And here we are with chapter 10! Revelation day growing ever closer… this is kinda long (again) but the guys are all so chatty, lol. Lots of fluff, and largely a gentle, leisurely chapter before things get all terse and action-y again. I really hope you enjoy, and thanks for all the lovely, encouraging and helpful reviews!

"You were... um... not very awake a few moments ago. And then you kicked that guy away from me." Warwick glanced sideways at Nick in the back of the squad car. It looked as if the Grimm were fighting a second round of incoming sleep, but nonetheless, had the energy to return a quizzical stare. "Thanks. Seems a little lame, but… thanks. A lot."

Nick gave him a bleary smile. "Welcome. And you haven't whited out yet. After a full woge, and smacking Warrington with your wing. I'm pleased for you, of course, but what's that about?"

The control and failure to faint hadn't missed Warwick, naturally, and he'd been musing on it.

"It was deliberate - that woge. Well… aimed, at least. I'm fed up with being grabbed, followed, pressured, abducted..." Warwick made himself trail off before nearly adding 'having to be put to bed', which might have sounded ungracious in the same sentence as everything else. "Maybe I get a… different kind of adrenaline production if it's deliberate. All these post-woge faints might be a cortisol reaction. Definitely a theory I want to work on."

"Do that. Let me know if there's anything you can do about my sleeping while you're about it."

As Nick rested his face on the window, Warwick mused almost cheerfully on his new theory. Under usual conditions, discovering a violent reaction to cortisol would not be something to celebrate, but it was a workable theory with a potential fix – that was the important thing. If normal humans with Addison's disease could control their reactions to cortisol overload with fairly standard hormonal treatment, he could probably come up with an adaptation of the same, with a little help. He might not have to be ill for the rest of his life. Or at least avoid stress for the rest of his life – which defied the point of being alive, really. He smiled as he looked out of the window: there was a great deal of bright, beautiful pink lining the navy blue clouds as they rumbled down the freeway to the Lieutenant's home.

The big blonde guy with the photophobic baby was standing outside a house down a road full of Dutch Colonial detached homes and trotted down to the car to greet them. Warwick hopped out – now pretty nifty on his plaster even without his crutches – and Nick stumbled out on the other side.

"Right lads, in you go. Just want a quick word with young White, here…"

While he chatted to the officer driving the squad car, Warwick and Nick shuffled their way up to the front door and Warwick saw two little boys' faces appear in the window of the kitchen. They let themselves in and the bigger of the two little boys dashed straight over to Nick and gave him a fierce leg hug, followed closely by the second little guy, who assaulted his knee at a rapid waddle. Warwick kept a straight face as Nick ruffled their heads, trying to keep his balance. He was still swaying when they let go, but he'd only had about ten minutes sleep, Warwick reckoned, between hitting the deck in the squadroom and intervening in the scrap in the carpark.

The bigger little guy was bossy. "Denny says you need to go to bed. Now. And said if you fell over we shouldn't worry, 'cause you've just gone flop-bot."

"FLOP BOT?"

"An' he says that if you won't go to bed, we can do science at you 'until you sercum'."

"Succumb," Denny corrected, coming in and closing the door behind him. "Nick, you do not want to be subjected to their science, believe me. Oi! Don't lean on my arm. I'm not a sleeping pole." Denny grabbed Nick's shoulder and levered him upright. "What am I not?"

"A sleeping pole," Nick muttered.

"Good lad. Right – get upstairs. Use my bed, get your head down for a few hours. Dozy, underslept Grimm."

Warwick grinned. Still, he was starting to see Nick's point about his Grimm status giving him no protection from mocking. He watched Nick pull himself up the stairs and crawl into a room like it was his own home, feeling a pang of envy. Nick's buddies may rib him a fair bit, but they clearly looked out for him, like family. Warwick missed Henry. Henry had been his first proper friend and those lowen shits had gone and killed him. It seemed an age since he'd been in Nick's lounge telling him what really happened at the 'hazing', why he couldn't tell the police and why he couldn't go home. Before he could plunge into any maudlin thoughts about his own lack of family, the baby decided to give a sudden scream, making him almost leap off the sofa.

Denny chuckled and picked her up. "You have to get used to that, living around here. Do me a favour – hang on to her for a minute? I'm just going to set up Mario Kart for the smalls."

Warwick took her gingerly and she yanked his hair. He went to sweep it out of the way with his fingers and she bapped him firmly on the nose. "Ow!" he half laughed. "That was a bit hard!"

"Sorry," Denny muttered, sorting wires out. "She's in a slightly forbidding mood. So far, I've been banned from opening beans, scratching my nose, scratching my head, opening a door, adjusting my crot―jeans … Anything preventing a proper, two-handed hug is not allowed."

Warwick settled her in the crook of his arm, tickling her tummy lightly, and she settled immediately, burbling and finger-tip drumming. "She seems a lot better than yesterday."

"Yeah, I was going to thank you for that! Great tip on dropping the Lasix. She's been a lot more easy-going. Oh – I should make introductions. Little Madam is Carianne, but I tend to call her Pickle. The big fella is Theo – he's Jan's boy. And the little fella is Matty―"

"Yeti!"

"Who is not a Yeti, whatever he would have you believe. He's a mate's son. His wife's got gastroenteritis, so we're just having him overnight so she can get a bit of decent rest."

Warwick's eyes widened. "How do you deal with all three of them?"

"With help! You're going to earn your keep this evening, as are the others, when they turn up. But not without some hospitality. Want a Pepsi, or something?"

Warwick thought lovingly of a cup of tea and asked for one, wondering whether Denny was wesen as well as the Lieutenant. And if so, which kind? He must be something… surely? He couldn't imagine a pure human being adopted into a Koninglowen pride, however laid back the Lieutenant seemed. Well, until he'd grabbed Nick off the floor like picking up a marshmallow and stalked off down the corridor with him - then he looked mad enough to be a Koninglowen. Denny didn't smell like Lowen. Actually, he didn't smell of anything except a generous amount of body spray. Denny was back in a few moments, and took the baby so Warwick could drink his tea. She lay in his lap and tried a drumming routine against his gut, which Denny absently fended off with his fingertips.

"Who are 'the others'?"

"Uh… friends. We're sort of having a Nick-summit. One of his mates is a bit worried about him so it's a catch-up and cheer-up session."

Warwick smiled sadly. "That sounds nice. Will I get sent to bed while all this is going on?"

