And we're into the closing chapters!
Thanks for all the lovely reviews on the last chapter, and to my lovely wakeup-weirdness-loving guest, who I can't thank by PM, as I would usually do.
And on we march… I hope you enjoy it.
X x X
"Annette Curtin? Do we have Annette Curtin here? You have ticket number 507 for the Pierrot Luiges champagne!"
Sean sidled out of the beer tent to get some air and put some space between himself and the juvenile delinquents from his precinct when Mrs 'Grimmette' Kennedy realised that her raffle tickets had been tampered with.
"Amanda Huggenkiss?" Betty called out over the PA. "I need… Amanda Huggenkiss, who has… winning ticket 231… wait just a minute…"
Sean cast a glance back into the tent where Hank and Wu were helpless with drunk laughter, slapping their hands on the table in the very few spaces left between the empty plastic beer cups.
"The Simpsons!" Wu squeaked… "It never gets old…"
As predicted, his view was abruptly filled with Ma Biber, who stopped briefly at the table to clip his guys round the ear, then stomped over to him, arms folded.
"Captain Renard, as helpful as your men've been today, I think we've seen enough of the 'approachable' side of PPD. Don't you?"
"Indeed." He looked around the tent and decided that the day was soon approaching a natural end. There was a lot of beer-induced wogeing going on. He pulled out his cell phone and the card that Jan gave him with the driver's cell number. "I'll get the coach here a little early. But I can't do much about Hank and Wu. They're on leave."
"Lacking in female influence is what they are," Betty said archly, but headed back into the tent to continue her announcements. Sean let them filter off into the background and took a cooling breath of peaceful night air. As the coach finally showed up, Stefan joined him outside, holding Carianne in one arm, with Theo sitting on the other, protesting droopily about leaving so soon. Stefan had the look of a man who'd had the same argument six times in six calm ways.
"You've made enough weapons of Blutbad destruction to last Nick a decade. He'll have nowhere to put them," Stefan reasoned. "Are you connecting with your inner Eisbiber, or something? Are you planning to block him into his apartment with them? It's time to go home."
"Why?"
"Je bent moe!"
"I'm not tired! And I don't speak Dutch anymore." Theo's face scrunched into an expression of indignant determination that made Sean have to turn his face away to conceal his grin. "And it doesn't matter what time I'm going to bed tonight because I'm staying at Uncle Sean's, which will be top fun even if he doesn't have sprinkles."
Stefan cast him a startled look, to which Sean returned a bewildered head-shake.
"Yes I am!"
"I'm afraid your intelligence is faulty. Who said you were staying with me?"
"Me!"
"You've been gravely misinformed. By yourself, unfortunately."
Stefan bit down on his lip as Theo tried making his eyes huge and round with woe.
"Stop making your eyes huge and round. It's not going to work. I have suspects doing that all the time, and it doesn't work for them, either."
Theo pouted.
"And no pouting," Stefan muttered, his blockade approach to emotional blackmail clearly very similar to his own.
As Stefan led the grousing tot off to the coach, Sean began the business of rounding people up and getting them on board. Some took more rounding up than others: Bud's delivery onto the bus required the assistance of both Mauvais Dentes and most of the wesen teenagers who were giggling so much they nearly dropped him on the steps. Sean didn't envy the man: he was in charge of the clean-up operation in the morning. All the expensive technical gear was being loaded into the back of the coach for safety.
By the time everyone was on board, he was genuinely exhausted and looked around for a nice peaceful seat. Since Livvy was snoozing quietly against the window, he sat next to her with Stefan and the kids directly in front, Theo's head now flopped down on his shoulder.
Sean chuckled helplessly. Of course the little man 'wasn't sleepy…..'
Not tonight, but perhaps another night, he would offer to take Theo. A champion had to get to know his Patriarch. He'd have to stock up on harmless weaponry items, though. And sprinkles.
X x X
Wu woke at four in the morning with a parched mouth and throbbing head. He went to the can, then got himself a vase of water and downed the lot. And tried going back to bed. But he couldn't sleep. He lay still with his eyes closed for a while but kept seeing those kids…. change. They looked human on the whole but he kept seeing flashes: long teeth, a furry cheekbone: kept hearing the crack of neckbones as they snapped at the air and then turned back into teenaged boys again. He opened his eyes and could see fangs in the bamboo wallpaper design in his room. Goddamn...
As quietly as possible, he had a shower, decided that hair of the dog was the best thing for the state he was in, and grabbed the first bottle of spirits his hand rested on in the cupboard. JD. Ok, that would do. No work today, anyway. He poured himself three fingers, decided that he had small fingers, and tipped a little more in. Then some ice cubes. Then he pulled the photo albums from his top shelf. They weren't full of photos, but articles.
He sat in his armchair and stuck his feet up on the pouffe. The first album was his collection of the 'real experiences' articles sent in from readers of the Portland post. He'd kept them for inspiration in case he ever got started on that fantasy-comedy book he'd been thinking about. Some of them were emotive pieces: "I lost my husband to the check-out girl," for example. But most of them appeared to have been written by nutcases. Or so he'd thought.
My car was stolen by a life-sized otter.
My housemate really was a total pig
How I trapped my snake of a boss
They all had such different potential now. How many people in his life were actually wesen? Apparently Renard was. Wilkes wasn't. Hank wasn't. He was pretty convinced that Tom the not-too-bright cleaner at PPD was a Siegbarste, like Denny, if only because of his possessive attitude towards Nick and his total completer-finisher mentality. He was reasonably sure that Mariam wasn't, though the only way to check that out was to ask Nick. But that would feel sneaky and underhand, and... she'd handled the student riot so calmly. What if that was because she was wesen? Could he handle it if she were? He wasn't even sure he could handle Renard being wesen.
He finished his drink and poured another. He figured he could handle another one of those, at least.
X x X
Rosalee woke to a sound that was still so new that she hadn't wrapped her ears or head around it: Bruno, crying. She pulled her eyes open and peered at the bedside clock, waiting for the numbers to refine into something readable through the sleep trying to seal her lids shut. She rubbed her face and had another go. 07.02. She'd slept four hours since the last feed, which was ok. And she was sore: pressure was building up in her chest. She needed to feed Bruno probably more than he needed to be fed. She was about to creep out of bed to scoop Bruno up when Monroe leant over the cot and lifted him out.
He cradled the little boy in his hands, humming in German, and then scooted over to the bed, all smiles as he saw that she was awake. "Hey! Mommy's up! It's snack 'o clock!"
She giggled. "Snack? God, he sucks like it's a three-course soup meal."
"Want to sit up, or lie on your side?"
