Of course Nick insisted to go home after breakfast. Monroe growled and grumbled the whole time, forced the man to wear a knit sweater over the other clothes, also one of his, and it didn't help. That Nick was huddled into the car's passenger seat, clearly not well and in no shape to do much, was equally not helpful. But Monroe drove him home and against his better judgment he went inside the two-storey clapboard that looked a lot better than his little hut. Then again, looks weren't everything. Looks were pretty much deceiving.

And no, he hadn't been checking the area the whole time, looking for a sign of threat; or the regnant.

Monroe had a lot of repairs planned for his home, small stuff that could be done inside in winter times, and he had already drawn up plans for the bigger outside things. While he would never paint his house in bright colors, he had to take care of the wood and that was something to do in spring. The plan to turn the storage room into a real spare room was on his mind. Add a bed, he told himself. For guests. For Nick.

And he wanted to bang his head against the wall.

What was he thinking?

But he really needed to sort through the stuff in there, paint the walls, maybe refinish the floor in some areas, declutter the closet… Lots and lots of things to keep him busy.

It was good to be busy.

He had never been at Nick's place, but it was immediately clear that a lot had gone missing. The house felt empty, cold, without a personality. Monroe followed the Grimm into the living room that looked clean and hardly lived in. The heating was on, but Nick was freezing because his body wasn't completely healed yet. He was already opening up the valves to let in more heat.

Juliette was gone. He had gotten that much from overhearing a brief conversation between Nick and his partner at the hospital, Nick's sudden appearance last night, and now this. It had been a separation in the making, ever since Aunt Marie's death. The Grimm part of Nick's life had taken over and he was hiding so much from his friends, Juliette had been the first to suffer the consequences.

Monroe walked into the kitchen and checked the contents of the fridge. Aside from a few beers and what looked like two glasses of jam, as well as a stick of butter, there was nothing. He didn't count the packs of ketchup and mustard. The cabinets yielded some useful boxes of instant food, but this hardly went as what an injured Grimm needed. Nick couldn't live off crackers, cereal and dried fruit.

"I'll be fine. I can call for take-out."

Monroe rounded on the other man, glaring at him. "You say that word one more time and you'll be banned from my place for the rest of your life!" he snapped.

Nick blinked. "What word?"

"Fine! You're not fine, Nick! You got shot! Twice! A bullet nearly took your stupid head off! You're just out of the hospital! You're vulnerable and whatever might have a grudge against a Grimm could come looking for you! You'd be easy prey!"

Nick's eyes had gone wide at the outburst and he stared at him in shock. Then something slammed down on his features, making them hard and unyielding.

"I'm not defenseless," he said coldly. "I'm a cop. And I can take care of myself, Monroe. I don't need a babysitter."

The wolf growled. He really growled. Before he knew it he was there, right in front of Nick, who was pushed against the wall, features briefly contorting in pain.

"You are vulnerable, Grimm!" he spat.

The pale skin was flushed, but the eyes… cold and like granite, something dark and dangerous lurking in their depths. It was what he had seen whenever Nick pointed a weapon at someone, at a creature. He wouldn't shoot in cold blood, calculating his other options, and he would only kill as a last resort. Now the Grimm was looking at him, calculating…

"Let go of me," he said.

Monroe did so, pushing away. Guilt raced through him as he saw the hand briefly twitch toward the abdominal injury, then Nick turned and walked away. He went up the stairs and sensitive blutbad ears heard the heavy steps, the pained breathing, and Monroe knew he had caused that pain.

x x x x x

He didn't leave the house. He couldn't. Even if Nick would have thrown him out he would have lingered. The weather had turned truly nasty and it looked like the rain wouldn't be letting up any time soon.

Not that he minded.

Blutbaden were weather-proof.

But it was nice to sit inside, watch the dreary world outside, listen to the pitter-patter of rain against the windows.

He waited, in the big living room, seeing all that was missing, feeling like his own, small, cramped, overstuffed living room was so much warmer and cozier than this. Monroe started browsing through some old magazines, then finally switched on the TV.