"Is this an emo thing? Deriving the most dismal scenario out of any given conversation? Don't be daft."

"It's not that daft," Warwick said stiffly. "I've spent most of my life being packed off to bed – or the lab – while the important conversations have taken place."

"Well, this evening isn't most of your life, is it? Lighten up, son. Or I'll make you do the Moo Moo Meadows course against Theo, using the Donkey Kong on the 50cc motorbike."

Warwick watched Theo navigate Baby Mario round a flawless yet narrow bend over a virtual ravine at about 120mph. Not a competitor he'd go up against lightly – despite his international Yoshi's Island platform record. "Um… no thanks. And I wasn't doing an emo 'thing'. I just presumed that you'd all be talking 'Grimm'. Privately."

"Ah… so you know about Nick."

"Well.. yeah! And I know that Jan's a Koninglowen. And presumably you know I'm a Geier…"

"Well, I do now. All I know, mate, is that you've had a shitty time and need a 'parent' around until Jan gets back. He doesn't talk about his cases. Wouldn't be right. I'm not a cop."

Warwick frowned. "Weren't you going for a cop job yesterday?"

"It's civilian. I'm a tactical officer, coordinating fire, police and ambulance on the ground during an incident. It's not police work. Anyway, you seem a sensible kid. You might have some ideas on keeping Nick's various Grimmptoms under control. "

"I'm a doctor on paper. And you still refer to me as a 'kid'."

Denny rolled his eyes. "Yeah… that's because you are a kid. It's not a crime, you know. Clearly you're a lot smarter than the average Jagerbar, but there's more to life than being smart, isn't there? Like how you actually feel about things. And people."

Warwick smarted. It wasn't Denny being trolled through medical studies when he was 12, with no classmates. "You've no idea what it's like going through accelerated learning."

Unexpectedly, Denny burst out laughing. "Do I not? It's a sodding nightmare! Ok … first example. Day three, Oxford University. 14 years old, led from coffee bar to pub by a bunch of 18 year olds instead of meeting my mum at the gates of the Orangery, as promised…."

X x X

Wu looked up at Jan as he patrolled Warrington over for booking, and he must have had a King-strop expression on his face because his old friend looked startled. He eased his temper down a notch.

"I'm sorry to glare. Attempted child abduction," Jan reported, handing Warrington over, ignoring the increasingly looming presence of the Area Commandant next to Renard, who'd walked over, hands in pockets, as ever. "Potential illegal possession of a fire-arm. Firing on a police officer."

Warrington glanced up at him desperately. "I need to talk to you."

"I'm afraid that's not going to happen. Your 'note of concern' about my lifestyle has been duly noted by IA. It would be completely against protocol for me to conduct your interrogation."

Renard glanced at Livvy, who was about to dive back off to her desk. "What do you have on?"

"A little discussion with the three frat kids who know our latest deceased. Not something that'll help the case if we defer it."

Renard nodded at Jan. "Fine, Andersen. I'll talk to Warrington. Vergeer, you can observe."

"What if I drop it? The IA tip?"

Jan was genuinely curious. "And why would you do that?"

"I'll explain. Privately." The man's expression of appeal was strangely intense in a way that Jan had never come across before. "Please? You've seen my son for yourself. There are things I can't… explain to other people."

Jan rubbed the back of his neck wearily and caught Renard's eye, who nodded discreetly. Fine. So he'd do it. After a long, cold drink. "Interrogation 4 please John, once booked."

"No problem," Wu murmured, and led the man off. There was no fight, no indignation.

"How is your detective?" The Commandant asked suddenly. "For a guy on 'light duties', he took quite a thump to the floorboards."

Jan gritted his teeth. "He's fine, thank you. He fell asleep."

"On his feet?"

"He has that tendency," Jan replied, then cleared his throat. "Incidentally, when I got out there, the young man checking him over had already had the chance to be quite thorough, and move him into recovery. So he must have collapsed a good minute before you saw fit to draw it to my attention. With respects, my detectives are not pawns in senior staff discussions about welfare. Next time you see an officer fall down, please have the goodness to act immediately and not save your observation for a conversational point-scoring exercise. He might have been ill. Good day, Sir."

Jan caught Renard's warning glance as he strode out of the room. Fully aware he'd overstepped the mark and not really giving a blue, flying Reinigen's arse about it, Jan got a bottle of cold water from the drinks machine, took a long, refreshing swig, and made his way to interrogation 4, stopping only to grab Nick's copy of the case notes from his pedestal with his spare key. Livvy caught his arm lightly.

"You ok?"

He shot her a smile. Sweet of her to ask. "I'll be fine. Thank you." And then remembered she was a temporarily partnerless rookie, in theory, and hopped a couple of steps back to her. "What's your plan with the frat boys?"

"Michael Sansom was their friend – according to Nick. I thought about strumming their guilt strings."

Jan approved. "Good move. Give me a shout if you need any help. Feel free to interrupt me, if you need to."

When he got to Interrogation 4, Warrington was already installed, pale and apprehensive. Jan sat. "I presume there are things you need to say that can't go on record."

"You're a King Pride," Warrington mumbled. "You could've taken me to pieces downstairs. Why didn't you?"

"I'm a cop. Taking people to pieces isn't really in my job description."

"And you're working with a Grimm."

"I'm working with two highly expert, intuitive profilers, neither of whom I want to see shot at. Whatever else they happen to be is beside the point. Not that I'm displeased, but why this sudden cooperation? You must know that two counts of child abduction carries a radical penalty."

"Two counts?"

Jan raised his brows. "Is Blake and Irvine's attempt to grab Warwick last night not ringing any bells?"

"That wasn't me! It was Presley! He's got some ridiculous… cultish influence over my son. Blake's competitive. He seems to think that changing his DNA is going to make him some kind of god on the sports field, like that's the be-all-and-end-all of life." Warrington woged, half lowen, only, from the lack of facial re-alignment, and it took him a moment of clutching his head between his hands before he was ready to go on.

Jan unscrewed his bottle of water and pushed it towards Warrington, giving him a chance to recover himself. "You're half human," he observed lightly. "Blake's full lowen."

"Blake's… not mine. Well, of course he is, he's my son. I love him. This whole IA thing was just a distraction to get you off his case. I was expecting you to be… different. But no, Blake's not biologically mine. My wife had an affair." Warrington pulled a hand across his face, wiping the sweat off. "Tonight was about ransom. I grabbed Presley's kid to get him to cut my kid loose from this insane venture he's got going on. And maybe even get my menaces back."

