A/N: Hey guys! SteinMon here with another literary experiment. I have way too many idea roaming around in my head, so I thought I'd ease the burden with some Samples. So here's another chapter!
I had watched Grimm up to halfway through Season 4 several years ago, and didn't have the chance to finish it until about February 2021. It prompted some ideas, and this Sample was a result of it.
This is my attempt to provide the "What if Marie had taught Nick about being a Grimm beforehand?" In addition, there were some vague, or unexpanded references in the show that I decided to run with and expand on, and plenty of additions that I came up with myself. Given the vast utility and adaptability of Grimm's, and Nick's fully embracing his heritage, it gave a all-submerged version of Nick that I decided to write about. His character (morality and core values) will be largely unchanged, but his capabilities and willingness to go-"Grimm" will be different.
Also, I did go back and change some stuff in the Prologue, mostly to smooth some lines over, and add some character. I will be skipping over parts that are largely unchanged from the show, but these should get fewer and fewer in the event I continue this story.
And unholy Cthulhu, Batman! That's a lot of Reviews!
Review Responses:
- BlackWolfLord: Well thank you! Nick's evolving dynamic with Wesen will probably "fun" part (for him, not them XD)
- paganknight18: Here's that continuation!
- smoak999: Your begging paid off! Here's the next chapter!
- "Guest": Ah yes. My favorite spice too.
- breeze66: And some of those differences will already be taking place.
- reader567: Thanks! :)
- "Bill Smith": Here is the "continuing".
- NANOU0960: Posted!
- hari92: Hmm. Maybe.
- "Brandon Waldrop": Thank you! :)
- "Ada Schade": Heheheh! In the event this story continues: SPOILERS!
- scorpio38457: It was one of my pet-peeves with the show.
- Sapphire02: Me too... me too.
- CGI: Uh-oh. Someone has played the "Interesting" card.
- eternaltrekie: Aladdin, huh? But I get what you mean, that part of the show bugged me too.
- Mas2009: Me too. I can't say I hate Sean's character though, merely how such a character ended up in that position (mind you, this is still Season 1 problems)
- "Guest"2, 3, 6: Here is that continuation!
- TheVictoriousOne: I hope I can continue to keep it compelling.
- wr0ngBWLficlover69: Thank you very much! And... we'll see.
- "Guest"4: Oh boy! My first critique for the story... 1- Nick's story wasn't mean to feel rushed, but yeah, it came out that way. That was mostly me not knowing if I was going to continue the story or not, so it was throwing out a lot of info. 2- Adalind is a Hexenbiest working in a law firm with other Wesen; at the very least, other Hexenbiest's. Adalind could handle herself, and even then, her co-worker would have had no indication that Nick was a Grimm. 3- I did my best to emulate Hank from the show, and lets face it, he does near the exact same thing on multiple occasions. I find it more telling as an extension of his character and background than a source of cringe, but I get it if you're of a differing opinion, and I respect that
- ReaderNotAWriter85: I'm glad you liked it. It's (mostly... kinda?) always fun to share this stuff!
- "Guest"5: It always bugged me how unprepared Nick was, but also how blindly dependent Adalind was. Because of how little information there is about characters before the start of the show, I had to make some jumps in logic. She's a lawyer. That comes with critical thinking, intimate knowledge of manipulation and lying, the ability to plan in foresight (courtroom prep); attributes that say she shouldn't be that dense. And I got the vibe that being a lawyer was something she largely achieved on her own, without help from her mother (what does Catherine do for a living?) or Sean Renard. Which prompts enough of an independent mindset that I can't see her being so willfully blind, or dead-set on riding someone else's coattails when she achieved more by herself than was ever really granted to her. Just a thought.
- MajinKyuubi9: Well... here's one new chapter.
- "Guest"7: Thank you very much!
- CarissaCampbell: You were saying ;)
- Bronkwin2: I'm glad you like it.
- "Alexis": Thank you. I wish I could tell you more, but that would fall under "SPOILERS!"
- Unkept135: Glad I'm not the only one
- "nika": Yeah, they could have at least "Alex Rider"ed his character: training, but not knowing what exactly it's for until he becomes a Grimm, then Boom! It makes sense. Also, fair point on the trailer. I didn't think about that. But we'll see as far as how the story continues, if it continues.
*End of Responses
That being read, I welcome your Reviews. If you have criticisms, I welcome those too. Please keep them constructive. I want to grow as an author, and I can't do that if people aren't willing to critique, or only want to tear me down. I'm not here to please everybody, but I am here to learn. There is a method to my madness, even if I don't always fully understand it. 90% of what I write, I don't write baselessly. There is a reason some things are changed, and others are the same.
Disclaimer: I don't own Grimm or its subsidiaries. Those rights belong exclusively to the original creators, and NBC that aired it.
Without further ado. *Que the dimming of the lights*
Chapter 1: Sweet (not so) Dreams
"Half of her is over there," the Forest Service Officer stated, pointing off the wooded trail to another taped off perimeter, where forensics was doing their testing. He turned and gestured just next to the trail, "and the rest of her is… well, here." He diligently pulled back some of the heavier undergrowth to reveal a severed leg and pointed a little way to an equally severed arm.
"Any ID on the vic?" Hank asked.
"None yet."
"Women's Nike," Nick commented on the shoed foot, stating the obvious more as sounding board as he browsed the scene. "So we know the vic is female. Best guess is out for a morning jog. Anything else?"
"A few," the Officer replied, summarizing the findings for them as he gestured up the trail. "We matched some of the prints from her shoe. Best we can be tell, she was heading this way up the trail, stopped, and turned around. Figure she was heading back."
"Nearest mile marker is still a quarter-mile up. That'd be odd if she turned around here," Hank commented.
Nick and Hank looked at the trail carefully, the dirt still relatively wet from some light rain last night (because Portland), not quite the distinguishing the prints themselves from the overlap the forensics team had caused to case the scene. But one part of the trail showed a distinct scuff. "Possibly where she was caught?" Hank shot off to Nick.
