Frank received the call right as he pulled into his parking spot. He killed the engine and answered it.

"Rabe."

"Hey, Frank. It's John."

He was surprised. John Colbert was a friend and a fellow jagerbar. Their sons had run together and they had fallen to the lure of the roh-hatz together, but after everything had been over, John had picked up his own pieces and they had been a bit distant. Especially after Frank had made no secret about his cooperation with Nick. There was a respectful, neighborly relationship, but they hadn't shared a barbecue dinner or invited each other over since. Their sons still interacted, but the grown-ups had become wary. Frank couldn't fault his neighbor for it. John had made his choices, just like Frank had.

"What's up?" he asked.

And John told him. Frank sat in his car, shock and surprise and a low-key rumble that was downright bear.

"I took care of the body, Frank," John told him. "They won't ever find him."

"John…"

"It was necessary," the other jagerbar interrupted him with a growl. "Whoever the schakal was, he had his sights on the Grimm. I know I owe him. More than killing one of those dogs can make up. And if he dies on your property, trouble is too mild a word for what comes next. You think there will be more?"

Frank sighed explosively. "I'm not sure. It's the third."

"Schakale?"

"No. One mauvais dentes and a nuckelavee."

John cursed colorfully and it had Frank smile.

"Yeah. I don't think there will be an immediate successor to the one you… removed, John. I'll call Barry and someone else."

"Tell your boy we're home."

"I will. Thanks, John."

"Welcome. By the way, the guy was tattoed. T.B. made photos. One looks like a snowflake, but there were more on his back. I'll send you the photos, just in case you need them. Take care."

Frank leaned back his head, briefly closing his eyes. "Damnit!" he cursed.

His wesen side was snarling and snapping and spoiling for a fight with whoever had trespassed on his land, his territory. They had endangered his family and his friends. His logical side told him that the threat was over and he truly believed there was not a fourth waiting in the shadows. So far each attack had been different and since whoever was behind it now knew the Grimm was protected, Frank was convinced there would be nothing new. At least for as long as Nick stayed at the Rabes' house.

Finally he dialed Barry's cell.

"Barry, don't talk, just listen…"

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Monroe had dropped by the Rabe's home with a new batch of medication Rosalee had mixed to help Nick. He found Nick in a mixed mood. The news about Renard's return had picked him. That Mireille was okay had helped, too. That Nick was safest at the Rabes' home, which meant staying here until Portland had calmed down again, was the downside.

"I'm a grown man, Monroe!"

"Yes, and a terrible Grimm, too." The blutbad gave him the raised eyebrows. "But right now you have a price on your head and it's far more than a few disgruntled wesen half-heartedly trying to scare a Grimm. Those two meant serious business. You should stay here, dude. Really. For my peace of mind."

Nick shot him a quirky smile.

"Hey!" Monroe protested. "Who do you call to drag you out of situations? Me. Who has to pick up the pieces? Me. And who needs a new life? Me!"

"And I'm always thankful, Monroe, really. You're my best friend and I know I can count on you."

"And as your best friend I give the best advice. Stay here, Nick. Just until your mate is back."

"And if something comes after me again? Frank and Barry…"

"Dude, a grown jagerbar and his son? You really don't know what they can do, do you? Frank might look like your soft, easy to bowl over lawyer, but man, I wouldn't want to see him in a full rage!"

"Another mauvais dentes or nuckelavee might be enough to hurt them both or worse!"

Monroe stared at him, brows lowering. "Mireille and Sean Renard made an example. Knowing Guardian lore and all the horror stories out there, it was a bloody and gruesome example that far exceeded you lobbing off reaper heads!"

Nick was silent, aware that whatever arguments he had they wouldn't stand a chance. Monroe had sound reasons as to why he was safest here.

"And we can take care of problems," Barry stated as he walked into the room.

Monroe frowned and Nick mirrored it. The younger man looked tall and imposing. Like a bear on a mission. There was no hesitation, no fear, as he faced Nick.

"Dad called. There was a schakal outside this morning. With a long-rage rifle."

"What?!" Nick exploded.

"The Colberts saw him sneak through the woods and followed."

"And then what?" the Grimm wanted to know.