Jan leant forward. Finally, an indictable admission. "The money you've been feeding to the Presleys wasn't about funding research?"

"To begin with. It was an amicable arrangement. I don't know how this works for other people, but for me, the stress-wogeing is getting worse with age. Presley told me that his son was coming very close to coming up with something that could manage that better."

"By diminishing your human half? Unfortunately, Warwick's found that that's not possible. At least not after gestation. And not very successful beforehand." Jan almost felt pity for the man. Having seen the effects on Denny, who was a good decade younger than Warrington, he could understand the desperation.

"Yeah. But I know Mike Sansom well. Mike works in the same lab as Presley's kid, Warwick. He was quietly keeping an eye on what Warwick was doing because it seemed way out of line with his basic parahuman dissertation project plan. And he's just a kid, you know? Mike's no power mentor, but he's a few years older. He knows what pressure looks like. Anyway, he noticed that Warwick was getting cold feet, losing interest – whatever. So I stopped the funding."

"What persuaded you to continue?"

"Presley's a low-rate shit. But he knows other people, new people, who are quite keen to keep a record of half-humans to test future serums on, as and when something is developed. The rest of the money was just about keeping my name off that list."

"What about Stark?"

"I think Stark's still under the impression that some vial of gunk is going to turn him into you. Good luck to him." Warrington swallowed. "Look – I want to see Presley sent down, but this can't be dealt with in court, or within the law. This is the kind of situation that what the Royals are supposed to deal with. There's supposed to be a Prince in Portland – where is he right now?"

Jan took a deep breath. Warrington had a point about wesen issues existing outside the law and the need to have some kind of wesen ruling system that worked. A benign one. The CCTV footage he'd seen of Presley would be useless in court. While it incontrovertibly showed him murdering Mike Sansom, he did so while in Geier form. Not something he could present to the DA as evidence. At least with Warrington's testimony, they were finally getting somewhere, albeit leaving the Warringtons – Blake included – in a very vulnerable place. "If I were you, I'd put your money on the Laufer, rather than the Royals."

"The Laufer? Good god – trust them? You trying to get me killed?"

"I believe them to be the lesser of two evils. I have…other connections. I'll make sure your family is taken care of." Jan reached for his tape recorder. "I'll give you a few moments to compose a statement that can be used in court. As for the rest… I'll have to apply a little ingenuity." But there was a gap in the background to all this. "You say Presley himself arranged the grab on Warwick last night. Why would he have frat boys attempt to abduct his own son?"

Warrington looked harassed. "God knows. Maybe he was concerned that Warwick would be brave enough to tell someone the whole story – existence of wesen and all. He's a strange kid, but he's got guts. I'll give him that."

After a few hours of milder cross examination, Jan came away from the room with useable evidence, but now fully understanding the Captain's need to start from scratch with laufer intelligence. After the tape had been turned off, he could resist his curiosity no longer and raised the issue of rumours circulating about his manufacture of Siegbarste gift, particularly as he'd recognised the greasy orange stain in the bag that had been found on Sansom's body. Warrington hadn't denied it. In fact, Gift production was Sansom's own discreet little project. They both knew a good man that they wanted to protect. But the only way to find an antidote, was to produce it first.

In the same way that detectives had to follow through every possible lead rising from a red herring, like focussing on Warrington and Stark because of a young boy's natural assumption that his parents weren't in the criminal centre of things, Renard's inherited intelligence had no meaning without context. It suddenly became infinitely far more important that he, Renard and Nick found a way to work together properly: Renard running intelligence and strategy; him tactical control; Nick doing the enforcing. And they had to do it in a way that didn't draw attention to Nick's Grimm duties. Or other hair-raising elements of Nick's physical weirdnesses, come to that.

Just to make absolutely sure that Presley had done a full woge on the CCTV – visible to humans – he pitched a hissy fit about the tape jamming in the machine, and asked Wu to take a look. Wu made mild comments about his total technological ineptitude, and some wild comments about the really horrible masks people bought these days to commit crimes in.

With the full woge confirmed, Jan raised an APB on David Presley on the grounds of his confession from Warrington, and found that it had already been done by Livvy, who was typing with comical focus into her report software. It seemed that she'd had a productive session with the Reinigen frat boys, one way or the other. He grabbed a chair, spun the back to face him and wheeled over to her desk, speaking quietly. "You called an APB?"

She looked alarmed. "God – I should've cleared that with you first!"

"Traditionally, yes, but I've just tried to do the same, so it's moot. What did you find?"

"They're clear for the hazing – no idea what happened to Henry Morecombe – but they did shed some light on Mike Sansom. Warwick's father put pressure on him to keep tabs on his lab progress. He became uncomfortable with the situation, and then saw him breaking into the lab when his progress reports became less detailed. I think he respected Warwick's desire to step away from things. There were unlabelled, unprocessed blood samples in Warwick's lock-up area – which isn't in the lab. The break-in spooked him. Mike was trying to get rid of the samples, assuming that they'd been overlooked for a reason, and protect his own stuff. He'd called his friends to let them know where he was going when he was intercepted by Presley."

Jan was touched by her slightly sad smile. "It's not a nice story for Warwick is it, Livs?"

"We don't have to tell him tonight, do we?"

"I've already suggested that to Nick, don't worry. And the APB's out now. I'm on call. They'll call me back if they find him. You nearly ready to go?"

She saved her document, shut down, and he went to clear up his desk. After a few abortive calls and total failure to order any cabs, he called Denny, who agreed to come pick them up. She approached with her coat and he found himself abruptly sitting again. She gave him a small, embarrassed smile. "Sir, you can't keep finding solid obstacles to hide behind every time we talk. I'm not going to kick you again."

He burst out laughing, feeling the blush spread. It was a fair call. "It's sub-conscious, I promise you."

X x X

Nick pinged out of Denny's bed and trotted down the stairs, feeling a new man. He was pleased to see Warwick playing Mario Kart with Theo, Matty wedged between his legs as they took the sharp bends together. Denny was back in the kitchen with Carianne and a Pepsi, having to defend himself from a weeny-fisted wallop every time he took a sip. Denny flashed a grin at him as he appeared in the hallway, pointed at Warwick's turned back and seemed about to mouth something cheerful when the doorbell rang. Whatever it was could wait, apparently.