Nick nodded trying to think positively, even if his mind was suddenly leaning another direction. He nudged Hank, pointing at the stub of the arm. "See that?"
Hank's eyes just rolled. "I see a dismembered arm, but I'm guessing you're seeing something I'm not. So what should I be seeing oh wise one?"
Nick just gave him a look, continuing to trace the air around it. "The way the muscles are set up. These were torn off. Not even enough to be sliced, not mulched enough to be hacked, and none of it looks mauled. Bone is whole; pulled from the socket. And judging from the blood spill and coagulation…."
"Some of it pre-mortem," Hank caught on, shaking his head in disgust. "Damn. That's a rough way to break. You take a couple ME classes or somethin'? Maybe a seminar?" Not that he was really surprised anymore. One could always learn something new in the presence of Nick Burkhardt. It was kinda scary actually. Good thing he was on this side of the law, otherwise… *shiver*
Nick gave wry chuckle, despite the gruesome scene in front of and around them. Had to keep positive somehow. "Nope. Fajita night. Cut steak into strips enough times and you catch on to how the fibers separate."
"That's messed up," Hank grumbled. "And you've officially ruined fajitas for me. And possibly steak too. Great work."
"Any animals in the area that could do this?" he asked, wanting to cover his bases. "Or would?" Because how many animals tore someone apart but left the body untouched otherwise?
"Well normally, we could tell by the tracks," the Forest Officer stated. "Bear, cougar, wolf."
"So which one is it?" Hank asked. Because they wouldn't bring homicide in on this if it was an animal. Or at least, not necessarily.
The Officer nodded, moving a little ways from part (or parts) of the body. "Well this is the interesting bit…." He parted some more ferns, looking around carefully before he continued, "…this is the only print we found. And take a guess: it's not from her shoe."
Nick frowned at the print, trying to remain vested as a cop. But that gut feeling was rearing its ugly head. And not in a "cracked the case" kind of way. He couldn't help it, but the Grimm in him was making itself known. He could actually say that now, as opposed to the "Kehrseite-Schlich-Kennen in him". Bit of a mouthful, now that he thought about it.
"Hey, we got a boot print!" Hank called over to some of forensics. "Gonna need a cast."
A couple of the Crime Scene Analysts gave affirming salutes.
Hank patted the Forest Officer on the shoulder. "DNA'll tell us if this is our case or ours. Still a good call to bring us in though." The Forester simply nodded grimly.
Nick didn't move from his crouched position, his eyes focused on the print as though it would tell him something. It wasn't the first case he would label "Wesen", but then, he hadn't had proof save for the methods of death, and eventual leads up to a suspect made using what he knew about the said potential Wesen behaviors. It didn't always pan out, but the feeling was right far more often than not.
Now that his Grimm was on, he would be able to identify potential suspects a lot easier, and with far more accuracy. It's too bad his gut was telling him that this was one of those cases.
"Hey Nick, you comin'?" Hank called out.
Nick stood to his feet, following quickly after his partner.
"You're Spidey-Sense tinglin'?" he asked, only partially teasing.
"It's not a Spidey-Sense," Nick protested at the tease before looking back at the crime scene. "But yeah. Something doesn't feel right to me." He contemplated for a moment as they continued back to the car. "Remember that case up in Munson Creek Falls?"
"Hiker and bobcat," Hank affirmed. "But I guess Puss didn't have his boots on. But I'm guessin' that's not what's prodding at ya."
Nick nodded before stopping, something catching his attention. "You hear that?" He turned around, looking intently.
"What?"
"Music."
He followed the sound, quietly followed by Hank. It wasn't hard to find, growing slightly louder as they got closer. Just outside the tape, he crouched down. "Think we got an iPod over here."
"What's this song?" Hank asked, crouching next to him.
"~Sweet dreams~" Nick replied in-tune, not sure of the song himself.
"Eurythmics," Hank confirmed with a tap to his knee. "One of their better. ~Sweet dreams are made of these. Who am I, to disagree?~"
"Decent pitch and tone, but your timing and beat could use a little work," Nick admitted, tapping Hank's knee in jest. "You can sing me to sleep once you get those down."
Hank just gave a tight-lipped huff of resignation as he pulled out an evidence bag. They couldn't all be stars.
South Portland Police Bureau…
Walking into the precinct side-by-side like a couple of bad-asses had lost its touch after the first few times. Best they could do now was divide up the work and get this case closed as cleanly and quickly as possible; in that order.
"Until we get back those DNA results, I'll run a database on violent predators in the area," Nick offered as they took the stairs to the open stairs to the next floor. Not that he was really banking on it, but better safe than sorry.
"What about your hunch?" Hank asked as they turned toward the offices. "I'm putting my chips on that."
Nick appreciated the faith, but didn't want to count his eggs before they were in the basket. "Evidence before hunch. We should probably take another look at that Munson Creek Falls attack."
"You'll be busy," Hank chuckled at the designated workload his partner was taking on, before he chipped in. "I'll take the iPod down for prints. Back in a minute." He quickly turned the corner on his way.
Nick moved through the propped open office door to processing, immediately getting eyed up some perp handcuffed to a chair. He just stared back, not sure what the guy was going for.
Until he Woged. Into a Skalengeck. Immediately the perp regressed, eyeing Nick with a visible touch of fear.
'Not in my head,' he confirmed again. Oh yeah, he was definitely a Grimm now.
He unceremoniously ran into somebody, causing him pause.
Sergeant Wu didn't stop, clearly in a hurry. "Sorry Nick," he stated, but not before adding some of that dry humor he was known around the station for, "Guess I should have worn my airbag today."
