A/N: Sorry for the long delay. My friend's getting married in December so I've been doing a lot of wedding planning with her. I'm also in charge of making all of her centerpieces and her cake toppers. Her theme is centered around video games she and her fiancé have played together, so it's pretty time consuming (they're like dioramas, sort of). Point being, this poor thing has been shoved to the side so many times. But here it is! Chapter 10. At least a third of chapter 11 is already completed since I've had a tendency of working on that chapter (and chapter 12) instead of this one, lol, which also caused part of the delay. [Everything you just read was completely useless, lol]

Actually maybe important: I apologize for the words that come out of Ben (one of the OC's) mouth. He's a little rough around the edges, but I hope you will love him nonetheless (I feel like I need to apologize for his behavior like he's my child, lol) He is inappropriate and offensive (it's his personality). If you are offended by something he says, please, please don't feel like I am targeting anyone or any group of people. It's his way of dealing with his own reality (I'm probably making a mountain out of a mole hill, which is pretty much this fic in a nutshell anyway so… and I suppose if one is easily offended by things, they wouldn't have made it this far, huh?)

This chapter also maybe contains more coarse language..? And adult themes? I don't know. This chapter doesn't seem so bad either, but it's gonna be M rated, mostly because the next two chapters will definitely be that way so… yeah. That's my reason, lol.

Anyway, apologies for inconsistencies (almost did another chapter 8 mistake - I swear I will fix that chapter one day!) and any other problems on top of that. Thank you to Witchy Willow for pointing out the one ¾ I missed (another mistake I need to go back and fix… eventually, lol) And thank you to everyone else who have read and/or reviewed. You all make my day :D

ABSOLUTION VI: Candied Hearts

Weeks earlier…

As expected, Rosalee was none too pleased with Monroe after he'd ditched her at the gallery. She let him know when she called the next day. Monroe did feel bad; she'd ended up waiting for him until the gallery was locking up and then for awhile afterwards outside. He'd thoroughly embarrassed her by making her stand there like an idiot waiting for someone who would never show up. Monroe had apologized and after a great deal of prying, he eventually told Rosalee he'd seen Nick with another man. She was still pissed, but a little more understanding. Well, until she brought up Monroe avoiding Nick from the beginning and how he'd missed his opportunity from the get go. Monroe didn't have a response to that if only because it was true.

They didn't talk much after that, Rosalee busy with the shop and Monroe embarrassed.

Since school had started again, Monroe hadn't seen much of the neighbor girls. He still ate dinner once in a while at Jacquie's house, but babysitting had become unnecessary now with Mariana in school. He was surprised how sad it actually made him to feel. He'd gotten used to seeing them more often, especially Mariana, his favorite. Babysitting Mariana on those days had been some of the more pleasant memories he'd made in the last few months. She was astonishingly bright for her age and showed genuine interest when Monroe talked to her. Most people had a tendency of tuning Monroe out when he trailed off on inane tangents about trains or any of his other hobbies or interests. Clocks were perhaps the worst. Their eyes would glaze over and eventually they would fade away from him completely, but not Mariana. She would sit at full attention, completely silent, but her eyes alert as she watched his flittering hand movements with remarkable interest. Occasionally she would ask him, 'What's that mean?' when he used particularly complex words, but she never criticized or acted bored.

When Mariana was older, if he and Jacquie still talked, he might ask her to be his apprentice. He'd been looking from time to time for someone to pass his skills off to, and he was pleased that he may have found that someone. He'd love to have a daughter like her one day if possible. Intelligent, detail oriented and sweet-natured. Blutbaden children tended to be wild and unpredictable, and the women blunt. He'd been an odd duck himself, tending to choose quiet hobbies over hunting or rough-housing when possible. He'd enjoyed them, of course, it was in his blood, but he rather liked a quiet evening at home, sipping a glass of wine while reading a book, the tinkling of smooth jazz his backdrop.

Of course he'd love someone to sit beside him on the couch, a book of their own in hand or something similar. His relationship with Rosalee was pretty dead in the water at the moment and he was too stuck on Nick to give anyone else a try…

God, he missed Nick. He wondered if Nick was happy; if he was still with that man or if it'd only been a one night sort of thing. He hoped it was the latter; dearly, keenly hoped. He couldn't stop thinking of the painting Nick had done of him and what it meant.

Ex-lover, the rumor had been. He hoped it'd been one born straight from the source if only for the minute chance that it could be just lover one day.

Without Mariana to pad out his downtime and the slow commission season, he'd been spending a great deal of time over at Olive's helping her mend the upstairs bedroom like he'd promised. It'd been thoroughly sanitized and cleaned by pest removal professionals, though he could still detect a faint odor now and then. Once he laid down a fresh layer of paint though, it'd be mostly undetectable. He wasn't sure what the fate of that disgusting creature and its foul offspring had been, but if they'd met with a mortal end, he couldn't be any happier. He supposed it was his own fault as a young child for listening to his older brothers and sticking his head into the tree stump, but having to be rushed to the ER and being subject to a number of painful stitches and a rabies shot still brought back horrible memories. Even watching his mother cuff his brothers around the ears and seeing the possum on the table for dinner later that night hadn't prevented him from developing a phobia for the small, gray marsupials. As long as they stayed away from him, he could tolerate their existence. But the next time one lunged at him, it would be the last time. Babies be damned.

Thankfully after the pest removal people had come (and Monroe had marked around Olive's house during the night discreetly) the likelihood of any small mammal venturing onto her property was slim, which was good since he spent so much time there. Somehow, he wasn't sure how, he'd ended up spending more time with Ben, Olive's grandson, than Olive herself. Even though they'd gotten to know each other better, Ben still gave off the subtle aura of disinterest whenever Monroe was around. He was relatively friendly, but he had a mean streak to him that was hard to shake and never let Monroe forget the age difference between them. Normally Monroe would think he was just an age-ist little shit, but he wondered if the insults didn't run a little deeper since Ben was openly gay. Monroe wasn't interested in him anyway, but he wondered if it was Ben's way of making sure things stayed that way.

With all the extra time on his hands, it didn't take Monroe very long to finish replacing the drywall or re-plastering. Monroe was pretty much done, all that was left was painting.

He was surprised, if not a little disappointed, when Olive offered up Ben's services in helping him finish her granddaughter's bedroom. Monroe wasn't sure what the kid was good at and there certainly wasn't much he could reach from his wheelchair, Monroe failing to buy an extension to the paint roller. Monroe was quite willing to finish the task himself (listening to Ben talk for too long made his head hurt anyway and damaged his ego), but Olive seemed pretty sincere so Monroe couldn't say no to her.

Ben had a different opinion.

"I'd certainly volunteer to help," the younger man said with far more than a touch of sarcasm, "but as you can probably see, my chair isn't well acquainted with the stairs."

Monroe didn't let Ben say much more before he'd lifted the much smaller man onto his shoulder, the chair folded in his hand like it weighed as much as a piece of cardboard. Olive laughed when Ben struggled, an even grumpier look stretched across his normally derisive face before she returned to the kitchen. The talkative younger man had nothing to say as they marched up the steps. When they reached the upstairs landing, Ben slung across Monroe's front, bridal style, he said with an impish little grin on his face:

"Oh my. I've changed my mind about you. Carry me off to bed whenever, you giant hunk-a-meat."

"Oh, shut up," Monroe growled, resenting yet another insult armed to remind him of the gap between them and the impossibility of ever being more than just tentative friends. "You volunteered to help," he reminded gruffly.

"I said I would volunteer, but I didn't actually do it. Get your hearing checked, old man."

Again with the jibe at his age; Monroe wasn't that old, seriously. He was only in his early forties, but he supposed that made him something like a male cougar… Not that he was interested, ever, but he did wonder if there was such a thing. Didn't guys normally date younger women? Did it work differently in the gay world?

It was all lost on someone like Monroe.

Monroe ignored the rest of what Ben had to say, something about the indignity of it all, as he wheeled Ben into the last bedroom and set him in a corner. A far corner as far away as possible. He didn't bother to listen to any of the other complaints the younger man made as he went to work.