Denny swung the door open to admit Hank, Rosalee and Monroe. "In you flock…Grab seats – drinks and nibblies on coffee table, yada yada yada…"

Nick was outpaced en route to the door by Theo, who was following his 'new' tradition of refusing entry to the house until all visitors properly admired the outfit of the day. He'd changed into his black combats and thermal top (with contrast neon green stitching at shoulders and wrists), wrap-around shades, and a random red cloak and mask. Nick grinned. He did look very cool – even with the cloak and mask.

Monroe led the honours, covering his face with mock anguish, pulling Rosalee against his chest to protect her eyes. "Dude! God! I can't come any closer! The coolness of your garb – it's just too much!"

"So… what am I?"

Monroe hazarded a guess. "Um… superhero god?"

Nick and Hank dropped to their knees in an eastern arm-waving grovel, chanting "Alaam Alaam!"

"No! I'm not a god." Theo rolled his eyes. "I'm just a superhero."

"False alaarm! false alaarm!" they amended, still arm-waving, and clambered giggling to their feet.

Warwick grinned at him in surprise from across the kitchen, where he'd suddenly chosen to hide himself, it seemed, during this influx of people. He looked happy enough, though. Nick decided to give the kid a few minutes to get used to all the people in the house and introduce himself in his own time. As it happened, Hank went over to him with a beer and chatted to him a few minutes. Feeling ok about leaving the kid to his own devices for a few minutes, he slumped into the armchair with a beer. Rosalee had already kicked her shoes off and had Theo in her lap, while Monroe was coping with a bouncy Matty Yeti-ing away on his.

Nick tapped Theo on the shoulder for conversation, feeling a little mean about slouching in earlier and going straight upstairs to sleep. "How was school?"

"Cool! Today we mostly did interrupting volcanoes."

They all chuckled, but as ever, Monroe couldn't help himself with the auto-correct. "I think that's probably erupting volcanoes, little man."

Nick snickered. "I think a volcano blowing up mid-sentence would probably put me off my stride!"

"I'm sure Vesuvius shattered a few Pompeiian conversations in her time." Denny raised the pitch of his voice to a fish-wife's falsetto. "'I'm telling you, Caecilius, I didn't sleep with the slave, I slept with the― BOOM!" Halfway through his domestic-riot-sabotaged-by-volcano pantomime, his phone went and he deposited Carianne on Nick's lap before trotting off into the hallway to answer.

Nick put his feet up on the coffee table, pressed his legs together and popped her on her back with her feet resting on his gut. She swung her arms cheerfully at him and then stuck her foot in her mouth. He blinked. Pretty bendy! "Is that a new trick?" She beamed gummily at him from around her toes and reached for his fingertips. He grinned and supplied them, but had to withdraw quite quickly when it became apparent that she intended to use his help to shove her foot further down her throat. Despite Carrie's deadly sense of fun, he felt more relaxed than he had in weeks, and rested back a little, just watching the hubbub going on around him.

Hank and Warwick had made their way through from the kitchen to sit on the floor on the other side of the coffee table, quietly debating whether it was likely that Pierce Brosnan could've out-driven a pyroclastic cloud in Dante's Peak. Theo was explaining lava in all its varieties, fascinating his audience, more because of his complete obsessive glee in educating all of them than the quality of his reportage. He explained that there was high lava, low lava, fast lava, noisy lava, and wide lava. Rosalie and Monroe listened agog, alternating their shared glances between soppy happiness that small people were coming their way, and utter terror that they would have to remain smarter than their child at all times.

Matty had got down from Monroe's lap and was cross-country skiing across the lounge in his size 13 shoes. Denny nearly fell over Matty as he walked back in, finishing off his conversation with Jan. "Yeah… alright, we'll order now. Nah, I've only had a Pepsi… I'll come and pick you up. No problem. Oh, she's coming too? Groovy. You alright, mate? Your voice is a bit…. Fine. See you in ten…"

Nick caught Denny's eye as he hung up. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah – think so. Sounds like Jan's had a rather heavy day, one way or the other. I'm just going to nip over and pick him and Livvy up. Will these little horrors be okay with you guys for a while?"

Nick frowned. "He's too sick to drive?"

"Nah, no worries. He just didn't have the car with him today."

Monroe blinked. "What's with his voice?"

Denny looked exasperated. "What's the drama, folks? The bloke's got a sore throat. Probably from roaring too much, the silly sod. There was the boys he arrested last night, who apparently needed to be yelled at, and the three nights in a row beforehand when he scared the dinner out of the local wildlife because the wifi wouldn't connect…"

Nick grinned: the only times he'd ever seen his mentor flip out as a rookie was when he was trying to get a VHS set to 'talk to' a recording DVD player so that they could transfer evidence. Furniture had nearly been destroyed by the time he had gone for some technical help. It was good to know that some things didn't really change. He was startled from his reverie by Denny throwing a pizza menu at him and clapping a pad with pen by his side.

"Right… Hank, orderly bloke, you're in charge of making the Pizza call. For our best possible chance of getting what we actually ask for, here's the list. Make choice, write clearly, initial your order and indicate any unexpected toppings with an underline."

Nick scribbled down 'American, Medium. Jalepenos. NB.' "What's an unexpected topping?"

"Anything not included in the standard price of the pizza that complicates the order. Like, mushroom on your Hawaiian, that sort of thing."

"Not mountain boot, or roast swan, then?"

"Jesus, Monroe. I'm never ordering from your local." Denny grabbed the pad, scrawled 'Four seasons NO F-ING CHEESE (D). Margheritas, 2 x mini (T&M)'. Napolitan. Peppers. (L)', and passed it on. The board went round the room until it got to Warwick on Nick's right, who blinked at the force with which Denny had driven his instructions almost through the paper.

"Got something against cheese?" he asked timidly.

"Nope – love the stuff. It just doesn't like me very much. Or milk. Or yoghurt. Or anything else that I would happily eat from dawn till dusk, left to my own devices. Siegbarstes and calcium do not mix." Denny huffed and got to his feet, swinging a leather jacket on. "Right – back in twenty."

Nick met Warwick's stunned gaze as Denny closed the door behind him. He smiled slightly, answering his question silently. Yes, he's Siegbarste. Then made the introductions round the room, suddenly remembering that, apart from the little ones, who he'd clearly befriended, the only person that Warwick knew was Hank.

"Who's Livvy?" Rosalee asked, reaching for a bunch of peanuts and closing her fist round them possessively as Monroe tried to confiscate them. "Hey – I'm not allergic! You're not allergic! Baby will be fine!"