"Sorry Wu," he called back, putting his hands on his hips as he took another look at the cuffed (and evident) Skalengeck. Who was shaking like a leaf, head down, and doing his best not to make eye contact. Not a common thing among his kind. Probably the combination of being cinched down plus an unexpected Grimm sighting. 'Well, at least he didn't call me out,' he thought with a little relief. With what little he knew while travelling with his aunt, Wesen always ousted her as a Grimm. Not that word wasn't going to spread quick depending on what circles communicated with whom else.
Speaking of which.
He pulled out his cellphone, hitting speed-dial as the line trilled on the other end. One look at the Skalengeck while he waited for someone to pick up showed that the regressed reptilian was beginning to panic, eyeing Nick while he made the phone call. He couldn't help but chuckle to himself. Might do to sweat him a little.
"Hello?" someone said from the other end.
"Aunt Marie," he whispered fondly, ignoring the perp in favor of heading toward his desk. "How are you?"
The sigh on the other end immediately told him something was wrong. "I've been better Nicky." His silence must have said something to her because she added, "A little tired mostly. I'm actually heading to Portland."
"Oh? Good, because… uh…." Suddenly he wasn't sure what to say. At least… not directly over the phone. "I think I'm gonna need glasses soon," he stated, coding it exactly as she had taught him to, but keeping his voice low to reduce the chance of someone hearing him. She had trained him under so many scenarios. The little code-phrase for his becoming a Grimm was second nature.
A deeper sigh that resigned to a potential inevitability was heard. "You've started seeing them."
"Yeah." Not much else to say about that. "Two so far. Made sure to confirm it too."
"And there will be more to follow," she answered in warning. "You still living in the same place?"
"Yeah. You can park wherever. The back has plenty of space if you need it," he stated, hinting without stating exactly what he meant. "Door code is seventy-one, eighty-nine, thirteen, thirteen," he added quickly, knowing she'd pick it up.
"When was the last time you changed the code?"
"Beginning of the month," he answered as he sat down at his desk, immediately setting to multi-task between his work and the conversation. "Every month, random set of numbers, between five and ten digits. Security system is regularly checked and tested. Have it wired to my phone, in case I get an alert. If you need me to open the door for you, let me know and I'll authorize it from work."
"Good boy." He could feel her smiling on the other end, and it made him smile as well. One could never be too cautious. Especially a newly minted Grimm intent on making a life in a single city, without all the nomadic hassle his more recent family were known for.
"Make yourself at home. Feel free to raid my fridge, but don't…," he winced slightly, "…don't mess with my supplies. I'll help you top off the 'Spice Rack' when I get home. And don't try mixing it yourself. I still remember Connecticut."
Her huff on the other end said she remembered it too. "Still adding to your 'Cookbook'?"
"With varying degrees of success," he admitted, just as he finished his rather quick-like search for the case. "Alright, I have to get back to work. I'll let you know if anything comes up. And… don't add to the pile on my desk. Please. Try to take it easy, at least for a few days."
Another huff on the other end made him smirk. "Fine. I suppose I can refrain from… 'gutting a few fish' for a couple hours."
"It's a start. Thank you. Love you."
"Love you too, Nicky. Be there soon."
"Bye."
"Bye."
Nick hung up his phone, pocketing it as he hit 'Print' for his list.
"Who was that?" Hank asked as he passed by on his way to his own desk.
"Aunt Marie," Nick replied.
"Thee Aunt Marie?" Hank inquired like he was mentioning a legend, getting his own search underway.
"The one and only," he affirmed, getting up to snatch his printed list.
"When was the last time you saw her?"
"I think… two summers ago?" Nick shrugged as he looked over the print-out. "It's been a while though. She's been a little busy. Evidently, she's stopping by."
"So no sending a Strip-O-Gram to your house?" Hank inquired, getting a kick out of himself when Nick sent back a droll look. "I'm just teasin'."
Nick rolled his eyes at yet another jab at his single life, showing his list to Hank. "Anyway, twenty-three known predators within five square miles of the crime scene. None of them rise to that kind of violence." 'And it's looking more and more like a Wesen case.' "Plus, it's safe to say that the body would have had some gnawing if they had."
Hanks phone rank, and he gave Nick a pointed look as he answered. "Detective Griffin," he answered. In a moment, he gave Nick another look. A look that said they had ID'd their vic.
… … …
Sylvie Oster.
Her name was Sylvie Oster.
A college student, who frequently jogged in the morning, reported missing the day of by her roommate when she didn't return from said jog. Normally the police wouldn't have worried about it until twenty-four hours had passed; but not today. Not with a fresh (potential) murder discovered within reasonable distance of the campus. And they now had a positive ID on the vic.
"God, I hope it happened fast," Hank muttered as he looked over the digital image of her license. It was a cold distinction between who the simple smile in the photo belonged to, and what became of them once they were killed. It got them every time.
As much as Nick wanted to agree, he couldn't help the cynical 'Not likely,' whispering in the back of his head. Not with how she was literally torn apart. "Hard to believe that was her just this morning," he replied, earning a gentle nod from Hank. They may not have seen it all over the last few years, but they'd certainly seen their fair share of brutal homicide scenes and gruesome finds. Eventually, there was a wall of numbness they had to put up to keep the madness of it all from spilling over into their homelives; or in Nick's case, understand that this was the tip of the proverbial iceberg his life would come to entail.
There were Wesen out there that made tearing someone apart look like a game of Operation.
Hank's tsked, his mind already winding down for the evening against his say-so. "You wanting to work late tonight?"
Nick smiled, already noting that Hank wasn't all there, even if he was offering to stay the extra odd two or three hours. "Nah. If Aunt Marie's coming over, I need to make sure the house is "guest friendly"." They were both donning their jackets and saving their progress on the case before closing down their computers. They needed to wind down from this one. "Besides, a fresh set of eyes in the morning will do us better. At least until we hear back about Munson Creek."
"Still runnin' the "Animal Attack" angle?" Hank inquired as they both started leaving the station. "Even with your research and that hunch of yours?"