"So why did you want to move to Portland anyway?" Monroe asked after listening to Ben complain for almost thirty minutes nonstop about how much better he'd had it in Astoria with all his friends and family and how he pretty much hated living there already. Portland was a pretty interesting place to live, Monroe thought, but he supposed being homebound changed things.

"I wanted to move out, so my mom sent me to live with my grandmother. I'm 25-fucking-years old. Do you know how hard it is to have a steady boyfriend when you have your mother breathing down your neck all the time? Or your grandmother? Jesus Christ!"

Monroe shouldn't laugh, he really shouldn't, but he found himself wracked with laughter regardless. The younger man really did deserve it for the way he'd been treating Monroe, but apparently laughter was exactly what Ben wanted to hear from him anyway.

"Thank god, someone understands my plight!" Ben exclaimed, throwing up his arms dramatically. "I'm going to be starting classes at PCC soon so I would've preferred living in an apartment, but my mom and dad don't think I can handle it on my own - not that I plan on staying single for very long," he added offhandedly, "But still!" he said, his voice growing just as agitated as before, "I'm not a fucking invalid! I can do things for myself!"

"Well, I think your grandma appreciates the company," Monroe said honestly. "She seems like she gets lonely."

"I guess that's true," Ben replied, his whole mood a degree more subdued. He almost seemed sad. "But still," he argued, though not as hotly, "the whole boyfriend thing. She might have bad hearing, but still…"

Before Monroe could comment - or criticize since he thought Ben was acting like a ridiculous child when his grandmother was being so generous and really did need the company - he heard Olive calling up the stairs to them. He left Ben in the middle of the room in the midst of a sentence as he went to check on her.

She smiled up at him from the bottom of the stairs.

"I'm going out to lunch with a friend. Now I expect that room to be finished by the time I get back," she teased as she waggled a finger at him. "If you're both good, I'll even stop by the bakery on my way home."

"Well, if I could get Ben to do anything…"

Monroe could hear Ben's muffled insults from the other room, but he just ignored them. The younger man could use the teasing. He bid her farewell before returning to the room, fully expecting to take the brunt of the younger man's anger. The other was unusually quiet as he watched Monroe go back to painting.

"Things would go a lot faster if you'd help me."

"Do what?" the younger man challenged.

Good question. Monroe didn't answer, just painted in silence.

"Hey, I'm feeling dizzy, can you help me to my room?" Ben complained not twenty minutes later. Monroe would have grumbled - he was so close to being finished - but the boy sounded so pitiful, he found he couldn't say no. He scooped Ben out of his chair and carried him down the stairs, the younger man's head slumped against his shoulder pathetically. After he'd laid Ben out on his bed and tucked him in, he ran back up the stairs to fetch the forgotten wheelchair.

"I'll just put this here," Monroe said as he set the folded up wheelchair against the wall next to the younger man's bed. "It was probably the paint fumes getting to you. Can I get you anything though? Water? Aspirin or something?"

"Yeah, under the sink," Ben said, nodding his head in the direction of the door that led to the adjoining bathroom, "there's a box of condoms. Can you get some?"

"W-what?"

Before Monroe could move away, Ben caught his wrist and held him steady; his eyes darker than their normal shade of blue, almost black with unexpected lust. Monroe was honestly taken aback; the younger man always teased him and put him off so easily. Monroe didn't think he'd ever even blatantly flirted with Ben. Had the younger man caught him looking anyway? Did he just know or was he taking a gamble? He was quite ballsy anyway, maybe that's just how he was.

When Monroe hesitated and failed to say anything, Ben said, "I'm not paralyzed, if that's what you think. I have M.D. I just happen to look sexier in a wheelchair than those things." He pointed to a pair of crutches Monroe had failed to notice earlier. "So if you're worried about my junk not working, don't. Sex is the least of my worries."

It embarrassed Monroe to have his thoughts so shamelessly voiced, but he supposed it was almost said on autopilot now; no doubt Ben had been dealing with prejudice - both for his sexuality and his physical disability - his whole life. Monroe would feel bad, but he didn't want to get his head bitten off.

Even so, Monroe couldn't help but tease him a little. "What makes you think I want to sleep with you."

That shut the younger man up; but only for a moment. "I won't offer again. Either you get those condoms - there's also a tube of KY next to the box - and get back here in ten seconds, or Ben's Play Place is closed for business."

Monroe actually made it to and from the bathroom and managed to strip off his outer shirt and his jeans in that time; he only knew because Ben was actually counting. Out loud.

"So close. You only had half a second left," he said with a cocky little grin on his face as he guided Monroe onto the bed to lay on top of him so they could kiss for awhile.

It was nice, Monroe thought while enjoying the taste and feel of the smaller man even though he was so exasperating normally. Ben certainly wasn't Nick by any means; he imagined Nick - when not drunk or completely miserable - would be a little more sexy about his words, even romantic. But thinking that made him feel guilty almost immediately for even having sex with another man while having Nick on the brain, and vice-versa. Thinking of Nick while sleeping with someone else. There was really no happy medium. Thankfully Ben was quite skilled with his tongue and Monroe found himself sinking into Ben's warm embrace quite willingly.

"So," Ben said as he rolled onto his stomach, his chin perched on the palm of his hand, the other one brushing through Monroe's thick chest hair, "tell me about Nick."

It was said so nonchalantly that it threw Monroe for a moment. He lay there in silence for awhile as his brain tried to comprehend the words. When they finally registered, he shot Ben a puzzled look.

"Your ex," Ben finally clarified, not that it changed the expression on Monroe's face at all. "My grammie told me about him. You were thinking about him just now, weren't you?"

"Oh, god, I'm sorry," Monroe apologized quickly. "I was trying hard not to…" Was he that obvious?

Ben laughed. "It's fine," he said and Monroe was surprised at how genuine he sounded. "Did you love him?" he asked curiously.

Monroe was quiet for a moment as he wondered how much he could get away with saying. Women never wanted to hear about other women, especially after sex. Unless they wanted you to say they were the best you'd ever had; that was about the only exception. Especially if they knew the other women. Angelina had been like that.

"Yes," Monroe finally admitted. "I loved him a lot actually. I still do."

"Why'd you break up?"

"It's… complicated." Ben just looked at him and rolled his eyes. "I don't really want to talk about it," Monroe grumbled. Unfortunately, which he should have expected anyway, the younger man wasn't quite ready to drop the topic of Nick just yet.

"So, you got any pictures of him? I'm intensely curious. Grammie said he was quite the looker."

Monroe didn't comment, just leaned over the side of the bed and shuffled through his discarded clothing looking for his phone. When he showed Ben the one picture of Nick he'd managed to procure during their brief - too brief - friendship, he was greeted with a pleased sound from the lithe body next to him.

"Wow! What the hell were you thinking letting that get away? I'd pay for a chance to suck his dick."

Monroe pulled the phone away quickly and clutched it to his bare chest defensively. "Little harsh considering we just finished having sex."

"Well, last time I checked, we weren't dating, or are you saying you'd like to?"

When Monroe failed to reply immediately, Ben laughed, "See, no problem then."

"I didn't say 'no…'" Though he wasn't sure he was completely for it either. Ben was a little… much. Too much.

"Yeah, but still… No offense, but frankly I'm not interested in dating someone as old as my dad."

"I'm not that old." But Ben was so much younger. Almost half his age.

"Nearly. Look, I'm not trying to offend you, but I'm also not saying I don't want to sleep with you again. It was fun, though you're a little soft for my liking. Next time, can we try to pretend we're having sex and not buttering a dinner roll?"

"…What?" Monroe yelped as he jolted into a sitting position. He felt a vein in his forehead begin to throb with irritation. The last thing he wanted to hear when he was already feeling down was how bad his technique was, especially from someone like Ben who had spent the last week poking fun at him for his age and his looks.

"You're not fucking a puff pastry," Ben teased. "Give it to me like you actually mean it. Jesus."

"I was trying to be careful," Monroe complained, his mood souring even more. "Nick… I was too rough with him. It's a big part of why we don't talk anymore."

He was interrupted by Ben's obnoxious giggling.