"Livvy – Olivia – is my temporary partner," Nick explained. "While Hank's on study leave."

Monroe pulled a cautious face. "Not to be unwelcoming, but… won't that make for unnatural conversation? It's just that we're all… wesen, and we're here to discuss the general welfare of the Grimm―"

"She knows I'm a Grimm," Nick said quietly. "Part of the reason she's coming this evening, so we get to know each other a little more."

"Dude! How the hell did that happen so fast? You get outed?"

Nick laughed. "You could say that. I was interviewing Warwick's mom, she woged, we made eye-contact, and then she did the Grimm-scream, as people do." He noted Warwick's blush and gave him a reassuring clap on the shoulder.

Monroe shrugged. "So she's wesen? If she is, and you get on ok… that could work. Couldn't it?"

"Trust me," Hank muttered. "I watched Nick try to educate Livvy for like … an hour… on what 'wesen' were. She's not wesen."

Monroe scratched his head. "How did she react? To the Grimm-scream, I mean?"

Nick actually chuckled, thinking back on it. "Livvy told her to get a grip."

Hank burst out laughing and picked up his phone to go make the pizza call. "Why can I so clearly see her doing that?"

"Monroe – does the term 'Inuitiv' mean anything to you?"

"Sure. It's like, um… an umbrella term for beings that can see wesen, that aren't wesen. Grimms account for a very, very large proportion of those."

"Jan seems to think that Livvy comes from the other proportion. He mentioned an…" Nick struggled to get his tongue round the syllables. "An All-wissen-din?"

Monroe stared. Then widened his stare. And just as Nick thought he was really pushing the envelope on the staring, he supplemented the bug-eyed look with his what-the-hell open-palmed fidget and concluded with a jaw-drop. "She's an Allwissendin? An…Andersen?"

"How did you know her surname?"

"She's an Andersen called Andersen?"

"Eddie! Focus! What the hell's an Andersen?"

Monroe didn't focus. His face broke into a broad grin and he lapsed back into his seat, rubbing his hands with unwelcome relish. "Oh my… God. This is so cool! How do you guys get on?"

"Variably," Nick admitted. "She's a little unpredictable. One minute she's wiser than six sages all bunched together, the next minute she's like a teenager. All I know is that she'd heard of Grimms, and that we didn't have good press."

"Nothing new there, sweetie," Rosalee chimed in.

"But I'm not talking about a fear reaction. I'm talking really insulting bad press. According to her inherited information, Grimms are paranoid, emotionally stunted. 'Slow'. It's a miracle we re-produce, blah blah." Nick retrieved a hand from Carianne to swig on his beer and glared at Monroe as he fell about laughing. "This doesn't seem to come as a surprise to you."

"There was no love lost between the brothers Grimm and Hans Christian Andersen, either," Monroe chuckled. "Not on a philosophical level at least, anyway. I'll fill you in when she gets here. Save me repeating everything."

"So she's a descendent of…." It finally clicked for Nick, and he groaned. He'd just got his head around the god-knows-how-many wesen featured in the Grimm's own memoires – now it looked like he had to read a bunch of fairy tales he'd forgotten since his childhood to get his head around what Livvy was seeing when she looked at people. The only HCA story he could remember of the top of his head was the Ugly Duckling.

Not that either of the little ones were ugly – far, far from it – but thinking of the ugly duckling made him think of little people, Matty and Theo, and he realised he hadn't heard their voices for a little while. He looked around the lounge and kitchen for them, then they all heard a thud from upstairs, followed by a silence and a colossal howl. Nick clutched Carianne to his chest and pelted off up the stairs, closely followed by Monroe and Hank – now off the phone - Rosalee hovering nervously at the bottom. Theo was on his side on the floor, next to Rosalee's shoes, with that awful expression of total infant dejection and shock on his face, caught between cries, face red, tears welling, mouth turned majestically downwards. In a slight panic, Nick handed Carianne to Hank, who took her in an even bigger panic, then Nick picked up Theo and carried him down the stairs. Hank and Monroe followed, carrying Carriane and Matty respectively.

It took a fair while for Theo to settle down, while Warwick lightly checked him over. Nick kept up the supply of quiet cuddles until Theo was closer to being able to speak.

"Hey little buddy, what happened?"

"Shoes!" This information from Matty, who pointed accusingly up the stairs, via Monroe's left nostril.

Nick gave Theo a light squeeze and wiped tears off his cheeks with his sleeve. "You fell out of Rosalee's shoes?"

Theo fought for breath between sobs. "W-Why are women's s-shoes so dangerous?"

"We ask ourselves that question every day, little man," Hank assured gravely. "Amongst others."

Rosalee pulled a face, retrieved her shoes from upstairs and indicated the one-inch heel. "They're hardly sky-scrapers, guys!"

"DADDY!"

Nick pulled a face. "Daddy will be home soon, Theo―" then he saw Jan looming over them. "Oh, literally Daddy. Ok, passing you over… That was quick!"

"Denny was driving," Jan explained, and took Theo up in his arms soothingly. "Oké meneertje. Shhh… Het is oké! Je hebt met haar schoenen gespeeld, hé?"

Nick forgot about Jan's tendency to plunge back into Dutch when his little ones were hurt. But it worked. After a moment, Theo unpeeled his little arms from round Jan's neck, sniffling indignantly. Jan sneakily claimed the armchair, and both his kids, Carianne in one arm, and Theo on his lap. He'd looked really tired taking them both, but having them both tugging for his attention seemed to re-energise him instantly. Nick couldn't help smiling. A few years back, he could never imagine Jan – permanently (and politely) having to peel female witnesses and other women off him – being so domesticated. Denny supervised the checking of the pizza at the doorway as it arrived – early – and sent the quaking delivery boy away with a tip once assured that his pizza was cheese-free. The boxes were laid out on the coffee table and opened, and then there was a brief and undignified scramble for the remaining sofa places, won by Rosalee (well, she was not really competing), Monroe, Denny, and – suddenly on top of him – Livvy.

"Ow! Bloody hell, woman!" Denny tried and failed to dislodge her, making Nick chuckle.

"I wouldn't bother, Denny. I've seen her Jitsu pins. They're effective."

"You're taking up a disproportionate width on the couch!"

"Well ask me to move up, then! Don't just do a reverse plunge from a three foot drop!"