Nick shook his head in serious contemplation. "I still have the hunch," he affirmed, "but I'd rather hit all the probable angles until we can confirm that our suspect pool isn't animal. Can't arrest a hunch."
"Fair enough," Hank conceded, before nestling Nick's shoulder as they split up to their own personal vehicles. "Well either way, tell Aunt Marie I said hi."
"Will do. Take care Hank."
The drive home wasn't an unpleasant occasion. Empty mostly. Unlike most evenings, he had something to look forward to. Not that it was a bad thing to have nothing to look forward to. His days were already spent with homicides, kidnappings, the odd B and E, and the evening offered a reprieve from it in most cases. A few all-nighters here and there, but Nick had come to anticipate such things.
It wasn't too long of a drive, but it wasn't suburbia. The neighborhood he lived in was modest, somewhat on the outskirts of Portland's main infrastructure. None of those… "friendly neighborhood" types next door. The neighbors were just like him: trying to manage day-to-day without the hassle of someone else's business intruding on theirs. Occasionally there was some disbalance or overlap, maybe some shouting from a couple next door, or spying the single mother at the end of the block, just coming home as he was heading to work in the morning. Still, he'd made his presence known; being a cop more-or-less made people appreciative and wary of him in equal measure, which suited him just fine. He didn't want them up in his "business".
He pulled up to the front of his house in his Land Cruiser, settling for a moment after he'd put it into park. The just idle of the engine continued to engage him as he looked out at the pale blue shade of paint and the white trim of his two bedroom, one-and-a-half bathroom, two story house. It was a little on the small side, with virtually no front lawn or patio, all the rooms stuffed on the top floor, with a small kitchen and living/dining room on the lower floor. The best features (in his opinion) were the generous back-alley parking space and the exceptional cellar space that was slightly larger than the upper house as the bunker-like structure seemed to lip under the lawn, and connect part of it to the alley garage. He didn't know what that meant for the piping or electrical, or how the back lawn was still alive, but he didn't care so much as long as it continued to work.
And work it did.
In his favor, it was practically a steal since he and Hank had busted the last guy who lived in it on charges of kidnapping (hence the odd basement-garage setup) and… a few other charges that Nick was wont to think about. Unsurprisingly, sometimes Kehrseite were worse monsters than Wesen. Given its sorted history, no one was willing to buy it at market price, and the setup, it was perfect for his needs and the extra space was a plus. It also helped that he wasn't so easily haunted by the ghosts of other's… evils.
The last few years of his life were in this house, and he'd have the mortgage paid off within another year or two. He might have had it paid off sooner if it wasn't for all the security he'd had installed. Or the personal installations he didn't trust just any handyman to put in. Or finishing the half-refurbished mess the previous owner had left it in. Suffice to say, after he'd banished any bad spirits the Grimm-fashion way, the fixer-upper was practically brand-new, and about as complete as he could make it. All new electrical and plumbing, high-end security, every door and window secure, and enough space for any of his other gear. Especially the important crap.
If he wanted resell value, it was looking up.
The moment of idle thrum is over, and he shut off his car, quietly getting out, locking the door, and proceeding to his front door. The neighborhood is quiet at this time of night, and he takes a deep breath of the cooler evening air before stepping into the range of the front porch light's automatic sensor, guarding his home from frontal obscurity.
He's already pulling down a side-cover next to the door to reveal a pin-pad, quietly typing in this month's security code before pressing "pound (#)", inserting his key into the deadbolt, and turning with a sharp click. A dark house greeted him as he closed the door behind him, blocking the porch light from guiding his steps.
He paused only for a moment as the light from the kitchen alerted him to someone else's presence, causing him to begin stalking his way forward carefully… and slowly. Doing his best not to trigger a creak from the wood-tiled entryway. He stopped, back to the corner before slowly turning to peer around the open entrance.
He chuckled when something long, thin, and flat tapped the side of his neck from behind. "Good to see you too," he commented.
"You let your guard down, Nicky."
"Oh? Did I?"
He made the short knife blade he'd inconspicuously drawn known as he trailed the flat along the diaphragm of the would-be intruder's abdomen.
"Potentially lethal," the voice huffed in answer. "If you could land it."
"I could say the same about a scratch to the neck," he retorted.
"It is if you're up against a wall with no way to push away from the blade," came the harsh reply. "Or it's poisoned. You need to think about those things."
He rolled his eyes slightly before turning to see his aunt giving him an equal parts stern and amused glance as she pulled away the thin fencer's blade from his neck, quietly sheathing it until it looked like a simple walking cane again. And he in-turn did the same, sheathing his under the cuff of his sleeve.
"Aunt Marie," he greeted, initiating a hug, and she returned it, both of them inhaling deeply, refamiliarizing themselves with each other in person for the first time in two years. "I missed you."
"And I you," she replied, gently breaking away before putting a hand to his cheek to study him. "You got so handsome." Then she eyed him critically beyond the lens of familial affection. "But your face is all rough. When was the last time you shaved? At least you keep your hair short if you're not gonna do anything with it."
He just smiled, a little sadly when he noticed how thin and pale her hands were. Or how she was leaning almost dependently on her cane. Or how the knitted beanie on her head was hiding her hair, or rather, the complete lack of hair. But there was still plenty of fight in her eyes, which made the smile more genuine.
"And you still look as beautiful as ever," he commented back, holding her hand to his cheek, savoring the love and affection she always put into her touch. It had been so long. Too long. He sniffed slightly as he looked at her, just breathing as he tried not to let the moment slip away.
She took his words as much as half-serious, but all heart. "I'm a little old to be sweet-talked," she teased, but she didn't deny him what love she could. In some ways, he was still her little boy. "And a little worn from all the travelling."
"And the chemo treatments?" he asked, letting her hand slowly fall away as he reoriented himself.
"And the chemo treatments," she confirmed, hobbling around him and back into the kitchen where she'd been slicing a tomato for a half-prepped sandwich at the counter. He withheld a chuckle at the rather complex looking delicacy.