He had failed protecting Hap. In his own home! And he had promised that nothing would happen to him.

Monroe wouldn't make that mistake again. Nick would be safe.

His eyes watered, which had nothing to do with the sappy stuff on TV. Hap had been the closest thing to a good friend in blutbad terms. Happy. Easy. Going almost straight and failing only in the little things.

Monroe had failed in what had really mattered.

But not this time.

x x x x x

Nick came down the stairs late in the afternoon. Monroe knew he had slept and he did look better, though he was still… wearing his clothes? Did the man know what he was doing to him? He had his own clothes in his own home in his own closet and he was wearing Monroe's! Too big for his frame, looking bigger because the Grimm was thin and worn-looking, despite the rest he had gotten.

He buried the wolf inside him, leashing him tightly in its cage, watching Nick just stand there, looking at him. His skin color had improved a little, but by the way he wrapped an arm around his injured abdomen, Monroe knew he was still not up to much.

"I'm sorry," the younger man said softly. "You were right."

"As usual," Monroe muttered, trying to get past the awkwardness, and his own uproar at the sight of the slender form wearing his clothes.

Geez! Down, boy!

"I appreciate what you are doing," the Grimm went on. "But you're not my bodyguard."

"Usually I'm your babysitter, but bodyguard sounds cooler."

It got him a small smile. "You have your own life, Monroe. I'll be f… okay."

"Nice save, Butch, but you're not fooling anyone. You'd be easy prey and my conscience and I can't deal with that. Took me long enough to get you housebroken."

Nick regarded him solemnly for a moment. "You don't owe me anything, Monroe," he finally said.

He looked into the earnest face, still too pale and thin and reflecting the pain of before.

"I owe you plenty. I messed up with Hap." And the old guilt surged forward, making him blink a few times. The knot in his stomach wasn't helping. "You asked if she talked me into this."

He couldn't look into those knowing eyes.

"You said she didn't talk you into anything," Nick replied quietly.

No blame. No anger. It was doing more to Monroe than Nick yelling at him could have done. The quiet acceptance… Like back at the station. He had been so guilt-ridden, hunching over, wanting to sink into the floor. They had taken Angelina away to be questioned by Nick's partner, and he had been at Nick's desk, answering questions.

Nick had been accepting; very un-Grimm-like. He had talked so normally to him, had listened to Monroe's urgent explanations that no blutbad would kill their own kind, and he had warned him.

The warning had come too late.

Everything had been too late.

And when Orson had stood in his home, pointing that shotgun at him, Monroe had fatalistically accepted it. It would have been justice to die at the pig's hands because he had let Hap down.

"In a way, but not alone. I wanted it, too." Monroe wanted to sink into the ground in shame. "It was too hard to resist. I followed her… because I was blind and wasn't thinking straight. Hell, I wasn't thinking at all!"

Nick lowered himself in the armchair, slowly, carefully. "The killer didn't know that at the time."

"Hap died because of me! Because of me, Nick! I was his friend! I left him! He shouldn't be dead! Not him! He was a good guy! If I thought… If I had believed he was really in danger at my place…"

"I believe you. It easily could have been three bodies… Orson would have shot you all if he had found three blutbaden at your home."

"Yeah, well, his beef wasn't with me. He told me so." Monroe shrugged.

Nick's head shot up, gray eyes blazing. His features were suddenly hard and scary. The wolf in Monroe cringed under the gaze.

"You talked to him?" the Grimm demanded sharply.

Oh. Right. Nick didn't know that.

"Monroe…"

Those eyes; damnit! Hard and demanding and very much controlling the situation all of a sudden. So he told him and the expression in those eyes became deadly. If Orson wasn't already in custody…

The blutbad shivered.

"He wasn't after me, Nick. It was a warning. And I tried to help…"

Nick leaned back, staring at the ceiling. "I either scare people into thinking I want to kill them or I endanger people close to me!" he snarled.