Theo had recovered himself sufficiently enough to be nosy. "Is she your girlfriend?"

"No!" Livvy and Denny chorused, Denny unsuccessfully trying to move her.

"My girlfriend sits on me," Theo reported mournfully.

Jan gave his son a light poke. "Please tell me this is the same girlfriend as the girl that snogged you a couple of days ago? I'm not going to get some father trying to hit me at the school gates over your rampant, infant magnetism?"

"No, this is Georgia." Theo sounded thoroughly depressed. "She sits on me all the time without warning me. It's what girlfriends do."

"Who told you that?" Jan asked.

"No one told me exactly," Theo considered, "But I remember Denny saying that Nick's girlfriend sat on him from a great height."

Livvy was grumpily getting up when Denny snatched her back down and enforced her human shield position on top of him by wrapping his arms round her waist. Nick noted that she looked far from unhappy about this. While Jan and Rosalee face-palmed and Monroe and Hank shared low 'busted' mumblings and looked at different places on the carpet, Nick searched for Denny's gaze, which was hidden firmly behind Livvy.

"Stay there. Good girl."

"She sha― sat on me from a great height?" Nick repeated quietly. "Do you know something I don't? Because I was under the impression that she'd just decided to move without leaving any contact details."

Denny peeked apologetically from his hiding place. "Um… you might say that's the same thing. Sorry you had to hear certain tiny people blurting that I'd said that…but… it's nothing I haven't said to your face, is it?"

Nick shrugged, not knowing quite what to say, for a moment. He had a point. It was inevitable that his friends would discuss him. They all discussed each other, to a point. And nothing had been said that Denny wouldn't tell him straight up… it was just a bit of a shock to be reminded that he still missed Juliette, just as he thought he was coming to terms with the end of an era. Clearly not quite yet, then. "Don't worry about it," he mumbled. "I'll just get another beer."

"Nick…"

"Den – it's alright." And it was. He just fancied a drink before they got into anything that was properly mind-bending with Livvy. He grabbed a large beer and unbent from the fridge with a violent startle to find Jan standing next to the open door. "Crap!"

"Pass the fish while you're in there, will you? White packet, bottom drawer."

Nick fumbled for it and passed it out. "No pizza for you?"

"I might have a slice if there's one left over." Jan whipped out frying and sauce pans and a chopping board and started preparing his own meal at dizzying speed. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," Nick reflected. "I needed the sleep, I think."

"You think?"

He cringed and tried for a conciliatory grin. "I'll go to bed early tonight too, I promise."

Jan shot him a sideways look and dug the fish out of the bag. "Good."

"I'm meeting Mrs Presley tomorrow morning. She's agreed to cooperate."

"That is good news. Because we have an APB out on her husband. Don't be surprised if she's back at the precinct offering to cooperate a little earlier – depending on the quality of her relationship with her husband, of course." Jan looked over his shoulder to check that Warwick's ears were otherwise engaged. "The CCTV footage was useless, of course – full woge – but we've got a statement from John Warrington that's going to put him behind bars for a considerable time. What time's she coming into the precinct?"

Nick swigged his beer. "She's meeting me on Freemont Bridge. At eight."

"Nick, just bend over this fish a moment for me, will you?"

He did, a little confused as to why a fish needed such close supervision. As he leant over, Jan flicked the mackerel up and back by the tail and Nick was assaulted by a faceful of smelly, wet pain that was so sudden that he hit the deck, completely bewildered. "What… what…?"

"Jan! God – that was rather hard!" Denny called from the front room.

Jan mused upon the mackerel, thoughtfully. It hung at a U-bend from his finger-tips. "You're right. It'll take hours to fillet that. Pizza it is."

Nick pulled himself up to his feet, waiting for his eyes to uncross. "Yeah – let's all lament the already-dead mackerel. What the hell was that for?"

"Hmmmm.. let's see. Ignoring the half-day ruling. There was as reason for that, Nick, as you found. Running unarmed into gunfire. Twice. Arranging to meet the wife of a known lunatic on a bridge, without backup… I did promise you a slap round the face with a cold fish if you kept infringing the light duty rule, and well… there it is."

Nick rubbed his face. "That was… years ago!"

"Three days, Nick."

"And I thought it was a figure of speech!"

"Did you?" Jan gave him a genuinely friendly smile, but the glimmer of intent in his eyes was slightly sinister. "Well, hear this. If you want to go fucking around with any more of my instructions, I'll confiscate your anti-pheromone pills, strip you, and tie you under the mistletoe at Sears. Is that understood?"

Nick gulped. "You would… wouldn't you?"

"Absolutely. But you're off light duties – clearly that's about as useful a policy as a chocolate teapot. We'll work something else out long term, and talk backup cover in the morning. I'm in the mood for a night off."

"Ok." Nick rinsed his face under the tap and followed giddily, just glad that he hadn't spilled all his beer. He was just as keen to work something out long term as Jan: part of him was desperate to tell the Captain what he could do, now that he was in no-secrets mode. How, exactly, he had no idea. Hey, you know all those closed cases? Well, I have this weird instinct… I see animals. Yes. Very smooth. But he couldn't keep going as he was – it was ridiculous. And it was no more fair on Jan in half-way house than it was on him, both of them having to hide everything all the time. Add Hank into the mix when he got promoted – because he would – and it would turn into one big Grim/m nightmare.

They had to work something out. Besides, he didn't fancy any more fish-slaps.

X x X

"Sean! Thank you for meeting me early." Remus trotted out of departures, his hand outstretched. "Apologies for completely fucking up my flight calculations, but I was tired. 11 hour flights, 9 hour time differences… it was doing my head in."

"It's fine," Sean said stiffly, having dropped everything and done 80 getting to the airport. "How was your flight?"

"Terrible. Many children, regrettably full of sugar and nowhere to run to. But that is flights for you, and thank you for asking!"

Sean nodded and swept across the concourse, leading Remus to the car. They had much to discuss. Like the fact that he had no contingency plan for being rejected by the Grimm. That he had no idea what he would do long term if Nick couldn't let the water flow under the bridge, and his companions chose to stand by him, freezing him out. That would be a less pleasant part of his brief with Remus, but it had to be covered. "I take it from your earlier arrival time that we could discuss plans tonight?"

"Hell, no. I may have a useless mental timetable calculator, but it was still an 11-hour flight. I have slightly modified my evening plan to include two whiskies, but otherwise my straight-to-bed policy still stands."