Barry looked a bit uncomfortable, but part of him reflected a fierce pride and satisfaction.

"Man…" Monroe groaned. "Please don't tell me…"

The younger man shrugged.

"What?" Nick demanded. Then he froze. "They killed him?"

"Uh, yeah?"

The Grimm ran a hand through his hair, tousling it. "Why?"

"Because the guy was about to shoot you, Nick!" Barry snapped, the bear briefly flashing through. "He had a rifle and he was aiming at you! You were talking on the phone! Outside! You could be dead and T.B. and his dad stopped it from happening!"

Nick fought for calmness, aware that for the third time an assassin had been bested, but this time not by him. It had been a neighbor, a jagerbar he had only met at the trial of Diana Rabe. Colbert had saved his life.

"What happened to the schakal body?" he asked.

"Dad said the Colberts took care of it."

"Uh-huh."

"And he said you should stay inside. T.B. is coming over and we'll be here," Barry rushed on. "Jason's coming home this weekend, too."

Nick raised a hand, stopping the flow of words. "I don't need bodyguards."

"Oh hell yeah, you do!" Monroe blurted. "A lot of them. Unless they finally take the hint and leave. Three out of three? Even the densest wesen knows the odds of number four actually making it any further. Word's spreading fast and this last botched attempt will get out."

Nick groaned.

"Stay here, Nick. Seriously. You said it yourself that Renard should be back in Portland soon. Maybe this was like a parting shot. Anyone attempting anything now will have a pissed-off guardian at their throats. Not funny, man."

"Okay, okay, I'm staying, but no protection detail!"

Barry and Monroe exchanged looks that Nick didn't like. He snarled something uncomplimentary and stalked over to the entertainment center. He plopped himself down on the leather couch and switched on the TV.

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Barry received several pictures not much later. A mug shot of the schakal – lots of blood, Nick noticed with a strange kind of detachment – and several of the tattoos on the dead man's body. He would have to look into this. Maybe he could find out who the man had been.

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Frank came home from a brief stint at court to find his son devouring a large stack of cookies while doing homework at the kitchen breakfast bar. A glass of milk sat next to a tin that contained more cookies from the smell of it. It wasn't a tin Frank was familiar with. T.B. Colbert was at the kitchen table, apparently deep in his homework assignment as well. Next to him was a plate with a half-eaten piece of apple tart.

Frank's eyes fell on what else was in his kitchen.

Baskets of fruit. Pies. Homemade bread. Vegetables, obviously homegrown, too. There were casseroles, shepherd's pies, stews, lasagnas and soups. Food and food and more food.

"What…?" he managed.

Barry gave him a wide grin, cookie crumbs on his chin. "Hey, dad."

"Hey, Mr. Rabe," T.B. greeted him.

"Where did this all come from?"

"Nick's eisbiber friends."

Frank gaped, for the first time in a very long time actually stumped. Nick had been with them for no more than a day, most of that time asleep or unconscious. Sure, Monroe had received calls from Nick's friends, had calmed them down and told them the Grimm was fine. But had he given Nick's current address to anyone?

"Relax, dad. Monroe carted all of that over here. Guy named Bud made him, apparently."

Frank took in the mountains of edibles.

"Where's Nick?" he finally asked.

"Making more calls. He dozed off when you left and woke when Monroe came. Looks like he got a quilted blanket, too." Barry grinned as he shoved another cookie into his mouth with a delighted smile. "Man, those are so good! You have to try one. Oh, and he wasn't happy about the schakal incident."

Frank sighed. "No one was." He looked over at T.B. "Thanks for your help, T.B."

"No sweat."

"It was a big deal. You didn't have to do it."

T.B. shrugged. "We kinda did. The Grimm isn't bad. Barry told me a few things and I talked to him. He's a nice guy. He could have killed Jason and Barry and me. He didn't. I think I owe him for that."

Frank couldn't fault the teen's logic and the bear in him was quite pleased that another threat had been annihilated. He took a cookie from the tin beside Barry, feeling the chocolaty goodness melt in his mouth. He grinned at his son and took a second one, then walked over into the living room. He found Nick on the couch. The blanket had Barry mentioned was next to him. Clearly handmade as well.