"I'll stay lying down. Thanks, honey." She pulled over the thin cushion which they'd found through experimentation was the perfect height to raise Bruno so he could feed on his side without either of them reaching or straining. Monroe put him down super-slowly and Bruno attached instantly, even with his eyes closed. She put her hand over his back to keep him still, stroking around the soft, bendy little ear with her thumb. Bruno mumbled contentedly as he fed, pushing here and there with his dime-sized palm to improve the flow rate, then she felt something burst inside like a clot dam had broken. Bruno pulled away and spluttered, flapping his arms irritably as he got hosed in the face, but dived straight back to the job, determined to get that milk in him while the gold was still gushing.
She dried his face as best she could around the point of attachment (he was not one for detaching while focussed) and he closed his fist around the tip of her pinkie. At the softness of his skin, she felt tears smart her eyes and a twitch prick her chin. Her lower lip vibrated.
Monroe finally gazed up from his adoring inspection of Suction Son and gave her a soppy look which very quickly turned into an aghast expression of alarm. "God, what is it?"
"Oh I'm fine," she bawled truthfully. "My milk's come in!"
"That's good... isn't it?"
She nodded frantically under the warm hand now stroking her face, and bawled. "It's great!"
"Well… that's good. Very good. It's just that you just seem... a little... distraught. Like things aren't great. As such."
"Not distraught at all," she sobbed. "It's just a little early... this isn't supposed to happen for a few days."
"What isn't?"
"The weepies."
"You're going to weep lots?" Monroe's open-mouthed horror pushed giggles through her tears.
"Did you have tofu in your ears during those last ante-natal sessions?" She chuckled wetly, wiping her face with the back of her hand.
"I think… I was a little too wound up to hear anything. I mean, there was plenty of listening going on, just not… much… absorbing of information."
"Ok, well this is not upset weeping. This is hormonal weeping."
"So what do I do when you um… start… ah…"
"Hugs will do."
"I think I can work with that." He looked hugely relieved and dropped a kiss on her cheek, clambering awkwardly over Bruno to do so. He looked so different now… much more like the Monroe she knew, albeit with the million extra responsibilities. The waiting was over, and she felt like she had the 'real' him back again. So she finally got round to the question she hadn't really wanted to ask yet because she was slightly afraid of the answer. A large part of her hoped that Monroe had eked out all that stress, fear and ridiculous self-doubt during his pack run, but being caught naked in the woods couldn't have been great for his blood pressure either. As Bruno sucked away cheerfully, showing real energy for such an itty-bitty thing, she slid her fingers through Monroe's short beard and smiled as he glanced back up at her.
"How are you? Really?"
"Good." And it was said with a smile that had the sincerity to shove the heavy stones of weight off both her shoulders in one powerful second. He looked properly peaceful. Bruno broke off from his feed, dipped into his cushion and did a belch like the last gurgle of a draining bath. Monroe looked delighted.
"Tiny dude! I think Carianne actually has some serious competition, here!" He scooped Bruno off the cushion and rested him on half his forearm, cosying him in against his chest. "What say we have a walk around your new territory? You can sniff things out a little, see how the land lies and where all the really important stuff is. Apart from the milk, that is..."
Rosalee stretched and flopped out of bed to get a shower. Moving into Monroe's place permanently rather than sleep in the flat by the tea and spice store was a great move — particularly where the shower was concerned. It pounded her hotly and she felt all the tension of labour float away. She probably stayed in there a half hour, ten minutes on the floor just enjoying the deluge. Eventually she climbed out, put on a fresh nightie and Monroe's dressing gown, and crept downstairs to see how he was doing.
"...now this one's a beaut. I got her for $680 but get this... when I rearranged the original complications back to their correct striking pattern, she started doing the Winchester chime on the hour, the Westminster chime at the half hour, and she's flame mahogany! From 1895! You know what this means?"
Bruno's arms waved frenetically. Rosalee didn't know whether this was in protest or inherited horological excitement and pressed her fingers against her lips to stem the rising giggles.
"... it means that when I finally decide that I can let go of this beauty, she's worth nearly nine THOUSAND bucks! Yeah! That's like... an almost-decent car! And by decent, I mean that it starts and keeps moving once it starts, and that the belts do up, and that it comes in a shade other than all-I-can-afford brown. But ok, enough about cars. Now, this beauty with the silver ball at the top is a 1795 — year of Marie Antoinette's death — Monstrance clock, rescued from Le St Sulpice during the last throes of the French Revolution. Or so says the seller. I think that's total mouse-crap, but it's very pretty and would get about a thousand bucks at auction... are you even listening?"
Rosalee settled down on the bottom step as Monroe held his comatose son aloft in his palms, the little arms drooping down, the diaper bulging like a mattress under the over-sized babygro.
"You nodded off? Really? Because you've had such an exhausting day so far, right? You woke up, got cuddled, got cuddled some more, had a king-size feed, got cuddled some more during a clock lesson and now you're out cold?"
Bruno snored gently by way of confirmation, making Rosalee nearly dissolve with silent laughter at the bottom of the steps. Then the phone rang. Monny snatched it up.
"Pa! Ja… gut!... Pa? Was ist los?"
There was a moment of mumbling, of which Rosalee understood not one word. Apart from the terms in her apothecary's books, all of which came with translation, her German extended to 'please pass the Black Forest gateau', and her multi-lingualism was limited to saying 'do you speak English?' in nine languages. She didn't think that being able to out-Italian the staff in Starbucks really counted. She slid off the stairs and over to Monny, who was holding the plastic receiver almost hard enough to crack it, while cradling Bruno lightly in the other arm. She loved it when he multi-tasked.
She mouthed at him. You Ok?
Monny clamped the phone against his chest and muttered out of the corner of his mouth. " I'm trying to prevent an immediate visit onslaught from New Hampshire."
`She caught her breath. She hadn't even met his parents or family yet. "What kind of onslaught?"
"A pack onslaught. That means parents, two brothers and their families. Hence my prevention tactics."
She breathed out as he continued the conversation in a steady, mollifying voice, but at the end of the day, the word 'virus' seemed to be the same across most languages, and she wondered what ghastly disease he'd concocted for one of them to be 'suffering from' to keep his family at bay for a few days longer. She was glad for the alone time to get used to being mom with Bruno and get her head around the fantastic warmth that was being his fiancée, but ...
...that she'd allowed herself to forget about marrying into a family of carnivores. She swallowed hard but tried to keep the nerves out of her face. "Have you told them about our engagement yet?"
Monroe shook his head and she stared at him.
"Sweetheart, I want to do that when they come see us and meet you in person. When they come see Bruno and meet you properly, they'll 'get' it. They'll fall in love with you like I have, but until then, they're operating on the great wesen stereotype model. Giving them the bald facts over the phone? I'd rather not do it that way, honey."