Monroe was on his feet, leaning over the seated man, hands left and right on the armrests. The wolf snarled to be let out, but he kept it leashed.

"No!" he hissed instead. "You don't. This was a family feud and I was in the middle. I would have been in the middle whether I know you or not! And you're a Grimm, Nick! All we know is what our parents told us! Of course we fear the nightterrors!"

"I'm not…"

"No one but me and a few others know that! All they see is the Grimm."

"Like Angelina."

"Her family had some nasty Grimm encounters."

"As did yours."

Monroe rumbled. "I still didn't kill you on sight."

They looked at each other and he was mesmerized by the handsome face, the eyes. Always with the eyes. He wanted this, wanted it so badly it scared him. Because a blutbad with a human was bad already; with a Grimm? It was the unthinkable.

But here they were, working together, drinking together, spending a really good time together… Monroe had missed Nick in the past weeks and it had almost hurt to imagine that the Grimm would never be back.

But he was back.

Injured and weak and easy prey… His prey. Only his. No one else would touch this man. No creature would get to Nick as long as Monroe was guarding him.

"You're wearing my clothes."

And there went his mouth again, not consulting his brain.

Nick looked at him, wide-eyed, slightly baffled by the change of topic, then his face settled into a resolute expression.

"I'll go and change then. You can have them back."

But Monroe wasn't moving; neither was Nick. He was leaning over the smaller man, a Grimm who was so vulnerable at the moment, a reinigen could take him. A Grimm he liked more than was healthy A Grimm he wanted to…

His brain screeched to a halt.

"You either come back to my place or I'm staying here," the blutbad said in a low, slightly dangerous voice.

"You don't have a guest room."

"So your place it is."

Would his mouth shut up now? Please? His brain was yelling at him that this was the worst idea ever, but he wasn't listening.

"This isn't your territory."

"Then I'll make it mine," he growled.

Like the Grimm was his. He had made a stand when it had come to Angelina or Nick. He had faced her down, had been ready to do whatever was necessary, even hurt his ex-girlfriend. Monroe vividly remembered Nick standing just to his left, a little behind him, his scent strong and powerful. Pure Grimm. A tiny part of his brain had muttered about injuries, but his more primal side had hissed and snarled to be let out, let at the female who had wanted to kill the Grimm.

They were so close, so very, very close.

He could smell Nick; and he smelled so very, very good.

Finally his brain took control and he straightened so abruptly, he thought he heard his spine crack. Adrenaline was pumping through his veins, his nostrils filled with the scent of Nick.

Bad, bad idea.

Nick in his clothes.

Worse idea!

Nick… Nick…

The wolf whimpered.

"I need to bring a few things over," Monroe said numbly, mouth dry. "Don't open the door for anyone. Anyone!"

Nick didn't answer, but he felt those eyes on his back all the way to the door. Outside Monroe took a deep breath.

Things had started to spin out of control. Definitely. And he had no idea how to stop it.

x x x x x

Nick still sat in the armchair, his heart hammering in his chest, his breathing too fast. He had never been so glad for the pain meds and their numbing effect on certain parts of his anatomy, too.

"Oh god," he groaned and closed his eyes, letting his head fall back.

This was bad. Really bad.

The tension between them was thick enough to cut with a knife and it didn't help that having Monroe loom over him like that, barely restrained, about to show the first signs of being a blutbad, had had a very intense effect on the Grimm.

"This is really bad," he whispered.

It had started with the bad idea to come over to Monroe's place last night, the much worse idea to stay there for the night, and the abysmally bad decision to go home and have Monroe accompany him.

Resting a hand on his injured side, an unconscious gesture as if he needed to protect the weakness, he got up and walked into the kitchen, getting himself a glass of water.

Monroe was going to stay in the house; because he didn't think Nick could protect himself. Truth be told, he felt as strong as a wet paper towel right now and if someone out there got it in their heads to come over and take out the friendly neighborhood Grimm, there was little Nick could do.

He needed protection.

He needed Monroe.

And it was going to be hell to be so close to the blutbad 24/7. Hell.