"How did those go?" He followed behind her, leaning into the jam between the kitchen and the hall dividing it from the living/dining room.
"Exhausting," she replied, half gesturing to her covered head, "in more ways than one."
He nodded. She'd been keeping him up to date on the treatments. Even if she didn't want to talk about it, he'd tried to stay in contact all the same. Unfortunately, between his work schedule and her… chaotic lifestyle… it made keeping contact hard, but not impossible. If not by phone call, then a few texts made up the in-betweens.
He hesitated to bring it up, but he wanted (or perhaps even needed) to know. "How bad is it?"
Marie sighed, perhaps anticipating this line of questioning. "Not good. Not hopeless though. That trinket you made me really put me through the ringer. But it helped me catch it soon enough."
Nick chuckled a little. The trinket in question was originally meant to alert her the moment it detected poison, venom, or foreign bodies; anything that entered the digestive track or bloodstream that constituted harm. One of many he had made for her over the years. A Thueban Taewidha. A "Snake Charm" or "Serpent Talisman". Arabic in origin, with a little bit of a Burkhardt spin to it. It was also supposed to slow the absorption and expulsion of said toxins. Evidently, the blessed thing had been constantly alerting Marie for a long period of time with no lingering effects of poison taking place. Until the dizzy spells at least. After that… well, one thing led to another.
"They caught it pretty late, but still early enough to nip it down," she continued, hand trailing over the intricately snake-carved jewel-eyed black-gold band on her wrist, even as she finished rapidly slicing the tomato she was working on with the handled ease of a knife expert. "Between the treatments and the blasted thing slowing it down, I still have some time left to explore more options."
Nick nodded in understanding. Still, it bugged him. "What I wouldn't give for a Koschie right about now." But Koschie's were exceptionally rare. And less than likely to help a Grimm.
Marie just snorted at him, shaking her head lightly at his wishful thinking. "But enough about me," she dismissed, carefully stacking the sliced tomato to the sandwich and packing away the rest in the fridge, before glancing at him from the corner of her eye as she topped it with bread, "you saw your first Woge."
He nodded, a closed-lipped smile gracing his face. "First official one any way."
She plated her meal before beginning to walk toward the dining room, gently gesturing for him to follow as she passed. "So what was it? Seelengut? Dickfellig? Or maybe one of those nosy Mellifer?"
He hesitated initially. Might as well go all in. "Hexenbiest, actually."
She half-tripped over her attempt to sit, catching herself on her cane, before she swung around to look at him. "Hexenbiest? Are you sure?"
"Pretty hard to mistake that mug for anything else," he assured with a shrug.
She quickly sets her plate on the table before looking at him carefully. "And you're still alive. So that must mean–"
"No one is dead," he interrupted before she got too far ahead. "I wasn't exactly equipped to face one without the evidence pointing straight back to me. Not that she could do anything either, since I had the Hexenabwehr."
Marie gave him an exasperated look that said she knew where this was going. "You talked to it. Didn't you?"
"She," he corrected. "And yes." There was no apology or excuse in his tone. "She was surprisingly cordial."
Marie closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to keep calm. "That was a foolish thing to do."
He nodded so-so. "Kinda my fault I ran into her and spilled her coffee on us both."
Marie scoffed, half-amused, half-exasperated; because of course that's how Nick would meet a Hexenbiest. He probably even offered to foot the cleaning bill.
"She seemed more… confused that I wasn't trying to take off her head." He just shrugged like it was a nonfactor. "Still, it was an interesting experience."
Marie nodded in agreement. The first Woge was always the most memorable. Even if he had already technically seen a Woge that any Kehrseite could witness, a Grimm's Woge always felt different. It imprinted a little closer to home, touched a little deeper. A first Woge that didn't end in Grimm and Wesen trying to kill each other was rare enough; but a Hexenbiest being a Grimm's first Woge with neither dying was unheard of.
And of course, her Nicky would be the one to do the unthinkable. That wasn't a matter of pride, just a matter of exasperated resignation.
"Well, I'm glad that it went well," she muttered, unsure of what else there was to say. Even if she meant it. Especially when her first Woge had knocked her on ass; she couldn't move for a week after that. Nick appeared physically and mentally stable at least, with no apparent residual side-effects, and that was all she could hope for. "Just be careful next time, Nicky. I don't see another exchange with a Hexenbiest going well, and chances are, there is more than one in Portland alone. They're not particularly sociable creatures, but they tend to keep tabs on each other. Wouldn't surprise me to see a coven or two."
"I'll try," he humored, "but we both know how that goes for Grimm's."
'Do I ever,' she thought, a mixture of amusement… and sadness at his becoming a Grimm. It was times like these she questioned if it was a good idea to start him young, to reveal the truth rather than leave him in ignorance. Perhaps he would have enjoyed school, despite how frequently they moved, and not spent his teenage years pouring over dusty tomes and the ancient secrets of their ancestors. Perhaps he would have made more friends in college rather than restrict himself to a training regime that demanded his absolute focus.
Maybe he would be settled down by now, with nothing short of a gorgeous woman to stand beside her nephew. Perhaps one that could acclimate to the strangeness of the world. Maybe, he would have been a proud parent by now, the house tapping with the sounds of little feet.
But then she realized, all those 'maybe's' were wasted. He was a Grimm now. Even before he could see; the way he had taken to their family history, to their weapons, to their potions, poisons, and gadgets. If he hadn't been a Grimm in body, than perhaps in heart and mind. As it was, he was a Grimm through and through.
Mostly.
Unfortunately or fortunately, it appeared Grimm philosophy didn't resonate well with him. He was more sympathetic to Wesen than any other Grimm she had come across in her travelling. She couldn't blame him either. Their family had its fair share of dark corners and skeletons in the closet, many of which reflected worse on the Grimm's than it did on the Wesen. Not to mention the Kessler-Burkhardt's were a little more open-minded than most when it came to Wesen.