For a split second, anonymity and hormones came together to create a mental whirlpool and she wanted to be mad. But he knew his parents, of course. She settled herself down. Of course he didn't want to hand them all the facts at the same time. And she hoped that his folks would 'fall in love with her', as somewhat optimistically predicted. As Monroe switched to English and treated his father to a description of his non-existent rash (at least she didn't have the horrible virus, then), she scooped Bruno out of his arms and took him for a walk around the lounge. He gurgled at her sleepily and stuck a little foot randomly in the air. She kissed the tiny toes and settled, still exhausted, onto the couch. On reflection, she was really glad that he was putting off their arrival. She needed a few more days to acclimatise to being 'mom'.
X x X
Nick woke to a godawful smell. He wrapped his hands over his face for protection, but the stink had pulled up a chair and made itself at home in his room. He tried rolling onto his side, too sleepy to remember his plaster. The crack of hard ankle against bare one woke him up completely and he sat bolt upright with irritation to find Denny dangling Carianne in front of his face. She clearly needed a change of diaper. Nick clamped his hand over his nose and mouth and glared furiously.
"What the hell was that for? That was evil!"
"He's awake!" Denny called out into the corridor, and shot Nick a sheepish grin. "Sorry, I was running out of ideas."
"Go away."
"Going!"
As Denny darted out, holding Carrie at arm's length, Nick rubbed his hands down his face and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He bent for his crutches as Jan strode into the room, his hair tied back in a sleek ponytail. He carried a tray covered in breakfast stuff, which mollified Nick instantly.
"Sorry, Nick, I'd planned to give you a lie-in but I need your help with something before I leave."
"Where're you... oh yeah. Haircut by Freya."
Jan placed the tray on the side of the double-bed and nipped back out of the room. He returned with a pad and pen. "I need you to draw how my hair was before yesterday's woge."
"Wha'?"
"Oh dear. You haven't woken up yet."
Nick took the coffee being pressed urgently into his hand and sipped at it gratefully. "Jan... not to dent your ego, but... I hadn't really paid that much attention to your hair yesterday. Until you turned into Tarzan, that is."
"That's fine. I'll have to describe it..."
Nick submitted to twenty minutes of really irritating instructions and microscopic adjustments with eraser and pencil until Jan finally nodded with satisfaction. He got slight revenge by drawing a superman body under the head that was about three millimetres high but perfectly formed.
"You think I'm big-headed?"
"Just a tiny little bit."
Jan shrugged and whipped something out of his pocket, leaving it on Nick's bedside cabinet. "Perfect picture, so that's a proper 'Thank you'. Enjoy, and I'll see you later."
Nick was focussed on one thing: breakfast. He arranged his pillows, shuffled the tray onto his lap and got stuck in. He ate like a Grimm, then noted with huge approval what Jan had left by his bedside. A voucher for a one-hour massage at a local health place. God, that sounded good. And after a couple of days on crutches, he'd need it.
Feeling quite full, twenty minutes later, he craned himself out of bed and hopped like a lunatic down the corridor to the bathroom, using the wall as a support. Livvy opened the door just as he was leaning on the handle and he nearly fell inwards. Good reflexes were useful and he saved himself on the sink, levering himself upright.
"Hey Livs."
"Hnnn."
He gazed at her closely. She looked clean, decently towelled, but crumpled and red-eyed, even after cleaning up. "You alright? You look a little... hungover."
"Not so much hung over as flung over. God. Never let me do competitive drinking with Hank again." She looked down at his plaster. "Damn. YOU ok?"
"I'll be fine. Straightforward break." They hopped round each other awkwardly, then he remembered he wasn't supposed to get his lower leg wet. "Livvy, how am I supposed to have a shower?"
"Have a bath, you crutch newbie!"
"Oh. Yeah. So that's why you always take so long." He looked down into the tub. It was deep. Upper arm strength was beside the point: there was nothing to lever himself up against. "So how do I get out afterwards?"
"Use the rope." She draped the end of the dressing-gown cord tied to the towel rail over the lid of the John so he could reach it once he was done cleaning up. "And I'll have you know that I did not take that long. In fact, if you can get cleaned up and out in under twelve minutes, I'll buy the coffees for the first full week we're both back at work."
"I'm not racing you, you competitive goof."
"Whatever!"
Nick shrugged nonchalantly as she shuffled off down the corridor, then bolted the door and dived for the tub, determined to beat her time. He cleaned up at high speed with his leg hanging out of the tub and endured the world's most uncomfortable hair-wash before hauling himself out, towelling off, pinning the towel around his waist and flinging himself out of the bathroom.
"You lose!"
The cheerful voice fluted into his ear from the side of the doorway, making him groan inwardly. Livvy, fully dressed, turned her smartphone around to show him the stopwatch reading on the screen. "13.05.01. And that's with me being nice by not adding the two minutes it took me to find the phone and start the clock. Be prepared to hand your credit card to Starbucks!"
Nick rolled his eyes and got to his room to get dressed. Then he followed her downstairs, copying her descent technique by using his one good heel, the heels of his hands and his butt. He saw no reason to re-discover all the techniques for plaster-survival by himself. He'd just hopped to the couch when he was handed another pad and pen by Denny. It featured a list of clothing items on the left, a margin, and then at the top of the right margin read 'how many of each?'
"Nipping over to yours with Livvy to get supplies for a few days, mate. Let me know anything else you need to pick up."
Grinning with appreciation, Nick wrote numbers against all the items and specified 'blue hoodie with white draw string' under 'warm tops'. Then added 'mail, iPad & charger, crossbow & bolt set (under bed)' to the 'sundries' section. Denny was so organised. Must be a military thing, this compulsive need to work with inventories. He watched Denny thunder around, cleaning up. Tidiness: another military thing. Nick knew pretty much jack-all about Denny's army career, other than his captaincy of an IED disposal group. You needed a cool nerve and methodical mind for that. The guy had mellowed to the point of being almost unrecognisable over the last few months, but there were still the odd moments where he was reminded of where Denny had come from, and what he was capable of. Apart from high-speed sock sorting. The big guy was down on his knees, tossing them into little piles.
"What are you doing?" Nick asked eventually.
"The sock amnesty."
"Socks need an amnesty?"
"Yeah. We've decided that socks are a silly thing to bicker over, so after every three or four washes, we both round up all our socks and lay them out on the floor. Then, separately, I'll round up my 15s — that's US size, by the way — and Jan collects his 17s, and there's no arguments about post-wash sock theft. But there's always three left over. God knows how."
Livvy met Nick's gaze wonderingly. "Ok, this isn't an issue that Nick and I have. It's easy to tell an ancient, grey 11 from a new lilac 9½. Can't you label them, or something?"
"Life is too short to label socks." Denny hopped up onto his feet with armful of sock bundles and bounced up the stairs with them, returning a moment later with car keys. He paused briefly to put Nick's iphone on the couch next to him, along with the remote controls to DVD player and TV, then nodded cheerfully at the door. "Nick, Stefan's looking after Carrie, so just chill out for a bit. Ready, Livs?"