"It's not funny… It's a serious deal," Monroe bit out.

"Sorry, it's not funny," Ben chuckled, "but I'm having a hard time imagining it. You're as soft as a flower, honey. Unless he was a virgin and tight as fuck, you were probably just fine."

Monroe didn't say anything. He didn't know what to say. Was he that soft? Angelina used to complain as well, but he'd always thought she was a little on the masochistic side, even for a blutbad. And she was definitely a sadist when it suited her.

"Was he a virgin?" Ben asked when Monroe didn't give him an answer, sounding for once serious.

"I… he seemed like he knew what he was doing. But there was blood. And he was crying."

"How much blood?"

"…negligible amounts," Monroe admitted with embarrassment as he remembered the few droplets near the headboard that still failed to make sense to him. It'd smelled way more intense in the moment though.

"O-kay," Ben said, "maybe you were too rough, but I doubt it was as bad as you think. Maybe you just didn't prepare him enough or something. Did you use enough lube?"

"I don't know… we were really drunk. I don't really remember all that much, but… I feel like I raped him."

"Jesus Christ," Ben snorted, rolling his eyes. "You are seriously messed up." When Monroe eyed him seriously, Ben said, "Going along with this scenario for a minute, did he tell you to stop? Did you forcibly do it even though he told you not to?"

"No, I don't know. He was really depressed after he lost Juliette-"

"Juliette? Who's that? His sister?"

"His girlfriend. Oh, right," he said when he noticed Ben's dumbfounded face. "We weren't actually dating. Never were. We were just friends. But when he came over, he got drunk and I…I'd loved him for so long."

"So when he was good and sloshed you threw him down on a bed and ripped off all his clothes?"

"No. He… preformed fellatio on me and then I took him upstairs," Monroe finished in a soft whisper, his face completely red and the desire to crawl into a hole overwhelming.

"Oh, my god," Ben laughed. "You are absolutely retarded. You think you raped someone who willingly, might I add, gave you head? Oh. My. God. I think I might actually be embarrassed that I slept with you."

"You weren't there."

"Yeah, but it's not fucking rocket science that a guy willing to do that probably wants a little bit of something else on top of that."

"But it wasn't romantic. I didn't kiss him or hold him or anything. Everything was just right down to business."

"Then he's probably heartbroken, you idiot! That's why he's not talking to you. His heart was just broken by that dumb bitch and then you went and broke it again! But you at least told him you loved him, right? Right?"

Monroe hesitated, afraid of what might come out of Ben's mouth. "No…"

"Oh, my god. Then did you tell him you were gay at least?"

"Well, no, but I'm not." Ben gave him a look. "What? I'm not! I like women just fine, thank you. I've had tons of girlfriends." At Ben's raised brow, he mumbled, "Might be an exaggeration, but I've had plenty, you know."

"Mm-hmm. You just happen to find the poop-shoot suddenly attractive? And that dangling bit between other men's legs just vastly interesting?"

"Okay, honestly you're the second man I've ever slept with, but it's not the first time I've - You're suddenly frustrating me," Monroe bit out when Ben grinned at him. "But I'm not gay."

"But you love him."

"It's… different."

"So you've never thought about other men before? Other than me, of course. You were pretty direct with your lust."

"Can we talk about something else, please?"

"You just dinked a man. I'm not going to be all, 'My god, he's had gay thoughts before!'" Ben exclaimed in a silly falsetto, his hands clapped to his face in pretend horror. "But, since you're being so difficult…

"Anyway," he said as he changed the subject, slapping a hand against Monroe's bare chest with too much force to be affectionate, "Nick probably thinks you don't have feelings for him, all that melodramatic bullshit. Tell him how you feel and he'll be begging to crawl back into your bed."

"Extremely doubtful, but a man could hope, I suppose," Monroe offered, hoping they could just put this conversation to rest. "But I think Nick might be seeing someone else now," he said absently, thinking of the man he'd seen leaving the gallery with Nick in his arms.

"Someone you know?"

"No. Some man."

"Well, that just gives more credence to what I was saying, don't you think? I doubt he'd be jumping back into the sack with another man so quickly if sleeping with you was as traumatizing as you think."

"It was traumatizing for me…" Monroe replied, a breathy laugh following his sincere words.

But Ben's words made him think. He'd been wondering lately about that night. The more he thought back to it, the more he doubted his own version of events. He even remembered things that he knew couldn't have possibly happened. He remembered other people being there sometimes too, Angelina among them, and at times he remembered events in reverse order. Sometimes it wasn't even Nick in his bed at all. The only thing he knew for certain was that Nick had shown up at his door looking miserable and that he'd been gone come daylight. Everything else in between was hazy and confused. Since the younger man seemingly refused to talk to him - though he made no real effort on his own end - he knew he hadn't imagined the whole night, unfortunately.

Again he was back to the essential question. Had he raped Nick, or had it been entirely consensual? Why did Nick hate him so much then? Or did Nick hate him at all? Or was Nick truly in love with him?

"Well," Ben said as he snuggled up next to Monroe, his nosed pressed to the older man's, "if you didn't find sleeping with me all that traumatizing, how about we do it again, old man?"

Monroe let his irritation with the younger man slide; he was too goddamned cute for his own good. He breathed a surprisingly fond laugh as he nuzzled Ben's face to his own and pecked the man a few times on the lips. He contemplated telling Ben he hazarded on the verge of verbally abusive, but the younger man would probably just tell him to shut the fuck up and quit being an idiot.

He quickly decided against saying anything of the sort. Instead he said:

"I thought you were, to quote, 'embarrassed to have slept with me.'"

"Not saying I ain't. But, lucky for you, I am a horny twenty-five year old with an uncontrollable libido."

Monroe laughed. "Okay, but I have to go before your grandma gets back."

"Why? She won't care if we're sleeping together."

"Maybe not," though he doubted she'd be that lax aboutit, "but I'll never be able to show my face to her again."

"Okay, whatever," Ben said absentmindedly as he forced Monroe onto his back. "Less talking, more fucking. This time harder, okay?"

"Alright," Monroe said. "I think I can manage that."

The click of the front door caused Monroe to jolt from the bed and hurry to pull his clothes back on. He hadn't meant to fall asleep, but Ben had been adamant on cuddling for awhile afterwards. He could probably manage to get out of the house without her noticing if he was careful.

It was probably because he was nervous of being caught that made him move through the house too quickly without bothering to pause and listen for movement. When he bolted around the corner into the living room, he came upon the older woman standing by the coffee table, a box of what smelled like fresh donuts in her hands. He froze, a guilty look crossing his face immediately as she turned to look at him. She eyed his disheveled appearance and his still unbuttoned over-shirt. There was no way she could not know. He could tell by the look on her face, the look of both surprise and a touch of disappointment, that she knew he'd gotten at her grandson while she was out. Ben was an adult, but Monroe was supposed to be the responsible one who knew better.

"H-hello, Olive."

"Hello, dear," she greeted him, her voice denoting the same bit of embarrassment he felt. "Are you staying for dinner?"

"Oh, no, thank you though. I must be getting back…" he murmured, a hand clutching the lapels of his shirt together, the other touching against his hair as he stumbled quickly towards the door to put his shoes on in order to leave as quickly as possible.

Three days passed before Monroe could no longer ignore Ben's harassing texts and phone calls.

"What is it?" Monroe growled in a harsh whisper when he finally answered. He wasn't sure why he was whispering; he was inside of his own house and it wasn't like he'd really done anything wrong. Ben was a consenting adult, but he still felt like a cradle-robbing criminal.

"You know you can't hide forever," Ben replied. "And besides, I can't finish Aubrey's bedroom by myself you know. Kind of hard when you can't move around without the aide of crutches."

"I don't think your grandma wants me to come back. I kind of deflowered her poor, defenseless grandson," Monroe grumbled back, his voice thick with derision.

"Oh, bullshit. If anything, I seduced you. And besides, she's over it. She knows I'm gay and is okay with it, but that's the first time she's ever seen one of my boyfriends. Just a bit of a shock for her, nothing more. She'll get used to it."