But she believed that would serve him well as long as he could balance it: a Grimm who could sympathize with Wesen, but wasn't afraid to chop of the heads of the bad ones. Or in his case, she supposed he'd prefer due process. Maybe shooting them? Beheading was just a step up. Just in case.
"Be as our family troubles are," she said, slowly turning from serious to revealing a slight glimmer of mischief in her eye, "what new toys have you got in the basement."
Nick rolled his eyes in exasperation. "They are tools, not toys," he chided. "You're the one who taught me that. Remember?"
"At my age, Nicky, they're toys," she stated.
He slapped his hands on his thighs as he stood straight, that sweet, boyish grin on his face that she was so fond of. "Well, bring your sandwich. 'Cause I think you're gonna love this."
Adalind was a mess.
Not so much appearance wise. She was dressed to kill (sometimes literally, despite having only ever done so out of defense) and her makeup flawless; her attire, impeccable. No. The mess was an internal train wreck of briefly wondering how she was alive, followed by the realization that she had met a Grimm, equally followed by the fact that she wasn't dead; which only seemed to repeat itself in a cycle. Alive, Grimm, Not Dead; and repeat.
Returning to the firm had been an exercise in futility. She was far too frazzled, thrown off her game by her intense, albeit brief, encounter and her co-workers had noticed it. Whatever could shake the immovable Adalind Schade was clearly a force to be reckoned with. She was half-tempted to share what had happened with some her fellow Wesen, even if just with her fellow Hexen at the firm. Until she realized, it would only serve to put her on the outs. They would distance her as far away from themselves as possible, because in the end, they weren't her friends. They hardly even appropriated as allies.
Not truly. If a Grimm was aware of her, her colleagues wouldn't hesitate to give her the stiff arm to keep any heat from landing on them. Or fire her and remove her completely. 'Not that it would matter,' she thought semi-smugly, 'the Grimm's a detective. He'd realize they were Wesen in no time.' Should he hunt her, if anyone could put two and two events together, it would be him. Aaand, she was complimenting him. Great.
She was alone, and that brief encounter with the Grimm – Nick Burkhardt – was as close to an actual revelation as she could come to expect. The worst part was, she didn't think of him as a Grimm; rather as the somewhat clumsy detective that had bumped into her. She couldn't think otherwise. She even knew his name, and that seemed a far-cry easier to think about than him as a Grimm. The black-eyed monsters she'd been told about as a child didn't do the real deal justice… but at the same time, it didn't do him justice. How the same black eyes that could make her fear for her life, were the same black eyes that made her trust in the man they came from; that he wasn't out to hurt her simply because of what she was.
What he was and who he was seemed a strange contrast, and she couldn't think about one without being dissuaded by the other. Grimm's were merciless in their crusade against Wesen, and yet it seemed out of character if Detective Nick Burkhardt didn't spare them… or at least attempt to. He carried that gun and badge for a reason after all. It was so confusing, and yet she was so sure of it. In a convoluted sort of way.
Suffice to say, her suffering was made short when her boss had "requested" she go home early; unwind for the day and come back fresh tomorrow.
Unlikely.
So there she was, outside the firm waiting to be picked up like a child from school, unsure of what she should do. How she could play up her encounter with the Grimm so it seemed more–
She immediately dismissed any attempt at deception. Besides the fact that the detective hadn't laid a finger on her, much less a scratch (in fact, he'd been damn near cordial, something Grimm's were not supposed to be; and dare she think, kind), her mother could taste a lie a mile away, and Sean probably knew more about his hidden Grimm than she did. But telling it as is would probably be a mistake. Not to mention that she wasn't sure what to do about Sean Renard, especially as he'd been hiding a Grimm in his department behind both her and her mother's back.
'Or his potential Grimm,' she thought bitterly as she remembered that she was his first Woge. 'Makes "walking the edge of a knife" seem like an understatement,' Unfortunately, she was teetering on that edge after the encounter, and she wasn't convinced enough to believe that she wouldn't be cut loose the moment she fell.
She'd have to make contingencies, just like her mother taught her. Never bank all her efforts on one plan, but prepare with a number of other ones. But for the first step, she needed to know how both Catherine Schade and Sean Renard would react before planning anything. And how the Gri– detective would react.
She took a big, uncomposed breath before allowing herself to loosen up. She needed to seem unaffected by the event. She needed to seem as confident as she wasn't, which was a lot right now.
Then she saw the car. The damned vehicle that was set to pick her up tonight on some important business or other. A black Chevrolet Tahoe pulled up to the curb, and she knew that delaying wouldn't bode well for her. Without any prompting, she glided into the front passenger's seat, reflexively putting on her seatbelt and setting her bag at her feet. The car was already gently pulling away from the curb by the time she had closed the door.
There was a moment of ungodly silence that was almost as nerve-wracking than the conversation she knew was coming. Almost.
"I got an interesting call today." The depreciation in the man's voice made her feel like a scolded child all over again, and she gripped around the seatbelts cross-strap to keep her calm. "Your mother said you had a run-in with a Grimm."
She snorted slightly, the sound more depreciating than it had been with the detective. Aaand, there she went again. "Literally. We bumped into each other. Coffee was spilt. It was fun."
The look in Sean Renard's eyes said he wasn't in the mood for games, and he had no problem fixing her with that look. "For someone who encountered a Grimm, you look remarkably unhurt."
"He was curious," she stated calmly. "Didn't really seem like he wanted to fight, but he came prepared in case I was."
"He?" Sean asked, looking more confused by the characterization than by the thought of a Grimm not wanting to fight. "Not "she"?"
Adalind snorted again. "I think I would know the difference between a man and a woman." She would have continued, if she hadn't seen the contemplative look in his eyes, like he was factoring for something new. "Plotting". "Plotting" was a better word for the look. Still, that didn't stop her confusion from showing. "You know, the Grimm? The one you've been hiding in your department?"