"Yep!"
She didn't let him lift her this time, and he hovered anxiously as she leant heavily on one crutch. Nick just caught the beginning of a lecture about the importance of keeping the sodding weight off the shin, then the door closed behind them. He sighed and sank back into the couch, determined to make the most of his one or two days of slumping. He closed his eyes for a few minutes, trying to separate the last dregs of his dreams from what Freya had actually told him. Because his overnight mind had created warfare between his parents, which wasn't true. They'd remained together until he was 12 and if there were seven years of resentful tension in the air, he was sure he would remember it. Maybe they'd healed their rift after Freya had gone?
Nick heard Carianne howling upstairs, and stood to go check on her before remembering that she was with Stefan. He relaxed again. And texted Monroe.
Heard Wilkes found you yesterday. Hope you, Rosie and Bru are ok.
A response came back within less than a minute. BRU?! He's a baby, not a beer! Will email gooey pictures later. We're good, thanks. Am tired but no longer leafy/bloody/itchy/naked. Hope your leg is ok.
Nick blinked and thumbed back. That sounds like a story!?
Yeah! One that I'm not telling you. Bigger issues right now ― Oma and Opa (that's grandparents to you) want to inspect baby, like… straight away.
Is that bad news?
There was a careful pause from Monroe's end. Hopefully not. Had to pretend that I had contagious disease to 'encourage' them to stay away a couple of weeks
Nick hoped that worked. Good luck with that. When can I visit?
Uh… couple of days? Maybe tomorrow? I'll ask Rosie.
Carianne was still howling. Nick frowned and yelled up at Stefan. No reply. He hopped off the couch and climbed about four steps up the stairs when Stefan dashed into Carrie's room and swept her up. Nick reclaimed his place on the couch and a few moments later, Stefan trotted down and nearly stumbled over in an attempt to avoid his plaster while pushing past the coffee table. Nick shot a hand out to steady him, noticing the white face and the purple smudges under Stef's eyes.
"Sorry… I wasn't really on the ball."
Nick held his hands out firmly, more as an instruction than an offer. "I'll take her for a moment."
"Thanks."
Stef closed his eyes and let out a long breath, making Nick think of serious migraine. He held back from commenting for a few minutes. At least until the guy got himself together a little. Carrie tried out a new trick, climbing up his head and balancing on top, and just as Nick was steadying her, his cellphone rang. Hank.
"Hey Nick, you ok? Survive your lion ride alright?"
"Yeah. A little worn out and in plaster, but... I'm ok. Where are you?"
"I crashed out at Wu's. Never let me do competitive drinking with Livvy again. I think you need to come round. I'm calling from the store round the corner… just getting milk and a paper for him. Listen, when I woke up this morning, he was going through a whole bunch of scrap books looking like he hadn't slept, and he opened a bottle of JD this morning. I think he's actually more drunk now than last night. I'm happy to come pick you up, of course."
Nick grimaced. It would be dumb to think that there would be no aftershock from yesterday. "Ok... so... you going to sober him up first, or...?"
"I'll do my damndest, but if you could have a talk with him, Grimm to man, that'd help."
Nick glanced across at Stefan. He'd regained some of his colour but still looked unfocussed. "I'll give you a buzz as soon as Jan gets back."
"Appreciate it, man. Later."
"You don't have to wait till Jan gets back," Stef mumbled as Nick hung up.
"I think I do."
"I'm fine."
Nick laughed disbelievingly. "Bullshit! When was the last time you slept?"
Stef wiped his face with the heels of his hands.
Nick realised that Stefan wasn't going to volunteer anything. "Ok, so it's private. But since your coordination's off and you're clearly exhausted, there's no way I'm leaving you alone with Carianne. No offence."
"None taken." The guy stood, pressing up heavily from the arm of the couch. "Coffee?"
"Yeah. Where's Theo?"
"Still sleeping. He had a long day yesterday."
Nick watched Stefan walk off to the kitchen to make it, moving like someone 30 years older who was determined to keep himself busy. He looked like someone walking around with his mind in a cage: someone who'd seen something he shouldn't. His lost, glazed expression reminded him of Hank's after seeing Brinkerhoff's dying shift back to human. He still felt bad about not telling Hank about wesen earlier. Nick hoped Wu wasn't looking like that right now.
But Stefan was Koninglowen, like his brother. Well, at least half Koninglowen. And he was a Navy guy. Even the nastiest of wesen shouldn't faze him much. What the hell could terrorise him like that?
X x X
Denny felt under Nick's bed gingerly, hoping that nothing was going to go off in his face if he pressed the wrong wire, and hoping even more that he didn't come across any nasty forgotten pairs of boxers. He closed his fingers round the crossbow handle, pulled it out, and saw the outline of the bolt box just behind where the bow had been. He reached for it, shoved the last of Nick's clothes into a hold-all and rejoined Livvy in the sitting room.
"You all done, love?"
"Yep, got everything, I think. Just grabbed the mail." She held a batch of envelopes by the corner and tapped them against her palm, looking troubled.
"What's up? Bills?"
"Oh, there's always bills. No. I just don't want to give Nick this one."
She held up an envelope in very feminine handwriting, postmarked from Austria. Vienna, to be exact. Denny met Livvy's eyes and groaned.
"Oh... bollocks."
"It might be good news. It might be 'hey! I remember you! I'm over my Sean-obsession! I want you back!'"
"That's a good thing, is it?" Denny muttered. He and Jan had rather different views on this particular topic. Jan was in camp reconciliation, as was fairly predictable. Denny felt that Nick needed to move on, however nice Juliette was, or blameless she may be in this whole cat-induced-amnesiac-coma saga. There was a lot of Nick still invested in her. There were still some songs which would make him walk off for 'air' halfway through, pretending that nothing was wrong.
"And if it's not great news, we can't do anything about it, you know," Livvy said quietly. "Just be there to..."
"Yeah, I know," he grunted. "But I don't want to pick up any pieces. He's just started gluing himself back together, poor sod. Alright, let's get going. One stop-off first... I'll get him some cheapo jeans from the factory outlet. He can cut the lower legs of those to fit his boot without ruining all his 'proper' stuff." Denny got her down the stairs and to the door of the Spyder, then suddenly realised Livvy was leaping up and down next to him between her crutches and trying to grab his shoulder. "What are you doing?"
"Trying to peck you on the cheek! What did you think? Pogo practice? Bend down a little, would you?"
He grinned and ducked into range. He was duly pecked. "So what's this random smooch a reward for?"
"For looking after Nick."
No excuse too thin, Denny thought with an inner chuckle as he opened the door for her. After a few minutes of driving, he thought it was a good a moment as any to gently steer her towards someone who did genuinely seem to like her. In that way.
"Um... Livs...I don't know if you've noticed, but Stefan's been casting a few keen glances in your general direction."