Sean cursed inwardly. God he needed to have that conversation – get a plan in place. Having had a pretty good day with both making amends with Miller in the morning and working well with Jan during the day, it wasn't a connection he was prepared to lose. Not on a strategic basis. And now, not on a personal basis, either. He sighed, and walked a little faster, concealing his disappointment.

"How do you make your coat do that?"

Sean looked down at the lesser of his several trenches and frowned. "Excuse me?"

"When you move, you swoosh. You do not trip yourself up and nearly get killed. If I wear a coat that long, it develops a vendetta against my knees."

"It's just the way I wear them, Remus."

"Is it a Royal thing? To properly rule, first you must swoosh?"

"Get in the car!" Sean was still smiling as he pulled out of the terminal. "Why the hell do I put up with you?"

X x X

It eventually took three of them to get the little people to bed: Rosalee took Carianne upstairs while Denny and Jan wrestled with Matty and Theo. Nick picked himself up off the floor by the couch and sat on it, next to Livvy. He was just wondering how to bring up that difficult topic, 'so, you're an Andersen', when in true form, she did it for him.

"I told my mom that you'd seen me go pink when I was mad. I didn't know I did that, you see. She asked me if you turned blue when I made you mad."

Nick was curious. "Do I?"

"No. Though I notice that your eyes take on this sort of… silver steely gleam when you're pissed."

"What does the… lack-of-blueness prove?"

"Well it's moot now, because I know you're a Grimm, but at the time, mom said 'he's the other thing – not an allwissender – stay away."

"The 'other thing' being a Grimm, right?" Monroe offered. "That sounds pretty typical of the one-time Andersen-Grimm relations."

"They sound smooth." Hank chuckled into his beer.

Monroe took a deep breath. "Look at it this way – the brothers Grimm and HCA were just… poster boys, if you like, for their species. But it all got a little competitive. I'm sure they never even met in real life, but they were more than likely aware of what each other was in the background, and they would not leave their publishers alone. On the one hand, you had the Grimms – born into poverty, raised to be librarians, obsessed with folklore, and trying to weave the rich thread of wesen existence into tales of warning. Then you have Hans, stinking rich, writing fluffy tales, and virtually being funded by the Danish Royalty. The literal human Royalty, that is – Friederick, or Frederick, or whatever. This did not make for a mutually respectful relationship."

"Andersen tales are not fluffy."

Nick and Rosalee bit back grins. Nick baited her, seeing the first hint of pink blooming around her ears. "What do you call them?"

"They are a softened view of the troubles that humans have had with basic emotions since the dawn of time. The little Mermaid – the dangers of wanting to be something desperately different. The Emperor's New Clothes – the dangers of being blinded by the need for the approval of others―"

Hank spluttered. "I think you may be reading too much into that. I always thought of that particular story as 'don't be a gullible fricking fool.' Seriously – being told that naked is the new black?"

"Some lessons never die," Livvy pointed out. "My mom has just made an insane amount of money bringing the princess and the pea into the 21st century."

Rosalee sat as upright as her bump would allow, driving an elbow suddenly into Nick's ribs. "Oh, sorry honey. Your mom is Tuvé Andersen? Dr Tuvé Andersen?"

"I'm afraid so. Esteemed authoress of 'High Maintenance women and the men that love them."

Everyone looked at Hank.

"Hey! They weren't all high maintenance, alright? I learnt from some of my experiences…"

"I love that book!" Rosalee squealed. "Oh my God – it taught me so much about the wisdom of hiding my insane female demands."

"Um… really?"

Nick laughed at the venomous look Rosalee shot Monroe. "Isn't that the story where the princess lies on top of about 100 mattresses and can still feel a pea underneath them? And the Prince goes 'my god she's sensitive, I must marry her?'"

Livvy nodded proudly. "That's the one."

Nick stared. "It's an insane story! What rational girl would consent to going to sleep on something likely to topple over in the middle of the night? And why would a guy date her?"

"There's no romance in some people," Denny observed sadly, re-joining them at the pizza table and grabbing a warm beer. "It's not a health and safety story, it's about wanting to be with someone who notices everything."

Livvy beamed warmly upon the half-Siegbarste. "Totally right." Then glared at Nick. "At least there's an emotional message there, about improving the condition of the soul. What does little Red Riding Hood teach us? 'stick to the paths, you moron'."

Monroe chuckled stiffly. "No, actually, the message is that you can't take people at face value, for there may be a dangerous creature beneath. Like a big bad wolf."

"Right. A big bad wolf, rendered invisible by an old lady's clothing."

Nick intervened. "Remember what I was trying to tell you about wesen? All the creatures in the Grimm tales are based on wesen. The Big Bad Wolf is a fictionalisation of people like Monroe. Blutbad."

Nick noticed Warwick still following the conversation: silent, but happy. Intrigued.

"Fierce, furious and dangerous," Monroe added. "But I'm wieder, which is effectively 'tame', if you like."

"You're a Blutbad?" Livvy looked interested all of a sudden. "So under all that flannel is a wolf?"

"He's only visible when he does a full woge," Hank explained. "And then it's damn scary, I'm telling you. He did it for me for demonstration and I must have cleared six feet off the back of my chair."

"And this is what the lady in the interrogation did?"

"My mom," Warwick said pointedly.

"Sorry. Your mom did the woge thing in interrogation." She glanced over at Nick. "How do you know if they're doing a full, or half, or… whatever?"

"Hank's usually my benchmark," Nick admitted. "If Hank can't see it, it's a half. If he can, it's full woge. Any human can see it."

Livvy looked uncertain, all of a sudden, and Nick gave her a light nudge. "You count as 'human', by the way."

"Oh, good. Well, I'm not sure what I saw, so… can someone do an example?"

Monroe rolled his eyes. Ok. Here's the half.

Nick felt Livvy's hand slip into his and he gave it a small squeeze as Monroe shifted quietly, and then back to human. "That was half."

"I didn't see anything!"

"Ok – so you can't see what a Grimm sees," Denny pointed out. "Good to know this, for reference purposes. Full woge now. But don't worry – Monroe's wieder, remember?"

"Wait – wait… I'm just grabbing pizza. In case I get scared."

"Sure," Monroe muttered. "The pizza will afford you total protection. Anyway, this is what you will have seen if she did a full woge."

