He hadn't really intended to spend the night, but part of him had suspected it might end like this. Another part had scoffed at the notion.

But here he was.

Nick had decided on delivery since hadn't found many edible items in the kitchen, and Renard had told him to get what he wanted.

"You're not much of a cook," the Grimm remarked.

Renard, leaning against the wall, looking like he should be sitting down, smiled slightly. "No."

"Take out?"

"Mostly. Restaurants need a reason to exist, too."

"Uh-huh."

"Don't tell me you can cook."

Nick closed the last cabinet door – nothing to be found – and shrugged. "Actually, I can. So can Monroe. He's perfected the vegetarian art of cooking. So… take-out right now?"

Renard nodded at the phone. "Speed dial. One is pizza, two is Chinese… there is a list."

Nick shook his head. "Go sit down before I have to pick you off the floor. I'll order something."

"Yes, sir," Renard answered, eyes reflecting his teasing amusement.

x x x x x

They ate pizza in front of the TV.

Nick's cell rang halfway through the first quarter of a game. Renard raised a very eloquent eyebrow when Monroe demanded to know if everything was okay, if Nick needed him.

"Nanny," he mouthed.

Nick gave him a quick smile, then reassured his mate that yes, he was okay. And yes, Renard was okay, too. And no, he didn't need him. And yes, they were doing just fine.

"Possessive," the regnant remarked.

"Pot, kettle," the Grimm shot back.

It was strange how easy their interaction was, how different Renard was from the captain at the precinct, how familiar and normal this seemed, despite the fact that it shouldn't. Nick felt the calm waves, the warmth and acceptance, the need, all coming from the regnant, and he was reacting to it.

Renard dozed off after a while and Nick debated whether or not to get him to bed, but then decided against it. The taller man was stretched out on the recamier part of the couch, pillows and all, and it looked comfortable enough. So he finished watching the game, then checked the house if everything was locked, his trained eye taking in so many little details.

Like the fact that the front rooms were for show, the upstairs was more private. He stood in the study, gazing at the assorted knick-knacks on the shelves of an old bookcase, read over the cracked spines of books and tomes. They looked like special books, always brought along when he had moved. From Europe to America, from wherever he had first arrived to Portland, from the first house to this one.

There were hardly any personal photos, just pictures on the wall, of landscapes, of abstract art. No family. Nothing.

Nick felt like a trespasser, but simultaneously it was like being… home. This was the regnant's inner sanctum; and he was the counterpart. It was his place to be here, he told himself. Because this man was bound to him for life. He wanted to know more, he had to know more.

The young detective pushed his hands into the pockets of his black jeans, undecided on what he should really feel, if he should feel anything like this at all. It was weird to be in his superior officer's home, at night, the other man downstairs and sleeping.

Pulling out his cell he sent Monroe a brief text that things were fine, that Renard was asleep, that he would keep an eye on him.

Monroe replied to take care and call if he needed him.

'Love you,' Nick texted, smiling a little to himself.

Sometimes he felt like a lovesick teenager. And it felt good. It was good to be just Nick for a moment. Not the Grimm, not the counterpart, not the detective. Just himself, the man who was in love, who actually wanted to be with his partner, even if that was a Grimm aspect, too.

"Geez," he whispered, leaning against the wall and running a hand through his hair.

He was juggling a lot by now. And he had a lot of responsibility. Sometimes it was overwhelming. Like right now, as he realized just what he was doing, where he was, who was downstairs.

The phone vibrated and he picked up.

"Did you hit your head, dude?" Monroe asked gruffly.

"Monroe…"

"You want me to come?" the blutbad asked.

That had the Grimm blink. "Uh, what?"

"Sure you didn't bump your head?"

"Monroe, you don't have to come. I'm fine. Renard's sleeping."

This had been a huge offer. Monumental, actually. Monroe might have accepted Nick's connection to Renard, but offering to drive to the regnant's home? Wow…

"Nick?" the blutbad asked calmly. "Really? You're sure?"

"Yes. I just… I'll be home tomorrow. And I do love you."

"Go and babysit, Grimm," Monroe rumbled, sounding embarrassed.

Nick laughed softly and put away the cell.

He finished his rounds and settled on the couch again. Renard was deeply asleep, looking younger, with his shields down, and Nick's protective instincts flared. He picked up a woven afghan and draped it over the man.

Then he kicked up his legs and settled back into the way too comfortable couch. Nick exchanged a few texts with Monroe, smiling fondly at the remarks of his partner.