"No!" she yelled.
"Alright! Just a suggestion!"
She sat up straight and glared out of the window. "Thanks, but no."
"What's wrong with him? He's very gentlemanly. Very... easy on the eye. Doesn't need to bend down a whole foot and a half to give you a snog—"
"He's a Neanderthal pest who lugs me around."
That seemed harsh, considering that Stefan had only hauled her away because she was trying to assist in a wesen war, armed only with deodorant. "He's not a pest!"
"Fine! There's nothing specifically wrong with him."
"So what's the issue?"
"He's not a gorgeous, grumbly ogre with permanent stubble," Livvy rattled out, then her eyes went wide. She yanked her gaze away and picked at a hole in her jeans, her face flaming red. She gave her kneecap some serious scrutiny for a few moments, radiating the heat of embarrassment. Her eyes looked dangerously moist. Shit.
Denny focussed on the road for a minute. He wasn't about to point out that not only was he gay but there was only one person he really wanted, because that would be an insult. She knew all that. And she was just a blurter. It wasn't like she was making an active play for him.
"I'm sorry," she muttered eventually. "I have this talent for creating atmospheres."
"Foot-in-mouth syndrome is what we call it." He smiled over at her but she was gazing fixedly at her knee, still. So he reached over and put his hand on hers.
"Livs... About limiting yourself to gorgeous grumbly ogres… I think you're being a bit fussy."
She burst out laughing, which was exactly what he was hoping for, so he bounced his eyebrows at her.
"I mean, high standards are a good thing, in moderation, and I realise that there's no end to my personal charm―"
"—There's no beginning to your modesty, that's for sure." She wiped her face and pointed at the road. "Just drive!"
Denny exhaled in deep relief and made his way towards the parking garage, the tension in the car properly broken. He thought about that envelope for a moment, then chose not to let it cross his mind again until Nick actually opened it. He couldn't do anything about it until then, anyway.
X x X
Jan climbed back into the Toyota and adjusted his rear-view mirror, frowning slightly at the total lack of change in his image. The cut was good... except that Freya had looked at Nick's picture, commented on his artistry skills, then put it neatly to one side and completely ignored it. His attempts to guide her back to the cut he'd actually asked for were expertly dodged at every turn, and he ended up with exactly the same style that he'd had before getting it cut 'short' in the first place. Sighing, he adjusted the mirror back so that he could actually see the road behind the jeep and put it into drive. He was almost back home when Renard rang and he picked up the call through the car speakers.
"Morning, Sean."
"I notice that my calendar's been updated this morning. Some sort of neighbourhood watch event on Thursday night?"
Jan smirked. "If you don't mind spreading the liaison load a little, of course. It's Theo's parent's night at the nursery, so I can't go. And I think these community groups are important. Don't you?"
"Of course. But if you're going to add that to my calendar, I'd like to ask for a swap on something else. I was supposed to be joining the other Captains for the Pride of Portland bravery awards and public safety talk at Brockman Gardens on Saturday, but I'd rather not."
"Why are bravery awards being given at a Botanical Centre?"
"They have a decorative orangery. They rent it out as a conference suite."
Jan shrugged. "Alright, I'm happy to do that one. Why your lack of enthusiasm?"
"Because I've done the awards a few times there and the Professor of Legume Biology is a very persistent lady. And we both know you're better socially equipped than I am to withstand protracted... flirting."
He chuckled. "Should I take Denny for protection?"
"It might be wise. But I'm not sure he'd be safe, either."
There was a long pause while Jan wondered whether Sean had finished what he had to say, or not. But there was something ponderous about the quiet. Jan focussed on shifting to the correct lane for his exit, then when he'd manoeuvred safely, cleared his throat. "Was there anything else?"
"Yes, tell Stefan that I've set up an encrypted email address for him and that I'll send you the log-in details under separate cover. Probably via Denny. Please ask him to leave all and any documents in draft and I'll pick them up from there. I don't want any information transmitted through that account."
That sounded disturbing. "Are you now seriously worried about being watched?"
"After yesterday, I'd be foolish not to be as careful as possible. I've got a good idea of who's behind all of this."
"True. I'm setting up the summit for next Sunday. Was there any particular reason why you don't want to use the lodge?"
"It's currently a place of safety. I'd rather it remained that way."
"Fine, I'll find somewhere random and anonymous."
"Jan… have you spoken to your brother about what happened to him? On the boat?"
The question was unexpected, but Jan was actually a little touched that Sean asked. And at the same time, very concerned. Stefan was usually much better at keeping up a front when something was wrong, so if others felt the need to comment on the haunted expression he had when he thought no one was looking, then this 'something' was clearly more than he could handle. "I've tried. I'll keep trying. I know he's not himself."
"He has a... look in his eyes."
"I know."
"He might have something important to tell us."
"I'll do what I can," Jan promised, but didn't hold out too much hope. He wanted to help Renard and Stefan, but putting pressure on Stef would get them nowhere.
X x X
Nick didn't remember feeling tired enough to drop off, but clearly he had because he woke with a start, the fleeting visions of his parents rowing furiously over his head dissipating slowly into garbled darkness in the back of his head. It took him a moment to get his bearings, but as he straightened up on the couch, he saw Theo cheerfully and inexpertly painting his plaster four different shades of eye-searing neon paint, filling in irregular shapes drawn with a shiny, permanent-looking pen. There was newspaper between his leg and the couch, he was relieved to see.
"Hey Nick!"
"Hey, Theo. Don't try this with Livvy's plaster, ok? She'll get you with her perfume or something." God, that paint was loud. "That does come off, right?"
"I don't think so. I'll be very careful with my edges, I promise."
As the kid bent over with his brush, colouring in intently, Stefan was fighting with Carrie to give her her bottle. She took advantage of the fact that he had no hands free to alternate sticking a foot in her mouth with a fist in her mouth, and Stefan couldn't get the bottle teat in there quick enough between removing bodily obstacles. Nick chuckled.
"Hold her legs down with your wrists, hook her fist out of her mouth with your thumb, then get the bottle in while you can."
Stefan tried it and sighed with relief as she gurgled mischievously at him from round the bottle teat and started drinking. "Eindelijk, schatje."
Nick raised his brows for a translation.
"Literally, 'finally, darling!'"
He looked a little better, Nick thought. Maybe he'd just had a really bad night. He was about to ask how he was doing, when the door slammed open and Denny dragged two cases in. He was shortly followed by Livvy. Then Jan, whose hair looked spookily similar to the style he'd had for about six years running.
Stefan chuckled at his big brother. "Whole new style, Jan?
"Don't get me started. Freya's a law unto herself."
While everyone was clattering around with luggage and coffee cups, Theo and Jan sharing out the milk at the kitchen table, Nick took a moment to text Hank to let him know that he was good for a pick-up.
"Tea?" Denny demanded from over the back of the couch.