Monroe wondered if that meant they'd be sleeping together on a frequent basis. He sort of liked the thought of that, though he'd make sure Olive was not around. Maybe he'd even invite Ben over to his house instead since everything was back to normal, no more random holes in the walls or destroyed furniture. They could even have dinners dates together, maybe even go out to see a few movies. Hell, maybe, 'She'll get used to it,' was code for, 'Let's date for real.'

He wasn't sure, but he was excited (albeit anxiously) at the prospect, though he was anything but eager to confirm this change with Ben himself. He'd wait as long as possible to be laughed at for that one. Until he figured out the situation with Nick, Ben was a nice place holder.

Oh, he was so going to hell for thinking that.

"Still…" Monroe said, hesitating. Maybe it would be better if he stayed away from Ben…

"Fine," Ben sighed. "If you deflowered the poor, crippled grandson, I raped her elderly neighbor."

"You are a complete asshole, you know."

"And we all know how you feel about those."

Monroe laughed, dumbfounded he was having such an immature conversation. It was actually sort of nice.

"But you'll come over, right?" Ben whined, sounding for a brief second like a lovesick teenage girl. But he wasn't anything so innocent. "You know, I've completely forgotten how to masturbate so you're going to have to teach me. But I warn you, I'm sort of slow."

"You are so horrible… I'll be over soon."

Monroe was enjoying a quiet evening at home when his phone began to ring. He was surprised to see that it was Rosalee calling him and not Ben to tell him his zipper was stuck or the washing machine had broken and he was completely out of clothes and freezing. Monroe had never had so many booty calls in his life. He was starting to feel his age so it was actually nice to see a different number on the screen. It'd been awhile since he and Rosalee had talked, over two weeks. He highly doubted she'd completely forgiven him just yet though.

"Are you watching the news right now?" she asked immediately when he answered. He paused.

"Uh, no… should I be?" She was silent on her end; he imagined her long worn face, her eyes rolled towards the ceiling in mild annoyance. He turned on the television without further comment. "Which channel should I be watching…?"

"8."

"Ah, alright," Monroe murmured as he fumbled with the remote. "Oh, well that's a shame," Monroe said. "Another pedestrian hit by a bus… People really shouldn't wear dark clothing at night. Was it someone you knew?"

She sighed on her end. "It is really sad, but that's not what I wanted you to see."

"Oh. What am I supposed to be watching for exactly…"

"Just keep watching. Promise me you will."

"Yeah, yeah," Monroe said. "But I'll understand it when I see it, right?"

"You'll understand," she replied before she hung up. She was still extremely upset with him, he could tell, but it was nice to hear her voice again. He hoped one day they could go back to how they'd been. He missed her so much.

Monroe watched through the commercials, through several boring stories that were of no interest to him and updates on the poor person who'd been struck by the bus -it looked like they would make it though, luckily. He thought about calling Rosalee back to ask again what he was waiting for when the promo for the next round of stories after the break caught his attention. He sat back with astonishment when Nick's smiling face appeared on the screen before him.

"On next is our interview with local police detective turned artist, Nick Burkhardt."

He waited impatiently through the commercials, alternately pacing the length of his living room several times and sitting on the edge of his couch in front of the TV. When the news finally returned, he cranked the volume and waited with bated breath.

Just to see Nick's face again, his heart burned in his chest, but there was a sense of relief as well. He looked healthy, still remarkably thin, but a deal happier looking. And to hear his voice? It was a godsend.

The interview was relatively routine, but when they inevitably touched on the subject of Juliette, the skin around Nick's eyes creasing with sadness, Monroe's heart went out to him. He couldn't believe how insensitive the woman was; couldn't she see how much her questions bothered him?

"So," the woman newscaster interviewing Nick began in a voice bordering on coy. Monroe watched Nick shift uncomfortably in his chair; it was hardly noticeable, but he noticed. Nick's eyes darted to where Monroe assumed the teleprompter laid before the shot suddenly cut away from Nick to his own image. Or in fact the painting Nick had done of him, the one he'd seen in the gallery. He found himself unable to listen to the words; all he could see was Nick's face. The red flush against his cheeks, the demure smile against his lips and his soft eyes.

He couldn't believe his own eyes at what he was seeing.

Nick… was in love with him?

The only words he heard was, "It's… complicated."

His phone started to ring almost immediately; he expected Rosalee again, but it was Jacquie. He considered ignoring it; he was pretty pissed she called him right at the tail end of Nick's interview. If she'd called even a minute earlier, he was likely to have snapped his phone in half out of anger.

When he answered, she cried frantically, "You need to come over right now!"

"What -"

"Get over here as quickly as possible!"

Monroe dropped the remote as he bolted for the door, completely forgetting Nick, his shoes or even to close the front door. Her voice was so hysterical, he feared the absolute worst that one of the girls was hurt.

"Did you see the news?" she exclaimed when Monroe burst through the front door, nearly taking the poor thing off of its hinges.

"What?!" Monroe yelled.

"Nick was on the news!" she said excitedly as she pointed the remote at the television to rewind it to show him.

"I thought you or the girls were in danger!" he boomed loudly, his voice causing some of her collectable figurines to shake on the shelves. "Don't ever do that to me again!"

She shrunk down in embarrassment like a naughty child. "I'm sorry. I was just excited… I taped it for you…" she offered in a little voice, a guilty smile on her lips.

"What's all the yelling about?" Carmen asked as she peeked her head into the living room. She looked between the two of them warily, her hand hesitating on her pocket where her phone probably was. Monroe wondered how many violent fights she'd witnessed between her parents in the past.

"You're mother nearly gave me a heart attack," Monroe quickly explained, ashamed he'd scared the girl.

"She does that," Carmen agreed, her brows raised.

"But it was important," her mother whined softly. "Nick's on the news…"

Monroe slumped onto the couch besides her and let her replay the whole interview for him. He regretted never getting the DVR now that he had a reason to save something to be replayed over and over again.

When the interview was over, Jacquie asked, "So, how are you getting him back? Obviously he still loves you."

Monroe rubbed his chin while he thought about it. He was about to ask her, her opinion when his phone rang again. This time Ben, his guilty loose end. Though Ben was supportive of Monroe getting back together with Nick (as far as he could tell, unless he was completely incapable of reading between the lines of Ben's words correctly), they'd been sleeping together almost every day; they were almost something akin to lovers. If he started dating Nick, they'd have to essentially 'break up.' Which meant they couldn't sleep together anymore (which was obvious, but somehow he doubted Ben would draw that conclusion immediately). Did Ben understand what he was supporting? Or would things be different now that they were getting to know each other better and were more than just casual partners?

"Just a second," he told Jacquie. "I have to get this."

Monroe stepped out onto the front porch and answered his phone. "Hey, Ben."

"Hey, can you come over?"

"Uh, right now?"

"Why, you have something better to do?" Somehow that even sounded like an insult. I do have a life outside of you, Monroe wanted to complain. Though Monroe did feel guilty for thinking about getting 'back together' with Nick just moments before (despite the fact they'd never dated) with Ben still on his radar, even though he'd loved Nick first. His feelings for Ben were complicated at best. He considered Ben to be a rebound in his head, though he was developing genuine feelings of affection for him as of late.

"So are you coming over?" Ben demanded almost angrily.

"I'm at Jacquie's -"

"Please don't tell me you're sleeping with her too."

"What? No! Fine. I'll be over in twenty minutes, alright?"

"Twenty minutes?"

"Diddle yourself for awhile if you can't wait. God, you have no control over yourself."

Ben laughed, a deep, melodic ring in his ear. "That's not why I want you to come over, but…" Monroe could hear the wink in his voice. When Ben hung up the phone, he was intensely curious to know why Ben wanted him to come over if not for sex.

Oh no, what if it was something scary like dinner with his parents? Oh, he was going to rot in hell…

Monroe left Jacquie's a little earlier than he'd planned on, promising her they'd get together later in the week and talk about ways Monroe could woo Nick back. At Olive's, Monroe let himself in, something he'd been encouraged to do since Olive really did have questionable hearing at times and Ben couldn't always get to the door - or so he claimed. Ben was apt to play the part of the 'pitiful cripple, pity me, wah wah' when it meant he could be exceptionally lazy. Monroe would have admonished him for it long ago if it hadn't led to him finding the man posed naked on the couch when Olive was out visiting a friend. Monroe didn't know what he'd find since Ben had been quite clear that sex wasn't the number one reason why he wanted Monroe to come over (it was likely number two or three at the very least).