Realization dawned in Sean's eyes and he gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. Even angered, or startled, he still had the look of a man retaining his composure (if only barely). Evidently, that was information she wasn't supposed to know. Eh, then again, she did stumble on it by accident. But that was a card she wasn't willing to play.
"So you want to tell me why you've been keeping a Grimm around?" she asked, prodding a little more than was probably healthy, but she was angry too. Had it been any other Grimm, she would have been dead… aaand she had already separated the detective from "normal" Grimm's, as though that made him an exception. 'Because as far as anyone would know, he is,' she thought in strangely calm acceptance. God, where was this stuff coming from?!
"Potential," he answered. "A potential Grimm. I knew he had some family ties, but I could never be sure if he would turn out to be one. At the very least, he showed a high probability of being a Kehrseite-Schlich-Kennen and related to a few Grimm's. That's still a card worth holding on to. Plus he's closed a lot of cases. His value isn't just related to Wesen."
"And at best, he was a Grimm you had working under you," Adalind clarified before a bit of that bitterness came back. "Well congratulations! He's a Grimm! Not just a Grimm, but one with a powerful artifact under his shirt that makes him resistant to my powers. At the very least."
That seemed to catch Renard by surprise. "Under his shirt? You tried seducing him?" Of course that's what the prick – she meant "Prince", honestly – would focus on.
'Lawyer face, Adalind,' she reminded herself. 'Lawyer face.'
She wasn't about to admit that she had flirted with him before finding out he was a Grimm. And she could admit, he wore the rugged look well, with his stubble and short hair. If he wasn't so straight laced, and she hadn't found out he was a Grimm… well, who knows where it might have taken them. "No. He showed it to me before I could get a shot off. It's on a cord around his neck." Something else was bothering her about Sean's absolute focus on Nick. He had mentioned a "she", like the Grimm should have been a woman. "And what did you mean by "she"? I thought mom would have made it clear I was up against the Grimm in your department."
He sighed, already getting tired of how events were playing out; neither in his favor, nor against it. Not to mention the Grimm evidently had some way to circumvent – or at least, dampen – a Hexenbiest's powers. That would be problematic to deal with in the future, if not damned useful. There were plenty of Hexenbiest's working for the Royals after all. "Your mother probably felt the idea of the getting the shock factor from you would go over better. So far, I'm not seeing it."
'Ah, and the Prince has wit of his own,' she thought sarcastically. She bit back her frustration, trying to return to calm and collected.
"But I suspected the Grimm would be a woman because we have a Grimm in town. Or I should say, another Grimm."
Adalind blinked as she digested that. Not just one Grimm, but two. Two Grimms. She wanted to shiver at the thought; entire genocides of Wesen had been killed with fewer Grimms, and now there were two. "Wanted to shiver" being the operative feeling. But she couldn't. In few minutes of talking with Nick Burkhardt she had, she didn't see him as the type to senselessly go on a killing spree. Especially since he maintained a position at the South Precinct. The new Grimm was a different matter altogether though. "Any idea who it is?"
Sean paused, his mouth partially open in a way that said he was choosing his words carefully. Never a good sign. "My sources say that the new Grimm is most likely Marie Kessler."
'Ah,' she thought, turning to look out the car window, a look of relief reflecting back at her. Relief that she hadn't encountered the other Grimm.
That would explain a lot. Marie Kessler was one of the most infamous Grimm's in the country. There was a bounty on her head, and no shortage of Wesen who would want to collect; but you didn't get bounties that large if you weren't a pro at fighting and killing Wesen. And rumor had it, she had gotten even better in the last decade. Very few Grimm's made a name like that for themselves, save for maybe the unanimous "Lady in Black", but that Grimm operated mostly overseas. Thank God.
"That explains the confusion," she stated aloud.
"And that explains why you're still very much alive," he responded in kind, before the subtle shift in his demeanor stated that it was time to get down to business. "Which brings us to our next order of business: Marie Kessler needs to die…."
Adalind looked over at him in shock, already dreading where she knew this was going.
"…And I want you to do it," Sean finished, looking at her as though it was an assignment he didn't want to give her.
Her brain scrambled. For anything really. Something that could push this off as an impossible feat. She needed to - quite literally - build a case to save her life.
"You want… me… to kill Marie Kessler," Adalind repeated slowly, still in the process of doing said processing. "What makes you think that is possible, much less that I can do it?"
"The reports I'm getting seem to believe that she's sick," Sean answered. "Cancer, if they aren't feeding me bull. And I have it on good authority she has a Reaper on her tail. Using that to our advantage, it should be that much easier."
"And killing her will boost your credibility with the Royals." Statement. Not question. That's what it usually boiled down to. "Because you would have part in something that even the Royals couldn't accomplish."
"Precisely."
Her mental scrambling finally paid off as something came to mind. "A Grimm comes to town just as your Grimm emerges. What are the chances that its coincidence? She might be one of those distant relatives you mentioned."
Just as she hoped, serious contemplation came over Sean's face. Something he clearly hadn't thought about. But it became a problem even as she began asking herself that same question. What were the chances of coincidence? Slim at best. None-existent at worst. And given the detectives pre-existing awareness of Wesen and apparent preparation… well, those things had to come from somewhere.
"Your detective knew what I was, as well as the nature of what he was," she said as calmly as she could muster. "There's a chance that he was trained by Marie Kessler, prior to his existence as a Grimm. Killing her could lead him straight to us."
The frown on Sean's face increased as he mulled on that. But she could see that his ultimate decision was unchanged. And there was something else too. He knew more than he was letting on. The (literal) bastard was holding out on her! "Then you'll just have to be careful. If Marie Kessler does have influence or ties to Nick Burkhardt, then all the more reason to eliminate her. We need him on our side."
'You mean, you need him on your side,' she thought back angrily. She wasn't stupid. It was the same at the firm and it's hierarchy.