"Thanks."
"Anna Biccy?"
"Huh?"
"Do you also want a biscuit?" Denny translated wearily.
"Please, yeah." He'd learnt to shove his politeness words in at every turn where Denny was concerned because for all his London roughness, he was big on his manners … and Den's 'light' clips round the ear were amazingly painful, even if Nick pretended that he didn't really feel them.
Livvy plumped herself down on the couch next to him. RIGHT next to him, as if they were sharing an armchair. Then she grabbed his hand and bounced it up and down on the leather like it was a stressball.
He raised his brows at her. "You ok? Feeling a bit lost, or something?"
"I'm fine. Absolutely fine. Perfect. Howareyou?"
He was fine before she started acting like a sweetly-concerned lunatic, waving a bunch of bills in one hand while grinding his knuckles with the other. "Livs. What is it?"
"Nick, I―"
"Oh for God's SAKE!" Denny thundered in the background, making them both jump, and they turned to see him shaking crumbs out of an empty cookie barrel before giving Theo a fairly accusing look. "There are NO biscuits left."
Theo threw his hands up helplessly. "Alas!"
"Don't you 'alas' me, son! A vampire swooping in, stealing the cookies and dropping them carelessly into a canyon would be an 'alas' moment, but when you're the cheeky muffin responsible for scoffing the lot―"
"I wasn't!"
Theo scuttled round to the back of the couch and Nick let him climb up and sit on him. Siegbarste rants were a thing to behold, and Denny was quite difficult to stop once he'd got started. Theo didn't seem at all scared, but more fascinated to see how annoyed Denny was going to get about... cookies. But he wanted to be curious from a safe distance, which Nick could understand.
Jan scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "Ah… Denny―"
"I BOUGHT THOSE TWO DAYS AGO! THERE'S NOT ONE BITTY LITTLE CRUMB LEFT!"
"Den..."
"Nothing sweet is safe around here! All the interesting bits in the cereal seem to get sieved out before I've had a single bowlful, I can't leave a chocolate bar unattended without an armed guard, and now―"
"DEN! I'm sorry!"
Nick watched Den's face slide from wild Siegbarste irritation to an expression of flinty disapproval.
"You ate all my biscuits? All of them?"
"18 of 20, probably. I was hungry. Sorry."
"You greedy sod!"
Jan pulled an apologetic face. "Like I say―"
"You're not eating enough again, are you?"
"It seems not. Hence I ate all the biscuits."
"Nick?" Den barked, "How was Jan after his full woge?"
He really didn't want to get into the middle of all this, but having seen the guy slump at the wheel… he felt Denny ought to know. "Total wipe-out. Sorry Jan."
Den marched over to the couch, gave Theo's head an apologetic ruffle, then headed for the door, yanking it open. "You, Jan, are going to have a blood test the moment Hilde and Warwick get back from Africa. And if there is any more sugar-fiending... I'll... I'll... I'll GAH!"
Denny slammed out, and through the front window they saw him stomp down Jan's path, muttering darkly, up the neighbour's path, still muttering darkly, then he held an animated, muffled conversation with a little girl, who looked completely outraged at Denny's cookie theft.
Nick looked over at Jan. "What's he doing?"
"Probably getting me blacklisted from Shelley's cookie client list. For at least two weeks."
"Sorry. Didn't mean to throw you under a bus back there."
"It's alright. He'll stop ranting in ... " Jan consulted his watch, "Twenty seven minutes. I'll live."
Hank got out of his car at the bottom of the drive and fell into step with Denny as he returned to the house. Nick reached for his crutches and then noticed the pile of envelopes Livvy was holding. Just before she tried to slide them discreetly under a cushion, Nick's eyes homed in on the very recognisable, sloping 'rdt' peeking out along the right margin underneath the bill on top.
His name, in Juliette's handwriting. He felt his pulse drum a rapid tattoo in his neck, and not necessarily with excitement. He held his hand out for the stack. Ridiculously, she tried making them look invisible.
"Livs, I'm only interested in Juliette's letter."
He put his hand out for it and she gave it up, really miserably.
Nick turned it over in his hands a few times. He was surprised to find himself shaking. He didn't think he'd see anything in that writing addressed to him again. He thought he'd be desperate to know what she had to say. And now he had the envelope in his hand, he didn't want to open it. He glanced over at Hank, who shrugged hopelessly. Denny had his face buried in his hand. Even Jan desisted from his usual 'perhaps just see what she has to say.'
Nick met Hank's eyes again. "How's Wu?"
"Not great."
That made up his mind. Although he understood why, she'd taken off without a word just as he thought they'd started to connect again, so he didn't feel the need to rip the letter open straight away. Wu needed him more, right now. Bad time to read it. Nick passed it to Jan and cleared his throat as they all looked at him quietly.
"Guys… I know I've made Juliette as much a part of your lives as mine over the last months, and you probably never want to hear her name again, but … I hope no one thinks I'm being… annoying… if I put that letter off for a little while."
There was an immediate, unified chorus of "No's" that were so assertively voiced that it nearly made him smile.
"Thanks. Let's go, Hank."
X x X
Hank looked over at Nick in the shotgun seat and watched him chewing a nail as he stared out of the window. "Man, you gotta stop doing that. One of these days, you'll start on the actual finger, and that's your crossbow days over, I promise you."
Nick stopped listlessly. "Alright."
"Seeing the letter? That was sucky timing." Hank glanced sideways to see how Nick took this poke into the centre of the sensitive subject.
"Tell me about it."
"That was sucky timing, 'sucky' being defined as―"
Nick chuckled. "You can be a wiseass sometimes, you know that?"
"It's the gift of Lieutenancy, my friend." Hank exhaled cheerfully, hoping that some of his lightness would rub off on Nick. "Lieutenant Griffin. Saying that hasn't gotten old yet."
"It won't for a while, I guess." Nick seemed to wake himself up a little. "Ok, so how sober was Wu when you left him?"
"I made him some of Nadine's tomato soup. That should wake him up."
"Is that the one with the tablespoon of tabasco sauce?"
"Damn, your memory's good."
"Well, you made me try it, Hank. It burnt me twice. Once on the way in, and again on―"
"―TMI, Nick. TMI!" He laughed, Nick wound down a little, and he was back to his usual bouncy self on their way up to Wu's apartment.
Wu was still on his back on the couch, squirting aerosol cream into his mouth to cool off and shot him a seriously dark look as he showed Nick in. He saw Nick's bemused expression as he looked round the front room: the place was a wreck. Wu did not do wrecks. He did order, tidiness, and unspilled bowls of water for Samson. Samson sat on Wu's chest, offering him his butt, and pounding Wu with his tail for his neglect.
Hank found Samson's bowl and poured a little milk into it while Nick perched himself precariously at the end of the couch.
"Uh… What happened here? Because this looks like freak-out territory."