It was where he fell asleep.

x x x x xx x x x xx x x x xx x x x xx x x x xx x x x xx x x x xx x x x xx x x x xx x x x xx x x x xx x x x xx x x x xx x x x x

Renard was the first to wake and he felt worlds better than just the other day. Sure, he still was sore. He had been shot just a week ago. His stomach felt a little tight, his shoulder protested movement, but he didn't mind. The regnant was replenishing his energies, which had been leeched into healing his wounds.

He blinked into the dim light filtering through the drawn curtains, aware that it was quite early in the morning, and he was hyper-aware of the second presence in the room.

Nick lay on the couch, deeply asleep, looking young and relaxed and very much at ease. One arm hung down the side, the other was curled over his stomach.

Having his counterpart so close had helped immensely and it had kick-started his abilities to repair the damage done to his body. Nick had no idea how deep this went, but he probably had a suspicion.

Sitting up, wincing back a soft groan of pain, eyes never leaving the peacefully relaxed features, Renard allowed himself the luxury of just studying the man who was both his strength and his weakness. Nick Burckhardt, Grimm, police detective, mate to a blutbad. He was a handsome man, with a naturally pale skin, dark hair and eyes that were incredibly expressive. Now he also featured a night's worth of stubble.

Renard had known Nick fresh from the Academy, had seen him develop into a very competent officer and finally a detective. A Grimm in the making, still without the trigger, but he had had talent.

Hank Griffin, his senior partner, had remarked on that a few times, Nick was good. As a Grimm he had the chance to become even better.

Gray eyes were suddenly open and meeting his own gaze, softening as the Grimm realized there was no danger. Renard felt an incredible thrill and pride at the fact that Nick had learned so fast, that his instincts were firing up, that he had this sense of knowing there was someone so close.

The younger man sat up, those intense eyes on him, checking him.

"Good morning," Renard said calmly.

"Morning. You okay?"

"Perfect."

It got him a grimace. "Liar."

The regnant chuckled and got up, gently supporting his still sore stomach. Internal injuries were knitting together, the skin would be the last to look only mildly scarred, but it would take time. His shoulder was getting better in leaps. He didn't think he would need another dose of painkillers.

"You are getting good, Nick."

"It has nothing to do with what's between us and more with the fact that I know getting shot isn't fun and games for creatures either. You spent a week in the hospital," he reminded him, dark brows lowering over expressive eyes. "First clue."

"And the second?"

"You fell asleep almost immediately after food."

"My healing capabilities are returning."

"Because of me."

He studied the smaller man, feeling the surge of warmth and worry and care. "Yes, because of you."

"And like another bull-headed idiot I know you didn't even ask." Nick looked exasperated.

"Do you trust me?" Renard asked.

Nick blinked, confused. "What?"

"Do you trust me?"

Silence greeted that statement and something inside the older man twinged. It had nothing to do with the injury. It was this... disappointment that despite what they already had, the trust issue remained. He schooled his features and nodded, then walked past the sleep-tousled Grimm and into the kitchen. Coffee sounded very good right now. A shower later sounded even better.

Nick was suddenly in his face, hand on his chest, palm flat against his sternum and halting his steps. Renard felt the flare of emotional energy, felt the connection thrum and vibrate, felt the very Grimm for a second.

It had him nearly gasp and his eyes widened a fraction. Like a caffeine boost, like a junky getting his fix… and wasn't that a disturbing thought? No, he wasn't a junky, but he was addicted to the Grimm. Nick was perfection.

"I'm here," Nick stated levelly. "I came to you, no back-up, and I stayed."

"It's not like I would have my wicked way with you," Renard said mildly.

Nick glowered at him.

"But do you trust me?"

A muscle jumped. "Yes," he finally said. "I trust you."

Renard looked into the slate gray eyes, at the Grimm who was currently very much in charge, and something shivered through him. Power and resiliency and strength beyond what he would have alone.

"You trust me," he said, voicing his thoughts of wonder almost unconsciously. There was even a hint of wonder. "Even though I had Marie killed."

Nick swallowed, the pain of loss bright and sharp for a moment. "Yes," he said, voice still strong.

And it was true. Renard was breathless for a second, feeling the last few pieces of his soul slide neatly together, felt the parts that were Nick, felt the resonance of the blutbad claim. It was elating… it made him want to hug the other to him, feel every line of his body, feel the resonance of their closeness.

The Grimm watched him, body language relaxed... trusting... aware of himself, of Renard, of the bond between them. Waiting.

"Do you trust me?" Nick broke the silence.

Renard gave him a perplexed look.

"What we have, this connection as counterparts, it might come out. Monroe can sense you on me. Others might, too."

