a mere half hour following the fourth 'pink up' she'd attended—and 24 after two car wrecks—was an astounding testimony to his Grimm constitution. It was the only indicator thus far that he was anything more than the police officer his partner and badge proclaimed him. In fact, she'd seen no sign of aggression from him. His behavior had been far better than she often saw in the ER, quick thanks offered for any aid and ready forgiveness for any missteps. Not at all the mad-eyed Destroyer her parents had painted, he was handsome. Boyishly so. His was a face she admired as he leaned into her supportive shoulder and thrust to his feet, his unfettered hand clutching the IV stand for stability while she hitched up his pajama bottoms. She swept the curtain aside and slipped a careful arm around his back to buttress his uncertain balance and smiled at him. "Ready?"
"Yeah." He nodded optimistically then gasped as Adienne tightened her grip to counter his shifting balance. Against all notions she had of a Grimm, he blushed, a hue brilliant enough to be seen from space, then ducked his head, "Sorry. I'm not usually so—"
"Unsteady?" She chuckled, dearly wishing she could snap a selfie of herself and the rosy-faced Grimm (purely for her personal collection, of course). What he needed now was a bit of absolution and a compassionate reality check. "Sweetie, just about 24 hours ago, I was praying we could keep you alive long enough to get you into surgery, so if you're not too steady on the pins today, I'm not complaining. Fear not, I haven't dropped a patient yet. But the quicker we get you back into bed, the better. Okay?"
"—Kay." Nick's breath hitched as every step jarred his heavily-taped ribs and sling-supported arm so that even over that short distance he struggled for enough air to stay on his feet. With hindsight, Adienne realized she should've awaited Hank's return from his coffee run, but Nick had seemed so steady on the way over to the can that the two of them had felt almost superfluous in support. Either Nick had spent himself in that effort or, Rambo-like, he meant to carry on till he dropped. Hopefully—she settled him at last on the bed with a relieved sigh—not on her watch.
She caught up the nebulizing face shield and held it for him, gently rubbing circles on his back with her free hand to encourage relaxation till his breath eased. "That's better," she soothed.
Relieved with Nick's quick recovery, she set the mask aside long enough to remove his slippers, hike his legs into bed and pull the covers back into place because—aside from hunger—his continuing plaint seemed to be the cold. Having settled Nick comfortably against the upraised back rest, she slid the over-the-bed table back into place, careful not to overturn the orange juice it held, then reattached his varied monitor leads. To the audible accompaniment of his sauntering heartbeat, she picked up the records tablet and returned to her seat by the window near the tuckered and dozing Rosalee to update the progress notes.
One thing, she decided watching Nick peel open and inhale the carton of orange juice, would bear watching; he seemed to have a considerable appetite which, excepting Hank's humorously related meatball incident, he'd been unable to indulge. She knew Val and Sera planned to bring an appropriately unchallenging breakfast when they came; but, if her suspicions proved valid, their injured Grimm was practically a starveling and the very thing he needed was more food.
A timid knock at the curtained door was followed shortly by a peek-in from Kelleth, a diminutive dynamo whose housekeeping skills were far outstripped by her ever-sunny Pollyanna outlook. "Is it okay to come in?" she asked.
Her voice was barely above a whisper and uncharacteristically tentative, eyes fearful and focused on the bed's drowsing occupant as if he might, at any moment, explode into lethal action.
"Yeah, Kell, come on in." Adienne encouraged, certain she was but the first of many who'd drop by the 'zoo', as Hank called it, in search of the Grimm. At least she had a legitimate reason to be there.
"Are you okay, Adi?" The housekeeper crept in behind the cart, keeping it strategically positioned between herself and the bed. Her gaze remained glued to the Grimm, her body primed to react to any move he might make.
"I can hear you," Nick's singsong voice echoed from behind the mask, his manner almost playful. "Come here, little chicken," he coaxed in a reverberating chant, "I don't want to hurt you. I just want to eat you."
Kell would have bolted at that had Adienne not leapt to stop her. Maushertz in tow, she turned on the offending patient, confident that he meant nothing by it after hours of being regaled with seemingly unprovoked oddments of movie quotes and snippets of old commercials that took his fancy, but the timid housekeeper didn't know that. "Thank you, Nick! That'll be enough of that, mind you."
She ushered the housekeeper further into the room, providing moral support to the tiny woman and proof in her continued existence that he didn't bite. Though she'd tried to be quiet, Adienne turned to see Rosalee had been roused, yet again, by his voice piping up from the bed as it had been sporadically through the night.