"Hey, Nick! You, I'm talking to. It's nice to see you. And your colourful leg. Mr Evil-soup here, I'm not talking to, apart from to ask whether you got today's paper?"
Hank passed it over and Wu laid the paper out on his lap, leafing through at inhuman speed, like he knew exactly what he was looking for. Then his eyes widened in confirmation of... something... and he handed Nick the paper, pointing erratically at the centre of the page.
"This guy," Wu slurred, "was one of the very, very many people to put a 911 call in yesterday, but his query went into the 'crackpot-follow-up' list. He wanted to know, urgently, if there had been any zoo break-outs. "
Nick frowned. "Despatch has a crackpot list?"
"Not officially, but when you prioritise 'I'm being burgled by a teenager' against 'I'm being painted with egg by an alien', who do you think gets the first response? Especially on a completely insane day like yesterday?"
"Ok. So... what do you want me to do with this article?"
"Make paper planes with it, Nick. Read it! out loud!"
Hank was proud of Nick for holding his tongue at the uncharacteristically sharp tone. The first paragraph was just self-indulgent crap, as all Arno William's columns were, and he didn't really take that in, but woke up pretty quickly as Nick's voice starting rising with alarm.
"So, a great many of my continuous followers will know that I've been in search of inner peace, and that my meditative therapist's latest recommendation was a period in silence, far from the madding crowd, where the only beings around would either be other hikers passing by, or the figments of my own imagination. Since I happen to own camping gear, I went into the woods for the weekend. My weekend started and ended yesterday, with the sighting of a wild beast in the woods, leaving me in a state of total shock."
Nick winced. "He didn't see Monroe, did he?"
"Reaaad on."
Hank cleared a corner of the coffee table and hunkered down on it.
"What I saw was a man on the back of a lion, clinging on for dear life, screaming inventive invective and rocketing past my tent at an approximate land-speed of forty miles an hour." Nick took a hand from the paper and face-palmed. "Oh shit."
Hank sighed heavily. "Damn."
"It goes on," Wu warned. Nick held the paper back up unenthusiastically.
"For the first ten minutes of re-packing all my stuff, I blamed my imagination, but then realised that this wasn't fair. I'm on good terms with my imagination and happen to trust it. I'm pretty sure that my imagination would've summoned a gold-maned, lion-sized lion rather than something that could probably tip a truck over, and I'd never even heard some of the invective that the lion's passenger came out with. So what I saw was real. And I begin to question the wisdom of staying in Portland..."
As Nick trailed off with the article, Hank met Wu's troubled gaze with a cold feeling in his gut. "You're not leaving, are you?"
"No. Well... no plans to. Yet. I want to see where things go with Mariam, but if that doesn't happen, I might even think about it."
"Wu, you can't! You're like..." Nick scrabbled for words, "You're like part of the landscape!"
"So why do I feel like an ignorant blot on the landscape?"
"You're not, man. Seriously."
"Really? See all this scrap book mayhem? I've known something was weird was up for a while. Now it seems like every other person in Portland is hiding something."
"Every third person. Portland has a specially huge wesen population."
Great job with the reassurance, Nick. Hank groaned inwardly as Wu dipped his face down into his hands and whined slightly. But then he emerged, looking a lot more like his usual stoic self, and slurring a whole lot less.
"Guys, this is what worries me. It's like Portland's a gathering point. Is there going to be some kind of war? Because if there is, I want out before it happens. As a cop, I can't DO anything about wesen. Those kids yesterday were inhumanly strong. Is that what I'm going to have to keep dealing with while making arrests?"
Hank totally got that particular concern. Some wesen were just plain hard to bring down. Like Stark. "I know you can't always tell, Nick, but some of those Blutbaden went to full woge yesterday. Thank god they weren't Alphas, like Monroe."
"Monroe turns into a wolf?"
"Like Jan can turn into a lion, yeah. But Monroe has to be furious or really stressed for that to happen, because it brings out his carnivorous side and he doesn't feel he can control it. Most of the time he looks like a normal Blutbad when he woges."
Wu frowned. "Jan wasn't furious or stressed yesterday, and he went all Aslan on me."
"He can choose to woge. Besides, Jan doesn't have a carnivorous side."
Hank remembered what Denny had told him outside the hospital all those months ago, while Jan was recovering from what should've been — and nearly was — a lethal attack, if it hadn't been for Denny. Talking to him about his save, Denny muttered something about being really reluctant to let a Patriarch die on his office floor, which Hank since considered a cover for Denny suffering from love at first sight. Hank still didn't know what a Patriarch was supposed to be, but it was a significant part of Jan. He stuck up his hand to speak like a kid in class.
"Jan's as carnivorous as they come, but he's not JUST a Koninglowen, is he? He's something else as well. Something that balances him."
Nick grinned wryly. "Yeah. He's a pacifist."
"He's a Patriarch." Hank looked meaningfully at Nick, who just gazed back, seemingly waiting for him to go on. So, the Grimm seriously didn't know what a Patriarch was. Fair play. Denny did say that they were just supposed to be legends. And Nick had a hell of a lot of reading to get through on life-threatening wesen before moving onto the topic of ancient history. Still. He might have to have a word with Denny. Get him to fill Nick in.
"Patriarch?" Wu laughed. "You've got that right. He had a hand in half the voluntary organisations in Portland before he went back to the Netherlands. He was the only guy ever to have a prostitute crying at his leaving do."
"Anyway, Patriarch or not, Jan asked me to make a point of telling you that Mariam's not wesen. If your girlfriend's not going to woge when someone's pointing a knife at her, she's not going to woge at all."
Wu flopped back on the couch in relief. "Oh... Thank God. This may sound a little narrow-minded since half your friends seem to be wesen these days, but I can't begin to tell you how happy I am about that."
"You've been seeing her few weeks. I can't believe you didn't just ask," Nick pointed out.
"And how do I do that? Say 'hey, about my girlfriend, she's not furry underneath or anything like your other friends, is she?'"
"Why change the habit of a lifetime?"
Hank laughed and got up to put the JD away and start clearing up some of the scrapbook wreckage. "If I'm honest, that's pretty much exactly what I was waiting for you to do."
"You can just ask us stuff, you know? And now that you're aware, it'll be a damn sight easier for me to give you the heads-up on any potential dangerous wesen we need to handle."
"And if you need a little space to do stuff off the books? You're going to be straight with me about that, right?"
Nick nodded reluctantly. "That should be easier to manage with Renard giving us all cover, but some stuff I still need to be covert about. There are some wesen, like Stark, that will still need 'excessive force' to bring down."
"We'll just have to keep watching each others' backs, like we've always done," Hank put in, trying to keep things normal. "We'll be fine. You can get your head around it eventually, don't worry."
"We're all going to have to be a little covert," Wu said. "Wilkes doesn't miss much. Oh, by the way, what is Renard?"