Monroe actually stopped in his tracks when he saw Nick's face blazoned on the television screen in the living room.

"Look what I found," Ben said as he gestured for Monroe to sit on the couch next to him. Monroe stumbled to the couch and sat down, his head shaking slightly in disbelief. "You'll never believe it."

"God, you too?" Monroe laughed breathlessly. Ben shot him a confused look. "This was why I was at Jacquie's. She wanted to show me this too."

"Oh, so you've seen it already…"

Monroe wanted an excuse to see it again; maybe he should have kept his mouth shut.

"Do you not want to see it again?" Ben asked slowly. "We don't have to watch it."

"No, no. I do. But I thought maybe you'd be upset."

"Why would I be upset..?" He sounded genuinely curious. "What'd he say? I haven't watched it yet. Is it really bad?"

"No. I just thought maybe because…" Because we're sleeping together. Or doesn't it bother you at all?

"Well, I want to see it, so we're watching it," Ben demanded as he un-paused the television and they watched the interview in silence. When it was over, Ben turned to look at him. "Well?" he said.

Monroe glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, trying to determine in vain whether or not he was walking into a trap. Again he was at a loss. Did Ben have absolutely no feelings for him? It would make things a lot easier when the time came, but it made him feel a little hollow inside.

"Well?" Ben asked again, his brows raised expectantly.

"What?"

"What are you going to do?"

"I… don't know."

"What do you mean, 'I don't know?' He's obviously still in love with you! Get him flowers, take him out to dinner. For the love of Christ, do something!" Monroe felt like a scolded child. "If you don't do something, I will march - figuratively - down to Nick's house and tell him myself that you are flippin' retarded man-child who doesn't have the balls to tell him yourself that you love him. Are we clear?"

"You don't know where he lives," Monroe reminded him. "I don't even know where he lives."

"I will find his address." He was so adamant about it that Monroe wondered if he actually could. "You know where he works though, don't you?"

"Yeah, at the police… station." He regretted the words as they left his mouth because of the fiery glint in Ben's eyes.

"Then you have no excuses. And if you don't go, I will."

He really didn't have any and he really didn't want Ben and Nick to meet under those circumstances.

Ben didn't 'march' down to the station like he'd threatened (probably because his grandmother didn't drive and Monroe refused to take him), but he didn't hesitate to remind Monroe to figure it out soon, even while in the midst of lovemaking - Nick's apparent reciprocal feelings doing nothing to damper the fire in Ben's belly. It was incredibly annoying. On the bright side, he did help Monroe, along with both Jacquie and even Rosalee at times (almost as though forgetting her anger at him) to collect all of the interviews of Nick they could find in both the news and in the papers. Monroe was surprised by the sheer number of them and the amount of fame Nick had managed to accrue in such a short period of time. It didn't take long, however, for Monroe to discover the pattern. It angered him that it wasn't so much Nick's art that made him famous but the total abuse of the detective as a ploy for ratings, each interviewer hoping to one-up the other and get to the bottom of the story. All they truly wanted was to dissect and expose Nick's life and his supposed love affair with another man. The media's clinical fascination disgusted Monroe. Nick was more than just a tabloid story. He had a feeling if it'd been a woman, no one would have cared; Nick would probably still be nameless. But because it was a man, it was all they could think about. Monroe wanted to yell at the screen; yell at these heartless, pieces of trash. Couldn't they see his talent? Was he nothing more than his bed partners to them?

In the end, it was all just rumors; Nick admitted to nothing.

One interview in particular was extraordinarily terrible. From the way Nick sat perched on the edge of his chair, Monroe could tell he was debating within himself on just leaving. Nick's once enthused face was gone, left behind was a mask of barely contained anger. Why did he put up with such abuse from these rating mongers?

"Now, correct me if I'm wrong," the interviewer, a man, said as he sat across from Nick, "but word has it, this man, 'Monroe?'" He examined his note card again. "was an ex-lover of yours?"

The look that crossed Nick's face froze Monroe's heart. A look of anger and perhaps even hatred. Was it reserved for the man across from him, for the people who dogged him for answers, or for Monroe - the man who'd caused all of it in the first place? Had Monroe been wrong about what he'd thought he'd seen in Nick's face in the beginning? A measure of love and adoration.

"Now, I know a lot of rumors have been floating around about my painting and who this mysterious person is," Nick bit out, almost seething, "but I refuse to spend any more time on the matter. He's a close friend of mine and I would like to respect his privacy and decline any more questions in regards to his personal life or our relationship."

Monroe supposed the accusations could have been worse. Perhaps it was arguable to think Nick's sore feelings were for exactly who Monroe hated as well.

Monroe was startled by the sudden pounding on his door days later. He wondered if it was Jacquie with more articles or even Olive who had gotten involved with hunting down newspaper clippings on Nick or anything else she could find. He doubted it was Ben since he usually chose to call instead of coming over, even though Monroe had installed a very nice ramp for him.

Who he didn't expect to see was a grim faced Hank staring up at him. At the sight of the blutbad, the senior detective's face turned sour. He immediately started in on the taller man, an angry finger thrust into the blutbad's chest.

"I turn my back for a second and this is what you do? I told you to make good with Nick, not toss him around like a rag doll."

"Rag doll… Wait… What are you talking about?" Monroe snapped, his tone bordering on frantic. "What happened to him? Is he okay?!"

Monroe must have passed some sort of unsaid test because Hank immediately said, "Okay, I didn't think it was you, though to be honest, if it was anyone I was sort of hoping it was you because then I'd know who to kill."

Being Hank's number one target didn't make Monroe feel any better, but that wasn't what concerned him the most at the moment. Hank crossed his arms as he continued to talk.

"Someone's been smacking Nick around. He has all the tell tale signs. Bruising, secretive behavior. He won't come clean about it, so I wondered if it might be you."

"Me?! I haven't seen him since -" Monroe cleared his throat. "I went by his house awhile back and he was gone. Moved out… Besides, I would never do that to Nick. Not in a million years."

Hank nodded his head slowly, probably irritated Monroe had ignored his previous instructions.

"But why me?" Monroe asked.

"Nick's feelings for you are pretty strong," Monroe flushed at the words, "I figured he'd be willing to protect your image, even if it meant lying to me. And since he's been acting a lot happier - aside from the bruising - I thought maybe the two of you had gotten back together. But I guess not.

"Yesterday," Hank continued, "Nick mentioned some new guy, Dean, I think he said? He might be a new boyfriend, though he'd never admit that to me," Hank said, a touch of regret to his voice. "Nick says he's just a roommate, but from the amount of bruising I've seen on Nick, the guy is bad news regardless."

"When you say bruising, what do you mean by that?"

"First it was just on his arms, but now it's on his face. Nick says he fell down some stairs, but that's a pretty thin excuse to me."

"What do you want me to do about it exactly?" Monroe asked slowly. Hank raised a brow. "I assume since you're telling me all of this, you want me to do something…"

Hank sighed and re-crossed his arms. "As Nick's ex -"

"Whoa-ho. Ex? We never dated. We were never… Okay, yes, we had… relations. Once," Monroe sputtered, finally admitting the truth to Hank since the other man would seemingly never let up on his suspicions. "But that doesn't mean… Okay, I'm going to stop talking now."

"As I was saying," Hank started again, completely unfazed by Monroe's blabbering, "as Nick's ex, I think you should at least make sure this guy checks out. If not…" He shrugged, but from the dangerous look in his eyes, Monroe knew Hank was anything but cool about the whole situation.

"I doubt Nick will appreciate me butting into his business," Monroe reasoned weakly.

"Maybe not, but he won't talk to me about it."

Hank suddenly held up a slip of lined, notebook paper between two fingers.