Nick looked up and gave the jagerbar a smile and a nod.

"Yeah, thanks, Hank," he said into the phone. "See you tomorrow."

"You've got generous friends," Frank remarked, brandishing the cookie before he ate it.

"Tell me about it. You have no idea what I went through when I first ran into Bud. I had pile of food and handmade blankets."

"Good food, according to the bottomless pit that is my growing son." Frank sat down beside him.

"I think he'll go through the pile in no time," Nick teased.

"Most likely."

"I could ask Bud for a refill."

"Don't you dare. How are you feeling?"

"Still like a nuckelavee doormat, but better. Thanks."

"Seems like all those old stories are true: Grimms are hard to kill."

Nick chuckled. "Yeah, maybe. Or we're just harder to keep down."

"Or that. I'll be home for the rest of the day. I have a mountain of paperwork."

Nick's eyes looked suddenly a little sharper. "More protection detail?" he asked, an edge to his voice.

Frank didn't react to it. He simply met the gray eyes, the Grimm lurking beneath the façade.

"No. My son and T.B. are your protection detail. I simply chose to exchange my office in the city for my office at home. More quiet."

For a long moment the Grimm was still there, then Nick deflated a little. "I hope this is over soon."

"It'll never be over, Nick. You're a Grimm, which makes you a target. What will hopefully change is the succession of assassins on your doorstep."

That got him a grimace, but the smile lurking within had Frank smile as well. The lawyer rose and went back into the kitchen. He found Barry had all but cleared the last cookies out of the tin and was giving the blueberry pie speculative looks.

"Leave some room for dinner."

Barry grimaced, but he returned to homework. Frank put away the two pies, then walked into his office to start his paperwork.

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Nick had to go to work the next day. Calling in sick was not an option, even though Frank's expression was misgiving. The jagerbar had insisted to change the bandages around Nick's mistreated ribs and by now the bruises were in full bloom. It looked nasty, it felt sore, and Nick knew that it could have been so much worse, so colorful skin wasn't really that bad. The bandages helped and so he let Frank do.

"Think about it," Frank simply said when the Grimm pulled on his shirt.

"Thanks, but no. I've done this before, Frank."

The lawyer's expression was dark and knowing. "It might not be over and you are still a target."

"Like I said: I've done this before." Nick gave him a quick smile and grabbed his badge and gun.

He couldn't tag along with Frank to work and he wouldn't. He wasn't weak, he wasn't a rookie anymore, and he sure as hell wouldn't spend his time bored to death hanging around Monroe's or Rosalee's.

So work it was.

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Hank took one look at him and pulled the Grimm aside. "What happened, man?"

Nick knew he didn't look all too bad. The bruises were hidden underneath make-up Rosalee had applied. It looked like natural skin and it was something she had concocted and smeared onto his face. It felt natural, too. Hank couldn't see the injuries, but he knew what had happened because Monroe had called to let him know that Nick might to take it a little easy.

He hadn't gone into detail, though.

"Little run-in with an unsavory element."

"Police business?"

"In a very remote way, yeah."

Hank scowled, then glanced around. "Monroe said something. What happened?"

So Nick told him the very much abbreviated version of events and Hank's expression turned even darker.

"This happen before like that?"

"That someone thinks he can take out a Grimm? Yes. But twice in such a short time? No. Last time I handled it and that problem was solved. Never heard from those particular thorns in my side again."

Hank studied him. "So this is new."

"Yes."

"Because Renard left town."

"Probably. But he's on his way back. Apparently the business is settled."

Hank shot him a quizzical look.

"I talked to his sister."

"How is she?"

"Fine. I didn't get a lot out of her, but they are resilient."

"So fine could mean a bullet hole and a knife sticking out of her hip?"

It was only half a joke, but Nick grinned. "Yeah, probably."

"We do have a lot of paperwork to catch up to," Griffin smoothly changed topics as someone walked past.

Nick groaned. He knew it was the best option right now, let himself recover and regain his strength, but paperwork usually killed his brain.

Hank pushed a small mountain of folders at him. "Have fun." He winked.

Nick gave him the evil eye.

At least the deskjob gave him the time to run the pictures.

tbc...