Rosalee tried to chivvy her amused smile at Nick's bad Gene Wilder impression into a no nonsense glower before closing the distance to check on him. "Who is this, Nick, and why are you harassing her?" she demanded, then turned to Adienne. "And what happened to Hank?"
"Bathroom and coffee," Adienne replied, towing Kelleth behind to join Rosalee at the bed, "I'm not sure in what order. Must've been coffee first because he left this orange juice and took off."
"He didn't!"
Both women spun to face the housekeeper at her adamant denial. "What do you mean he didn't? Didn't what? leave the juice?"
"Uh, I was cleaning—in the hall—so I saw him leave," the woman stuttered, quailing into a Woge under their focused concern. "And I haven't seen him come back yet."
Somehow...maybe her natural cynicism was calling the shots...the answer seemed carefully incomplete to Adienne and that set off alarms in her instinctually protective nature. However now was not the time, and force not the means, to get the answers she needed. "Since you're here," she began, willing to approach that poser from a different angle, "you can meet Rosalee...and Hank if he ever gets back. In the meantime, this—" Adienne flourished a wave in his direction, "is Nick Burkhardt. The Grimm."
"Hiya," Nick flapped an amiable greeting in her direction, "welcome to my parlor,"
He was in the midst of throwing himself wholeheartedly into a display of malefic mirth worthy of the sinister Snidely Whiplash himself when Rosalee lowered a tempering hand over his mouth. "You are feeling your oats this morning, aren't you, Nick? But let's tone it down a little, okay?"
"Okay," he nodded agreeably, "Speaking of oats, I'm starving!"
And, likely—Adienne made a quick note on her scratchpad to discuss the matter with Val as soon as she arrived— he was. Just now, though, they might have other problems. Not to borrow any trouble, but she had a bad feeling and she fully intended to be ready if it turned out to be valid. A quick check showed both visual tip-offs a bit iffy; but they would be thanks to the concussion, which was likely responsible for the ads and movie replays with which he'd regaled them all night.
As there was nothing more she could do at this time, Adienne turned to the belated introduction of their visitor. "Rosalee, this is Kelleth Martz. We call her Kell. Kell, this is Rosalee...Calvert? She's part of Nick's team."
"An' I'm Nick," he interjected good-naturedly.
"Is he usually this...weird?" Adienne laughed as Nick's chatty commentary on the petite stature of the newly arrived 'mouse maid' devolved into a crowing monologue of one-upmanship on size.
"No, he isn't." Rosalee assured, brazenly tipping his head back to check his eyes where Adienne had cautiously opted for subtlety. If ever there was any doubt as to his mild approach to dealing with Wesen, Rosalee's boldly unconcerned and familiar manhandling of the Grimm seemed to empower Kell. And, truth be told, Adienne felt a little more sanguine herself that Rosalee approached him with no hint of trepidation or deference.
Adienne breathed a bit easier for knowing she had not been alone in her vigilance. Might as well ask the obvious question. "Where is Hank? He said he was going for coffee. But how long does that take?" His absence amped up her dread suspicion that something bad was about to happen and they would need all hands on deck to meet the challenge
"He's probably changing and cleaning up a bit," Rosalee theorized, digging into her own neatly packed over-nighter. Kelleth, seeing his interaction with the two undaunted women who cared for him, decided the risk of staying in the room was acceptable so long as she stayed close to a "buddy". He did sound more like a slightly loopy cartoon villain than a hard core, two-fisted Wesen killer.
Nick—Mr. Burkhardt (no need to forget self-preservation altogether) was pretty hard to take seriously when he sounded more like Gru of Despicable Me than, say, Voldemort of Harry Potter fame. So she went about her cleaning duties, proud she could hereafter say she'd met The Grimm and lived. He was a little odd, but seemed pretty much like anyone else otherwise. Maybe she wouldn't tell anyone that, though. After all, what they didn't need to know...
"Morning, ladies. And who might this be?" Hank's easy courtesy greeted them as his entry parted the curtains. Toiletry kit under one arm, freshly shaved and shirted, he toted a 4-carry carton full of steaming ambrosia whose aromatics blended enticingly with his aftershave and overlaid the hospital's sterile ambiance with tantalizing "eau de coffee house". He set the carton on the table near the window and turned an approving look on Adienne. "I see you got him back okay. He give you any trouble?"
"Thanks," she returned his ready smile. "And no. It was a little bumpy and he seemed pretty spent by the time we got back from the washroom, but we made it."
"He always hates to admit he can't go—help—what not."
"Well he's done now. And sleeping, so let me introduce you to Kelleth—"
"The mouse maid," Kelleth interrupted Adienne's introduction to provide Nick's newly minted and oddly personal appellation, offering her hand in greeting.