"You said you didn't know where Nick lived? I'll give you his address on one condition: take care of this guy for me. Maybe Nick will listen to you. Maybe he won't, but you're a pretty big guy yourself. I just need you to spook this Dean guy a bit. I'd do it myself, but my hands are tied legally. And don't worry," he added when he noticed Monroe's hesitant look. "I'll make sure this doesn't come back to bite you in the butt."

"Fine, I'll take care of it," Monroe agreed a bit begrudgingly as he snatched the slip of paper from Hank. He highly doubted Nick was being tossed around by some asshole of a boyfriend. Nick wouldn't put up with that kind of shit from some guy. He'd seen Nick hand it to all sorts of formidable wesen; a standard human male had nothing on say a blutbad or a siegbarste, but he doubted Nick would date or room with either, especially the latter. He'd check out Nick's new house like Hank asked, but if he found anything, he'd most likely find a dainty little beauty waiting there instead of some abusive dick. It was more probable that Nick had been getting mixed up with bad wesen again, and without Monroe to watch his back, he'd be getting the full force of the blows. Monroe just hoped it wasn't Reapers or worse. He felt guilty imagining all of the times Nick had needed him in the last few months and hadn't been there. All because he'd been too embarrassed to face the Grimm.

The fond look he'd seen splayed across Nick's face flashed in his mind.

If Nick reserved feelings for him, this could be his last chance to get their relationship back on track. He just hoped he wasn't too late, Nick already tied up in a different relationship or too fed up with Monroe to bother with him anymore.

If Monroe was going to win Nick over, he'd need to do it right, especially if he had to woo Nick away from someone else, and considering Nick's looks, anyone Nick dated was likely to look far better than Monroe. Thus far Monroe planned on surprising Nick with a romantic apology dinner, but planning it was proving to be complicated. He wanted it to be perfect, so he had yet to stop by Nick's just yet, but the more he thought about Hank's concerns, the more it started to eat away at him. He really didn't have all the time in the world to pick out the best cuts of meat or the freshest, seasonal vegetables and research flower meanings. If Nick was getting bruised and Hank was concerned, something was wrong because Nick had been a Grimm for at least a year and in that time he'd managed to amass quite a few nasty injuries while dealing with wesen. Why would Hank worry now with that sort of history? Shouldn't Hank have started to worry back when Nick first came into his powers, back when he was still with Juliette?

Maybe there was a guy… which would mean a few adjustments to his plan. And it wasn't the man's looks that were necessarily the issue anymore. If Nick was dating men as physically intimidating as the one he'd hooked up with at the gallery, it was an actual possibility that he was getting hurt one way or another, whether on purpose, by accident or by sheer coincidence. Monroe would still have to intervene at least a little; Nick really shouldn't be a relationship like that. He didn't have an excuse to let himself be treated that way. Monroe might not have another shot at it with Nick, but at least he'd make sure Nick was with someone who treated him the way he deserved to be treated.

Monroe was left at a loss; proceed and show up unannounced and hope for the best or scope things out and go from there? He decided to ask Ben's opinion about it (though he doubted how beneficial it would truly be); Monroe supposed he also (a bit selfishly) wanted someone to tell him he was worrying about something completely ridiculous, which was something Ben could actually do.

The next evening when they were laying in bed together, Olive already asleep even though it was still early, only eight, and Ben at his house, Monroe decided up the subject of Nick. He said, finding no delicate way of stating it:

"Hank thinks I'm abusing Nick."

"Hank?" Ben queried softly as he perked his head up; he stretched his legs, his toes tickling Monroe's ankles.

"His partner. Police partner," Monroe clarified.

"Why would he think that? You haven't even seen him lately," he murmured, drawing idly on Monroe's chest with a finger.

"I guess Nick's been coming into work covered in 'mysterious' bruises."

"So you think his new boyfriend's been abusing him, then?" Ben asked, for once sounding serious as he rolled off of Monroe and sat up.

"Well, that was Hank's other running theory, but no, I don't think so. I think Hank's just blowing things out of proportion. Nick's a detective. He's always getting hurt."

"But wouldn't Hank know about it, being his partner and all?" Ben proposed, not buying Monroe's explanation for a minute.

"Well," Monroe said, unsure of how to explain Nick's Grimm duties in a way a Kehrseite would understand without really understanding. "Nick also works as a Private Investigator on the side. Likely any mysterious bruising would be linked to that. It wouldn't be the first time."

"But what if there is an abusive boyfriend. You're just going to brush it off like that?"

"No, but I highly doubt it. Nick isn't like that. He wouldn't let some jackass push him around like that. He's pretty tough. He could probably kick my ass."

"You're being awfully obstinate," Ben complained as he sunk down onto his belly, his chin perched on one hand. "It's almost like you're looking for excuses not to pursue him any more. Almost as though you're, gasp, in love with me," Ben teased while fluttering his eyelashes. Monroe rolled his eyes, though he was indeed growing dangerously fond of the younger man.

"Don't get me wrong. If I knew the guy was beating on Nick, I wouldn't hesitate to pummel him into the ground. I'd do it for any of my exes. But the likelihood of that being the case is slim to none." Believe me. You've never seen Nick backed into a corner. Any man brave enough to hazard a blow to Nick is probably already in jail or six feet under.

"But doesn't that make you just the least bit curious?" Ben continued, not about to be put off. "Aren't you dying to know what kind of man he's been shacking it up with? Wouldn't you feel better knowing everything's okay?"

"Well, there is this one guy I saw him hooking up with…"

Ben gave him a look. "You've been stalking him?"

"No! Well, a little… but that was before! And just the once!"

"Is it the same guy you thought Nick was dating before?"

"Not sure. Maybe."

"And he wasn't the kind of guy who would do something like that to Nick?"

"How should I know? I don't know the guy. I just know Nick. And I know Nick, like I said, would never let anyone do that to him."

Ben crossed his arms, a grumpy look on his face. Monroe sighed. It was going to be a long night.

A hour later found Monroe outside of what he hoped was the correct house. He checked the address several times against the faded metal numbers besides what he assumed was the front door (it was honestly hard to tell; the whole house was an architectural nightmare and was way too large for one person, or even two for that matter, to live in alone). There weren't any cars parked out front, which was a good sign since he wasn't sure Nick would appreciate the surprise visit, especially so late. He assumed Nick was likely still at work. He wasn't sure about the other one. Dean? It was also a possibility that Nick was spending the night somewhere else. He had no idea.

Regardless, it was Monroe's chance to investigate so he wasn't about to waste the opportunity wondering all night. Satisfied he had the correct house, Monroe followed the gravel driveway around to the back and parked behind what appeared to be the remains of a large barn. He cut the engine and sat for awhile, wondering what the hell he was exactly intending to do. He knew why he was supposed to be there, to make sure Nick was alright, but he knew his own motivations were a little more selfish. Honestly he was more interested in scoping out the competition and seeing what sort of person caught Nick's attention. He knew Nick could handle his own, so his 'real' reason was bunk.

In the end, Monroe winded up wandering around the house for awhile, checking for signs of any recent wesen activity and looking for broken door or window locks. When he was satisfied that the house was relatively safe (a few of the windows he'd managed to open from the outside and the back door had been left unlocked - he rolled his eyes at Nick's negligence - he began to mark the place as his own territory every few yards or so. He didn't know what the other male was (he could detect an odor other than Nick's), but if it was wesen, it would likely hightail it after getting a whiff of Monroe's scent. Monroe was not holding back on his intent of what he saw the property as, or Nick for that matter. Nick wouldn't be able to detect the smell since Monroe was careful in the amount he marked with, but any other wesen, even wild animals, would be able to tell hundreds of yards out. He supposed he'd be found out if the male was a wesen, since he'd tell Nick immediately that a blutbad had done it. And as far as he knew, Nick only knew one blutbad - Angelina did not count.

If Nick would have him, he wouldn't shy away from a territory battle. But if he wouldn't, even after listening to what Monroe had to say, he would willingly slink back to Ben once and for all with his tail between his legs in the most dignified way possible.