The suddenness of the question threw both him and Nick, who looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Hank indicated his support by gathering up all the late-night food crap and running into the kitchen with it.
"Hank! Get back here!"
"No way, man!"
"Thanks!"
Hank stuck close enough to keep track of the conversation, putting stuff away quietly so he could still hear. Wu didn't sound stressed any more. More... stubborn. This was a good thing.
"Is he something really bad? I mean, I don't want his life history because he said he'd fill me in on all that, but how does he look? Is he grim? forgive the pun."
"No... no... "
"Unconvincing!"
"Ok, yeah. He's a witch's son, and not an attractive woger."
"Right. A witch's son." Wu hummed nervously. "Assimilating information... gargling with it... damn. Still struggling with it. Ok, so how does a witch's son look?"
"Has he not gone through this with you already? Because I don't really want to—"
Wu started pacing. "I do not plead, so I'm just going to explain this once, alright? I have an image to maintain. I've worked hard on my emotionless veneer for about... eight years now—"
Nick burst out laughing. "Veneer?"
"Try 'wall'!" Hank agreed from the kitchen.
"So I'm a little defensive. Sue me. Anyway, when Renard woges, I do NOT want to react. I want him to kick himself around the all the parks in Portland for not coming clean to me years and years ago. I want to blink, fold my arms, and between now and then, I'll be rehearsing my pithy comments for the very moment of his transformation. But I can't do that if what I see scares the crap out of me. So. What does he look like?"
Nick sighed. "Got a pad and pen?"
Hank leant against the doorjamb of the kitchen, not sure whether this was a good idea or not, but the sketch was already underway and Nick worked fast. Wu looked over his shoulder, looking more and more appalled. Eventually Nick put the pen down and passed the pad back. Wu paled.
"You alright, man?"
"No! Jesus. He looks like half a picture of Dorian Grey."
Nick rolled his eyes. "This is why wesen keep themselves secret, you know?"
"Yeah, yeah. Now you're going to tell me off for being shallow. It's not what he looks like that bothers me so much. It's more that Renard can't just be straight with me."
Hank couldn't imagine Renard trying to describe what he looked like to anyone. It wasn't nice. He'd asked for a quick flash, got it, and couldn't get that movie 'dawn of the dead' out of his head for the next three nights. "What, he said he was handsome, or something?"
"No, I asked him if he was icky, and he clearly fricking IS—"
Nick burst out laughing and yanked his hoodie over his head. "You didn't?"
Hank was immensely tickled at the mental image of Renard reacting to that particular question. "How did he take that?"
"Some glaring took place," Wu admitted. Then crumpled up the picture. "Thanks for doing that. We didn't have this conversation, of course. Your necks will remain unwringed."
"Good," Hank chuckled, but Nick had nothing to add. He was still laughing.
X x X
Wu's 'Wu' approach to the mystery of Renard kept Nick lifted on the way home, through the later afternoon and right up until Jan started getting the kids ready to go out for dinner with Denny. Juliette's letter sat on the little key table under the stairs. It was a nice thought: clearing the house out for him so he could have privacy if he chose to read it, but without having to go anywhere to be alone.
Almost alone. Livvy was a little wiped out and sat next to Stefan on the couch. He had his hand up, scratching the back of his head indecisively like all guys everywhere who weren't sure whether they'd get a snuggle or a smack in the face if they ventured an arm across the shoulders. Denny walked past the back of the couch and firmly deposited Stef's arm along the cushion. What the hell was he doing? Playing cupid? Livvy had a hundred and one issues to settle after Graham, not least her feelings for Denny. He was about to discreetly go right over there and bend Stef's arm back where it came from when Livvy looked up at her couch mate sternly and he retracted his limb with a sheepish grin.
"I'll just... go out for dinner with the guys."
"Later!" Nick and Livvy chirped together, and as the Vergeer tribe departed, had a quick crutch fight getting to the best spot on the couch before Nick collapsed on his back on it. Livvy shovelled his legs out of the way with her hands, making room.
"Hey! There's an armchair as well!" he protested, putting them back up.
"The couch is already warm. Budge up."
"No! I want to stretch out!"
"So do I!" She crashed down on top of him, making him yelp as her plaster slammed his good shin. "Sorry."
"So full of elegance, and grace..."
"Ah, shut it."
He got as comfortable as he could, glad that she wasn't particularly heavy, and she settled along the back cushion of the couch, her head on his shoulder. They didn't say anything for a really long time. Eventually she drummed her fingers on his chest.
"Are you going to open that letter?"
"I don't know if I want to. Yet."
"Want me to read it to you?"
He smiled down at Livvy and squeezed his arm across her shoulders. It was a nice offer. But one very important girl voicing the feelings of another very important girl's words, he was pretty sure, would be emotional-vortex material.
"That's a no, then."
"It's a no. But thanks."
"What are you most worried about?"
That was the 64-thousand dollar question. "I'm not sure I can put my finger on it," he started. "There are so many different scenarios that I..."
He couldn't finish the sentence, but the one scenario he couldn't let go of was of her still not remembering him at all, while still being unable to get Renard out of her head. He dreaded her saying that she was staying in Europe for good. Sean seemed to be coping with his half of the obsession alright. Maybe it was just the distance that was helping.
"Nick?" Livvy said quietly, "If you can't put it into words, you're not ready to think about it too much. Figure it out tomorrow. Or the day after, if you need to."
"And right now? What do I do right now?"
"Go to sleep."
Nick chuckled. "With you on top of me?"
"The de-oxygenation will help you drop off. Stop moaning. Anyway, I'm too comfortable to move."
: : : : :
The de-oxygenation must've worked pretty quickly, because when Nick woke to the sound of harsh breathing it was dark. "Livs? You alright?"
It wasn't her harsh breathing. She was muttering under her breath. He shook her and and she stirred irritably.
"I was just having a really, really nice—"
"Shh!"
A low growl rumbled through the ground floor and Nick held Livvy's weight as she slid off him as silently as possible. They both grabbed a crutch, and the clatter made it blatantly obvious that they were awake. The growl repeated, louder.
"Jan?" Nick asked quietly, and sat, pushing himself upright. No, Jan's growl was deeper. It resonated more. "Stefan?"
Stef came into view, stumbling round the back of the couch, half-woged, teeth and mane in full view through the outdoor light filtering through the window. Nick got up, ready to leap on him for scaring him shitless, then realised that Stef was stumbling backwards, trying to get away from something. He followed Stef's line of sight, getting up properly in case there was an intruder, but there was no-one there. The growl escalated as Nick waved Livvy frantically away and he got in front of Stefan, waving his arms.
"Here!"
Stef's leonine eyes locked on his, flashing in the darkness, and then he literally went wild.
X x X
TBC…. Nick faces the letter… and the art of one-up-manship…