"He called you that? Then I'll have to apologize for my partner. He can't have been seeing clearly or he'd have been delighted to meet you and elated to find someone shorter than him." Hank's familiar wink earned him a charmed smile from the lady and a half-hearted raspberry of disdain from Nick, who was clearly conscious enough to respond to that provocation.
It was a rational enough reaction, given the long running joke he shared with the three men on his team of which he, being the shortest (albeit of normal height), was arguably the most dangerous. Weapons aside, the kid had an encyclopedic knowledge of old commercials and TV offerings as good as Monroe's of timepieces ranging from sundial to solar powered. Impressive, sure, but after six plus hours of recitation, about as exciting as watching paint dry.
Welcoming the respite, Hank put aside Nick's pumpkin spice cappuccino for later, figuring since he hadn't pugnaciously insisted on having it, he needed sleep more than he did coffee. So he made himself comfortable by the window table to enjoy his latte, check his email and let his partner sleep at last since the night had been anything but restful...for any of them
OOO
Nick was purring.
Not so immersed in her journal update to miss it, Rosalee noticed the soft, almost-inaudible thrum that accompanied each breath. How sweet! She smiled, flipping to another page and making note of that gentle sough of air. It was good he was settling. After the uneven night, he needed the rest to recover and they'd all be glad of a respite. Funny she'd never noticed that rag-worthy habit before; but now that she had, she most definitely intended to make note of it—a reminder to take ruthless advantage once he was back on his feet. If less amusing, this development was at least an improvement over the varied villainous impressions he'd offered through the night (interspersed with his advert impressions).
It was simply too good not to share, especially as she knew the partners shared a fondness for trickery and jokes. Rosalee nudged Hank's chair to divert his attention from his phone, tapped her ear and, with a waggle of eyebrows, nodded in Nick's direction.
At first Hank just stared at her, apparently missing the humor as the originally soft purr grew into a snore. His reaction was anything but what she expected. Hank thrust to his feet. "Nick doesn't snore! Talks in his sleep, as we all noticed last night, but he does not snore. He and I have been on a lot of stake outs and what not, slept under some pretty awkward conditions, and I have never heard him snore."
With but a brief pause for his disclaimer to register, the three bolted for the bed, each in his own way seeking a cause to this new development.
"Nick's not sleeping," Hank more cursed than observed after seeing his partner close up, "I've seen enough from my time in Narcotics to know. He's been drugged!"
"Heart rate is dropping." Rosalee pointed to the monitor reading as 26 dropped to 25 which, at his already dangerously low level, was not only significant it was drifting towards critical.
"Pupils are pin point and sluggish." Adienne straightened from checking and felt the icy rush of fear fed adrenaline surge through her gut. This time they might need the code blue team; but could they trust them? Especially in light of present events? But did they have a choice? "Damn it! It had to be that orange juice."
While the three at the bed tried to get organized, Kelleth breathed a sigh for calm and boldly stepped into her own personal heroic daydream. Calm, unruffled, she discarded the gloves she wore and donned a new pair, her expression grave and hands shaking just a bit as she snapped open a new trash bag, collected the discarded juice container, careful to preserve any possible fingerprints, and deposited it within. Taking a pen out of her pocket, she added date, time, and her initials to the bag then sealed it with a single piece of hair taped across the closure. She felt a bit foolish adding those but it was SOP in such cases for the collecting officer to initial samples.
Should she have said something about what she really saw? Maybe, but she knew the unwritten rules around here and when asked about the juice, she did not know the Grimm or his coterie of friends. How did she know what was right and who could she trust but herself? Too late now to speak, that much was certain. But she could do her level best to help the—Nick—now.
"We need to empty his stomach. Get him to throw up," Adienne was saying.
Basin! Kelleth double bagged the small trash container from her cart, added a third, just for good measure, and joined the trio at the bed as Adienne turned to Rosalee.
"Can you do that while I go for Dr. Simms? He's Kehrseite so he won't be involved in this. And I know we can trust him." At Rosalee's grim nod Adienne added, "and be careful of his airway, don't want him to aspirate."
Before Adienne was out the door, Hank was letting down the rails and had bent to turn Nick onto his good side when Kell offered him a pair of gloves. Damn, she was good in a crunch! As they dropped the head of the bed and wrestled Nick onto his good side, Kell returned with a small trash container, double-bagged, and held it at the ready.
She held it out, deferential and quaking but standing her ground. "If...if you want. Or...in case you need it...for evidence."
Thanks to all who have ventured by, read and, especially, taken the time to review. As is truly said of chocolate, "it helps. It really helps". (Remus Lupin)
Elf