At the sudden flash of headlights, Monroe skirted behind a scraggly bush, laid flat out on his belly. He was thankful for the darkness - the night cloudy with no moon in sight; he hadn't intended to stay for as long as he had, but now he was pretty much stuck. Poking his head around the brambles, he saw that it was Nick's truck. He watched as Nick slowly got out of his vehicle and ambled up to the front steps, his feet dragging tiredly. Monroe waited until Nick had been inside of the house for nearly twenty minutes before leaving the safety of his bush. He skulked towards the house, sticking to the shadows, before peering into the few windows emanating light. He watched Nick pace for awhile, an anxious look on his face. Monroe wondered what he was worried about. A case?

Eventually Nick wandered off somewhere upstairs (a light flickering on where he assumed the younger man's bedroom was); he continued to watch as the detective ended up back in the main living room area and flicked on the TV. After an hour or so, Nick switched off the television and sat in mostly darkness, his face distance. Monroe wasn't sure how long he stood like that, watching Nick stare off into space, until the sound of crunching gravel sent Monroe scrambling for the far side of the house where some overgrown rosebushes stood. Another car, a beat up Mazda, came rumbling up the drive. Monroe watched with keen interest to know who or what would come sauntering out of that little piece of junk.

He was actually jealous and extremely put off when he recognized the man from the gallery all those weeks ago. He couldn't believe Nick was actually still sleeping with the guy. Well, the guy was attractive, so he supposed it wasn't that hard to believe.

When the man was safely inside of the house, Monroe quickly crept around the perimeter of the house to the back to peer into the windows on the opposite side of the main living area. He watched Nick and the man share a few short kisses before the other man shed his coat onto the back of an arm chair and flopped onto the couch. Nick stood awkwardly behind him as though he wasn't quite sure what to do.

Monroe felt that vein in his forehead throb. If it was him in there, he wouldn't ignore Nick like that. He'd ask Nick about his day as he got a late dinner started, or if they'd already eaten, they'd be relaxing on the couch watching a movie together, cuddling, or maybe reading. Hell, he'd do whatever Nick wanted. Or if he was really lucky, they'd already be up in the bedroom.

Monroe shook off the thought. It was sort of stupid at that point.

Nick eventually moved away from the back of the couch and started heading towards the back of the house to the large cement and glass structure Monroe had previously assumed to be a solarium, which was exactly in line of sight to where Monroe was currently standing. The blutbad booked it for the field and crouched on his heels behind the tall weeds. When the lights eventually flickered on, one by one, Monroe was surprised to find it wasn't a solarium, but an art studio.

Nick sat himself down on a stool and stared at a canvas, the butt of a paintbrush between his teeth as he contemplated his next move. It was impossible for Monroe to leave at that point; both Nick and his boyfriend would hear him pulling out - his car wasn't exactly known for stealth, so he decided he might as well get comfortable.

Monroe spent the next several hours watching Nick paint. It was a relaxing sight; he just wished that one day he'd get to watch from beside Nick's shoulder instead of from the field like a pervert.

Monroe woke the next morning with a crick in his neck from spending the night crunched up in his little car. The barn probably would have been more comfortable, but he couldn't stand the smell of animal droppings or the incessant cooing of pigeons in the rafters. When both Nick and his beau left for the day, Monroe was thankful to be able to go home and take a long, hot shower. He collapsed onto the couch for a nap; it was short lived, however, when his phone started to ring. It was Ben.

"Are you coming over?"

"Right now?" Monroe complained. Don't you have work or anything better to do than bother me? Monroe wondered, though he knew the other man didn't.

"Yeah. Well, are you?"

"I got stuck at Nick's, so I'm trying to sleep. Make up for a long night, no thanks to you."

"Sleep here, then." Monroe hesitated. "My grammie's at bingo. She'll be gone for some time, if you know what I mean."

Monroe wasn't sure he was up for that, he was tired as hell and a little bummed out, but maybe Ben could take the edge off the loneliness.

"Alright. Give me a few minutes."

"So, what was he like?" Ben asked regarding Nick's boyfriend.

"Do we have to talk about this now?" Monroe complained as Ben moved on top of him, his hips bouncing slightly with each thrust. Ben had managed to talk him into sex, which was embarrassingly easy, even despite the haggard way Monroe felt. He'd hoped to sleep for a few hours afterwards, so he really wasn't looking forward to a full on interrogation about the night before.

"Yes, we have to talk about this now," the younger man said without any consideration towards Monroe, like there ever would be. As usual, Monroe had no choice.

"He didn't seem that bad. Mostly just ignored Nick."

"Was he hot?"

"Hm?" Monroe murmured, pretending not to have heard. He really didn't want to answer that.

"Was he hot, I asked," Ben asked again, his body ceasing to move on top of Monroe. Monroe felt like grumbling, especially when Ben moved far enough out of reach, his hands against the older man's hips so he couldn't continue without answering Ben's questions to his liking.

"Yeah, he was good looking," Monroe finally offered, though he honestly could have waited until Ben gave in; he could see the younger man's arms and legs trembling from the effort of keeping himself completely supported without leaning most of his weight into Monroe. "And no, I didn't see them getting down and dirty so don't even ask me to relate any detailed descriptions of his anatomy to you, you pervert."

Pleased with Monroe's answer, Ben sank back into Monroe's lap and began to move again, a fine sheen of sweat on his brow, not that Monroe would ever mention it. He'd get punched in the face if he did that.

"So you don't think he's doing anything untoward?" Ben asked seriously.

"Not really, but I didn't see much."

"So are you going back?"

"I don't think it's necessary…"

"Well, you should be sure. And then chances are you will be able to make me up that detailed report."

"There are laws against peeping toms, you know."

"Then don't get caught," he grinned, completely cat-like.

When they'd finished, Ben slumped against Monroe's side and curled up under the bigger man's arm.

"Well, there's my exercise for the day."

"Yeah, I don't think so," Monroe said as he stroked a hand through Ben's blond hair. He felt the man next to him curl up tighter, pouting.

"Please don't make me take a walk. I'm not a fucking dog."

"You need to exercise. It's good for you. Besides, your grandma asked me to look after you, so you don't have a choice. It's probably the only reason your grandma still lets me come over."

"Fine," Ben huffed. "Though I don't see why sex doesn't count as a justifiable form of exercise."

Monroe shrugged. "Think of it as a bonus."

Ben didn't comment; he was too sullen about the impending 'idiots' parade,' as he liked to call it, down the street. He suddenly snapped to attention though and reached out an arm to rifle under the pillow beneath Monroe's head.

"What's this?" he asked. Monroe turned his head and noticed the familiar green lump of cloth he kept hidden in the other's hand.

"Put that back!" Monroe demanded reflexively, his voice frantic. Ben eyes widened in shock at the sudden outburst before creasing with utter pleasure.

"Oh. My. God. You keep one of his shirts under your pillow?" He rolled out of Monroe's immediate reach and sniffed the fabric. "And you haven't even washed it! You pervert!"

Monroe grabbed Ben and pulled him back, distracting him with a kiss as he pulled the shirt out of his hands.

"I don't do anything perverted with it, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't make me sound as such."

"I guess it could be worse. A lock of hair or a used condom or even a clump of pubes," Ben said, listing them off on his fingertips like it was completely natural.

"You're disgusting."

"What else of Nick's do you have?" Ben asked, ignoring Monroe.

"Just the shirt. And I was planning on washing it. It's starting to smell gross." Which was true. The sweat was no longer sweet like Nick, but acrid and tangy, and the alcohol smell fading. He'd wash it in the morning; he had to do laundry anyway.

"This sucks," Ben complained as he stumbled along besides Monroe, leaning hard into his crutches. "I feel like you're my freakin' butler or wet-nurse walking besides me like that."

Monroe supposed it would seem that way since he was walking very slowly while carrying the other man's folded up wheelchair under his arm.

"Well, would you feel better if you thought of me as your boyfriend..?" Monroe asked a bit nervously; it was the first time he'd seriously posed the relationship question to the younger man. Things were so ambiguous at the moment and with Nick in what appeared to be an actual relationship, he wanted to know Ben was there to fall back on.

Ben laughed though. "My dad would literally murder you if heard you say that."