Monroe shifted – not into full alpha, but certainly into the form that scared the living crap out of most creatures, including Nick first time he'd seen it, and certainly – from Hank's expression – bringing some scary memories back to the surface. Nick glanced sideways at Livvy, who was a little pale, but was nibbling thoughtfully on her pizza. Silence fell in the room while they awaited her verdict.

"Hmmm… no. she didn't look like that at all. More blue, and bony."

"Excuse me." Denny stumbled to the back door, laughing into his fist as Monroe gaped at her.

Nick gaped. "Doesn't anything rattle your cage?"

"Sure it does. You've seen that yourself!" Livvy looked hurt for a moment. "Loneliness, being misunderstood – all that. That scares me. But Monroe's not giving off an air of menace. It's because you're a wiener, right?"

"Back soon!" Hank went to join Denny outside, helping Rosalee to her feet and easing her out as she giggled her treacherous socks off.

"Wieder," Nick corrected mildly, but felt that they'd got the important part of the discussion done, at least. So you pick up on … airs? Feelings?"

"Yeah. A little more detailed than that. But not much more. Somewhere between surmising and feeling. You can work out a lot of what's going through people's heads." She'd reclaimed her hand, but smiled at him. "You're a lot better than you were this morning, for example." She got up and went to pour herself a drink.

True. Nick stretched, feeling very relaxed. Monroe reached over and ruffled his hair, which he couldn't stand, but he let it go.

"That's good to hear. Which were the good bits?"

Nick pretty much rolled out his day, tactfully leaving out the details of Livvy's ex – only the salient part of smacking the pudding in his face.

"It sounds like you feel like Nick when you're doing things that make you feel good about yourself. And I'm not talking pizza and beer, here. I'm talking conscience. Self-comfort. Reaching out and people letting themselves being reached, if that made any kind of sense at all."

It did. Total sense. Nick laughed with relief – it was like he had a weapon now, to roll back the Grimm and roll back the nervousness of what was ahead of him. He just needed to keep reaching out.

X x X

The rest of the evening disappeared and the morning came round way too fast. Nick vaguely kept his promise to Jan to go to bed at a reasonable time, but felt really cheerful in the morning anyway. He showered, slipped on fresh clothes (Denny had very kindly collected yet more from his apartment earlier the previous day), and trotted down the stairs. It was just Denny and Carianne up.

U2's 'With or Without You' came onto the radio and Nick stood back in the hallway, waiting for the compulsive air-drumming that this particular song always brought out in Denny, who was washing up in vest and boxers. It was just fun to watch – he always really got into it. Denny started out with the slight head-nodding and foot-tapping through the low-pitched intro – Nick had never caught the lyrics - then caved into the rhythm, drying his hands and grabbing a pair of spoons. As 'through the storm we reach through the shore…' fluted through the kitchen, he took up a professional pace on an invisible kit, hitting the beat flawlessly and enthusiastically, making Carianne giggle delightedly at him and wave her arms around from her counter-top baby bouncer.

Still unaware Nick was there, Denny grinned over at Carianne. "What – you want to join in? Well c'mon then…" He popped the spoons down, unstrapped her and scooped her up one-armed, grabbing her bottle with the other hand and dancing her round the kitchen, lip-synching to 'and you give yourself away…'

Clearly forgetting he was holding the bottle, Denny resumed drumming and sprayed milk everywhere, "Oops – sorry, love…" wiping it off her face with the heel of his hand. After an abortive attempt to get her to drink, he reclaimed his spoon, dancing as annoyingly well as he drummed.

Without even looking to his left, Nick felt Livvy's open-mouthed presence arrive next to him and reached over with a single finger to gently tap her jaw shut. Then tilted his hand into a point towards the back door. She scuttled out urgently, making him grin. Towards the end of the song, Nick traipsed in with a knock on the post between stairwell and kitchen.

"What, no singing?"

Denny laughed. "Mate, if you want to empty a karaoke club at the end of the night, I'm the bloke you put on the mike. Nah – no singing. Hold small for me for a sec? Just got to finish this off…"

Nick reached over for Carianne. "Can you put up with me for a few minutes?" A happy, gummy grin said 'Sure!' and she put the seal of approval on things by sliming the side of his neck and tugging his jacket collar out of place.

It was then that he saw the scars on Denny's back. They were long, white slash-marks stretching out over the top of the shoulders and along his sides, between the material of the deep-cut vest and his arms. That was a huge area. For a moment, he just stared, then forgot all tact and diplomacy in the moment of shock. "Den! What the hell…?"

"What?"

Nick flapped his hand at the white marks along Denny's upper left side and Denny raised his arms in confusion as if to see if he'd spilt something disgusting on himself.

"Those!"

Denny inspected the space under his shoulders. "They're armpits, Nick. I'm sure you've come across some, from time to time?"

Nick rolled his eyes. "Another topic for another day again, right?"

Denny grinned wryly. "I see that Jan's ridiculous-response tactic doesn't work on everyone to steer round an unwanted conversation."

"It looks like a painful bit of history, Den."

"It was. The scars were made by a motorbike chain. Look, I'm not shutting you out, Nick. I will tell you all this stuff sometime, it's just that certain conversations have to be had with Jan before anyone else. Given that I'm sharing his space, and all that. Sorry. At least you know now why I never go sleeveless. Forgot you guys were still here."

Nick felt rather embarrassed he'd even made an issue of it. "Sorry back at you."

"That said…" Denny looked uncomfortable. "That conversation with Jan is likely to be soon, and… I'm going to tell him stuff that's going to give him pause. If things get bloody awkward around here, can I stop in at yours for a bit?"

"Sure!" Nick hoped it didn't come to that. He couldn't imagine Jan kicking him out over anything he'd done in the past. Particularly as he'd changed so much.

"Thanks, Nick. I really appreci―what the hell's Livvy doing outside?"

"Cooling off."

"Hot flush?"

Nick chuckled. "Something like that."

Denny took Carianne back. "Well tell her I'll turn the bloody thermostat down! Weird woman. It's cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey out there."

Nick went out back, closed the door and caught Livvy's eye. "Safe to come back in?"

"The drumming… didn't help my crush," she spluttered.

"I noticed that."

"Could you persuade him to put some jeans on, or something?"

Nick laughed. "And how do I do that without one of us looking really weird? Look – just come back in and I'll flop you on the couch. We'll say you felt faint from lack of wages, or something."

Livvy gave him a flinty look as he hoiked her off her feet. "Yeah. Really convincing excuse. You hang out too much with Jan!"

X x X