"He is your mate. Of course he can sense the bond," the regnant replied. "Blutbaden bond, too. For life. His connection to you has him aware of changes in you, Nick."

Nick's expression didn't waver. "What about others? Can you trust me to keep your secret safe?"

"Yes," was the calm reply. "This is only between us."

And it felt wonderful. It was like basking in warmth and sunlight and everything he had ever dreamed of as a teenager when he had heard stories of the Grimm companions. He had it now, and more.

His claim on the Grimm was finally complete.

Nick closed the distance between them, the lines of his body more tense, his face resolute.

Renard could almost read his thoughts and amusement raced through him. He dared to reach out and run a gentle caress over the pale skin.

"I'm not going to bite you or mark you, Nick. My claim is already complete. You gave me what I needed. It's done. Besides," he added, long fingers trailing over the loose, gray long-sleeve shirt, coming to rest over the hidden scar the blutbad had left, "you bear the mark of your mate. I doubt the blutbad would tolerate another obvious one."

"His name is Monroe," Nick said firmly, eyes on Renard's.

The regnant rested his hand over the scar. "Monroe," he repeated calmly, accepting the correction.

And then he stepped back, breaking the intense contact, feeling it even out into the gentle waves that lapped between them. Nick watched him.

"You still need me here," he stated.

"No. You need to go home to your mate."

"Monroe is quite aware of where I am, who I'm with, and that things are okay. You, on the other hand, need me right now. I might not have this whole juggling two bonds down yet, but I know that much: you're not okay and me leaving would upset what just happened."

Very perceptive, Renard thought. Getting so much better, learning so fast, and so willing to work with it all.

"I'm only on call," Nick went on, driving his point home. "It's Friday. The weekend's my time off."

"I'm not asking you to spend all of that time here, Nick."

"No, you aren't, and I won't. Balance means equality for all. Monroe is working on accepting all of this, too."

"And he wouldn't come here." Renard nodded.

The Grimm smiled. "Nope. At least not now. Since this is a life-time thing, it might one day happen."

Renard snorted. "Hardly." But the little thrill at the 'life-time thing' had him nearly shiver.

The phone rang almost on cue and Nick dug it out of his pocket, smiling as he saw the caller ID.

"Hey, Monroe," he greeted the very mate he had been talking about. "Yes, still fine. No, really."

Renard walked to the kitchen counter and poured himself a coffee, then leaned back and watched his Grimm as Nick talked with his mate, reassuring him things were okay, that he would see to it that Renard was okay, that he would call if anything at all tried to stalk or attack them.

Not that creatures were aware of who Renard was, but they knew of the Grimm. Someone might just mistake the whole situation as an easy way to take out a dangerous factor in the creature world. Renard felt a dangerous rumble rise in his chest, a sign of how frayed his control really still was, how much Nick had been right that he was still needed.

And from the look in those damn eyes he was very aware of Renard's train of thought.

Ah yes, his weak spot. His weakness. He had never had one.

"I'm not without protection, Nick," he finally said. "Go to your mate, come back later if you want to."

Nick scowled.

"Nick, go," he repeated, voice laced with a silent command.

The Grimm's face reflected stubbornness.

"It's a request. On Monroe's behalf," Renard went on, carefully studying a man who could be very dangerous. Nick was a Grimm and yes, the regnant was very much aware that this meant he was a predator in the world of the creatures as well. "Your mate needs you right now, too."

"Monroe and I can handle a day apart," the younger man snapped.

"As can you and I. Your presence last night was enough. Thank you."

The scowl deepened and Renard would have smiled if that wouldn't get him even more anger. So he kept the smile to himself, simply feeling the amusement and the warmth grow.

"Nick, I'm not ordering you as your superior officer. I'm also not playing the regnant card."

"Good," was the cool answer.

"I'm simply asking you to consider your partner, Nick."

"I am. He's a grown blutbad."

"Go. Now."

Nick stared at him, eyes those of the Grimm, then he finally muttered something about stubborn creatures and turned away.

Renard reached out and caught one arm, aware that he might be trespassing. Nick was trying to protect him and he was pushing his counterpart away.

"Nick," he said, voice gentle. His fingers curled around one arm, sliding to the wrist. "I'm fine. Monroe might be fine, but he needs to reassure himself of that."

The gray eyes were to drown in and Renard wanted to wrap his arms around the other man, hold him, reassure him that everything was perfectly okay.

Nick took that thought out of his head, as if he was truly telepathic, and suddenly Renard was wrapped in a gentle embrace that didn't jar his injuries too badly. He closed his eyes, enjoying the moment, then carefully stepped back.

"Go," he repeated once more.

tbc...