"God, not that again."

"You're about the same age as my uncle. He wouldn't understand. Wouldn't want to understand. Besides."

Monroe was disappointed Ben still felt that way. Sure, they'd only been 'together' for a few weeks, but was the thought of them together officially such an impossible notion? If he as honest with himself, he sort of knew Ben would never see them as genuine partners. He'd always be relegated to friends with benefits. He had a feeling Ben was only sleeping with him because he hadn't found anyone better yet. It would certainly explain a lot. The younger man was way too attractive to give Monroe the time of day - same as Nick. Once Ben was back in school, he'd probably find someone closer to his age. It was a depressing thought, but Monroe was used to it. It came with the territory of not being very good-looking.

"Ugh, this just sucks so much. What's the point?" Ben complained loudly, interrupting Monroe's melancholy thoughts. "I'll be wheelchair bound for the rest of my life anyway. It's not like I'll escape it by making an ass of myself for everyone to see. I can't even hold your hand like a normal person because of these fucking things," he seethed, waving one of this crutches around while leaning almost all of his weight into the other one. "Even in my chair, I couldn't. Just cut off my hands, Lord! God knows I don't need them!" he screamed angrily towards the sky.

Monroe chuckled, feeling a little bit better that Ben actually wanted to hold his hand. Maybe there was a little hope. Maybe Ben felt just as insecure and confused.

"Actually," Ben said, "I'll keep the right hand. It comes in handy." He glanced at his left. "Nah, I'll keep them both. I like to use that one too sometimes."

Monroe didn't want to push his luck, so he remained silent. After awhile, Ben asked, "So, what are you going to do about Nick?"

Monroe sighed. "I suppose I should let him go. He seems…" Happy wasn't exactly the word he wanted to use… Even 'content' was pushing it.

"The man's covered in 'mysterious' bruises. You can't just let that fly. I think you should bust into Nick's house and kick the guy's ass and then spirit Nick off into the wilderness like some sort of modern day caveman. Lord knows you dress like one," Ben teased, a smile on his lips.

"You are ridiculously mean, you know that? Besides, this isn't some sort of thriller-romance. Life doesn't work that way."

"Yeah, stupid laws." Monroe didn't think legislation was the key issue. "Still, you should at least tell Nick you still love him, or in fact," Ben said as he came to a stop and whacked Monroe with one of his crutches, "you need to tell him that you do love him since you were too chicken to do it before. He never knew, you asshole. I'll bet you my two useless legs he still loves you. News report says so."

Monroe really couldn't argue with that, and because it looked like Ben wanted to whack him again.

"Now," Ben concluded, "carry me back."

Monroe laughed. "Nope. For hitting me, you can carry yourself back," he said flippantly as he turned and headed back down the street, taking Ben's wheelchair with him.

"You ass!" the younger man called after him. Monroe pretended not to hear him calling. Served him right.

It was hard not to feel creepy the longer Monroe watched Nick's house. For the past week he'd spent just about every night outside of the house observing the two men inside. Thus far he hadn't seen much. One thing he'd noticed, which he thought was a little odd, was Nick's discomfort around the other man. He'd seen briefly the comfortable nature Nick had shared with Juliette; the way he acted around this other man was odd. They weren't as close and affectionate as he would have assumed.

On the fifth night, things changed. Suddenly there was more basis to Hank's concerns as Monroe watched the taller man grab Nick hard by the upper arms and shove him against a wall. Monroe could tell by the minute change in the Grimm's face that he felt pain, the way the muscles around his mouth tightened. When Nick didn't immediately toss the man across the room for touching him that way, Monroe had to stop himself from doing it himself. He wanted nothing more than to gut the other man, spill his intestines across the floor. He doubted Nick would appreciate the gory display, but it was convincing himself that it wouldn't be worth it in the end that proved to be the harder sell. He wondered how pissed Nick would be if he just happened to rip one of the guy's arms off. He'd give the man a choice of which arm he wouldn't mind losing the most though. He wasn't that cruel. "Oh, sorry. What I should have said was, 'my left or my right.'" Monroe couldn't stop himself from grinning a little sadistically at the thought.

Honestly he never would have thought Nick capable of being in that sort of situation. He'd seen the man kick the ass of a skalenzahne; how could a mere human man cause Nick so much discomfort? He couldn't detect the Grimm's blood on the premise, even dried, so at least it'd never escalated to anything that violent, but it didn't change the severity of the situation or eliminate the possibility that things wouldn't end that way.

Watching the violent bastard slowly remove articles of Nick's clothing, one by one, placing kisses in spots too dark to be just shadows, Monroe seethed. He wasn't positive because of the hazy lighting, but he was pretty sure some of those were bruises. The ones Hank hadn't seen. From Nick's unfazed manner towards the other's violent behavior, Monroe concluded that this wasn't an uncommon occurrence.

He couldn't believe his own eyes. Nick knew that wasn't normal, right? He didn't honestly believe he deserved to be treated that way… did he?

Monroe wasn't sure which bothered him more: Nick putting up with that bullshit or the fact that Monroe wasn't already picking loose chunks of meat from between his teeth.

Eventually Monroe had to turn away the more intense and passionate they got, but he found himself unable to leave his spot outside of the window. There wasn't a single voyeuristic thing about his desire to stay; he was just worried. Worried that man would hurt Nick even worse without him there. Internally he knew Nick must be able to take care of himself if it came down to it, but he wanted to be there just incase the young detective needed him. Just incase things got out of control too quickly. Just incase Nick was drunk and vulnerable like the last time and needed someone to intervene.

It was another uncomfortable night spent in his car. It'd been some time since he'd had that dark dream. Again the forest and the sense of dread pulsating through him. He ran through the thick brush of trees, the earth soft under his bare feet. No, not feet. Paws, four of them.

He was the beast now, the wolf, the creature he'd feared, no longer its prey. He was the one chasing, stalking, eager for the kill. Yet still the terror loomed heavy in the air.

He knew it didn't matter what path he took, which turns he made, for they always led to the same place. And there he found it. The pit. But the sight of Nick standing above it, his back to Monroe, caused the other to slide to a sudden halt several paces away, the hair on the back of his neck bristling with unease. His brain was hazy with uncertainty as he stared at the smaller man's back. He could taste the fresh blood on his lips, but this Nick wasn't dead. Was he hunting Nick? Whose blood did he taste?

The figure of Nick shifted and began to turn then. Trepidation clung to Monroe like dew to his fur; he feared what he'd see when the man fully faced him.

But it was Nick. Happy, beautiful Nick. His usual warm smile settling on his two rosy lips. The Grimm reached out a hand towards him, his fingers beckoning him forward. Heart thudding heavy in his chest, Monroe stepped forward as a man and wound his arms around Nick's smaller body, his chin coming to rest in the gap between neck and shoulder. Nick reciprocated the gesture, his hands brushing through Monroe's thick black fur, his body warm and alive with heat. He could feel Nick's own heart beat under his. Its beating an echo to his own.

But the taste of blood was still there, thick on his tongue, several droplets breaking free from his teeth to fall against Nick's crisp, white skin, marring its surface with an alien red. Monroe's hands tightened around Nick's back, terrified the man might disappear out from under him.

"I'm not going anywhere," Nick murmured as though understanding Monroe's fear, his breath tickling the hair of his pointed black ear.

Despite Nick's calm reassurance, Monroe could feel the dirt threatening to crumble under their feet, the earth loosening and shifting. Over Nick's shoulder he spied the hole, the pit that had been Nick's grave for so long. He feared to look, what he'd still find. But at the bottom, a different corpse laid there in a bloody, horrific mess. It wasn't Nick, and suddenly the blood tasted all that much sweeter in his mouth. He recognized the face of Nick's tormentor, his own rival, despite the bloodied, demonic mask it wore.

TBC

A/N: What is this crap? Lol. I had fun, perhaps too much. I do hope it brought some amusement to you though. Anyway, I hope at least it was a far happier chapter (by the standards set by this story thus far). A nice diversion before chapter 11. Ominous chapter 11! lol

Okay, I am done. Thanks for reading! Please deposit any thoughts below, lol.