She had to bite down to keep from grinding her teeth, or from inhaling sharply. Or any indication that she thought this was a stupid plan. 'Lawyer face.' There were plenty of reasons to reject this half-baked monstrosity of a plan, that – let's face it – was little more than a concept at best. Throwing a sheet of paper at a wall and seeing what stuck.
But she couldn't say no. Not when it was expected of her to follow without question. The extent of her rebellion against her mother and the bastard Prince she was intent on setting her up with, was expended in law school. It was as close to her own ambition as she could acquire without losing all ties. Short of her current living arrangements, she was as self-sufficient as she could be.
If ever there was a moment she knew she was as expendable as she felt, it was now, where she was being told to gamble the sum of her everything to possibly take down a Grimm of untold repute. And not even for herself, but for someone else's power-hungry ambitions. Who was also hiding something about said person in general.
She was so caught up in her thoughts, she didn't notice that they were in front of her mother's house. "Think about it," he suggested. But even he knew, he wasn't giving her an option.
Adalind didn't hesitate the slam the door as she got out, seething as she heard the car pull away. She had to close her eyes, turn her head, take several deep breaths, and force a tight-lipped smile just to even think about calming down when all she wanted to do was scream. Maybe shatter the windows of any cars within reach of her powers. But this was her life. This was what she had to sacrifice, and gamble, and steal, and now kill, to get some semblance of happiness.
At least, according to her mother and the bastard Prince. According to them, she was supposed to want these things.
But then she thought about those steel grey eyes being swallowed by black voids. And for once in her "happy" little fairy tale, the cracks were showing. The fragility of her own grand delusion revealed like the curtains opening on a stage. And the running show was a comedy, cause the joke was clearly on her.
She couldn't, and wouldn't, say she was content with her position in life save for what she had fashioned for herself in the practice and firm she worked for. But wasn't that love? Sacrificing her wants and desires for the person she loved. Or at least, someone she thought she loved. The sex was decent, and as long as she was useful, as long as she continued to sacrifice, she was wanted and cared for. Until she was asked to sacrifice again. And again.
And again.
There on the front steps to her mother's house, she questioned the validity of her own assessment. All because some cute detective had not only gone Grimm and looked at her with those damning eyes, but because he had looked at her beyond what those eyes entailed. As if, because she couldn't hide what she was from him, she couldn't hide from herself either. As though they had drawn more than her true form to the surface.
It was damned near infuriating.
Without exuberance or fanfare to her entry, she walked right into her mother's house, not even remotely worried that the door was unlocked. They were Hexenbiests; Wesen weren't an issue, and Kehrseite even less so. But she supposed they'd better start, now that there were two Grimms in Portland. Well... one-and-a-half. Not that deadbolts would stop a persistent Grimm.
"And how is my daughter this evening?"
Adalind barely glanced up as her mother descended the stairs in a satin blouse, dress pants, and heels, barely containing herself around all the delicate fineries the place was decorated with. One snap of her twisted jaw, she wondered how quickly all of it would shatter. "Fine mother," she answered with a sarcastic lilt to formality. "I'm on a first name basis with a Grimm and didn't lose my head. Glad to see and hear all about how concerned you are."
"Of course I was concerned," Catherine Schade touched on as she walked to stand right in front of her, "but you're here now, and you're fine. That's what matters."
Adalind would have loved to pretend that their relationship was anything past manners, cordial politeness, and the occasional workable spell, but they had bigger problems. "There's a second Grimm in Portland," she stated, halting her mother just as quickly.
With the number of times she'd seen or heard people pause to process unwanted information today, she had lost count. "Are you certain?"
"Sean just filled me in," she stated. "Apparently, I also get the distinguished honor of assassinating thee Marie Kessler, no bars held on whether or not I survive. Not to mention the Grimm I ran into is possibly her protégée."
She hated her mother's touch as it gently brushed down the sides of her arms as though she was trying to warm her. It wasn't comforting. It was more by like she was trying to make her more presentable, brushing at some perceived imperfection. "And you should be happy. Not only did you survive a Grimm, you're furthering Sean's goals. Just do what he asks you to and be happy about it. He's a Prince after all. There's no telling how far he can take you."
"Not very far if I end up without my head," Adalind protested.
Catherine's grip on her shoulder caused her to wince slightly at the pressure. "This is not a debate, Adalind. This is an order." Her grip softened, a regretful look at how hard she had gripped her daughter on her face. "You'll do fine. If Sean sent you after her, then it must be for a good reason."
She briefly rubbed her arm again before moving on, ending the conversation and leaving Adalind staring at where she had been, her tongue stuffing into her cheek and her jaw forming an irritated underbite. Same excuse, same tune, same spiel. Adalind was supposed to attach herself to the power the Prince provided, ride his coattails and whatever else he wanted edged off until he came into true authoritative power, and assume that she'd be at his side throughout it all. And they'd all live Happily Ever After. Like a parasite. Just like her mother had taught her. Anything for power.
Because at the end of the day, she was in love, and as long as she got a decent fuck out of it, that was supposed to keep her happy. Until now, that had been enough; even the barest hopeful glimmer that any of that was true. But now, her life was evidently forfeit and God forbid she have something for herself outside of the Prince's wishes.
She didn't hesitate to walk away, almost stomping up the stairs if it weren't for the damned heels she was wearing.
"And where are you going?" Catherine demanded, having ended the conversation, but clearly having not dismissed her.
'Where am I going?' she wondered, letting those bitter thoughts rise in her.
"I'm going to go call someone about the drying cleaning," she answered, immediately continuing her trek. "Because if I'm evidently going to die soon, I at least want to look my best! And if I survive facing off against Sean's Grimm detective, the first thing I'm doing is sending him the bill for the coffee he spilt on me!"
Did she sound like a petulant brat? Yes. But God, that felt good. She could almost taste her mother's shock at that reveal. How much did Sean or her mother actually tell each other? 'And why am I the middleman?' she wondered. Oh well, if there were some issues, they could hash them out. Because she had bigger things to worry about than their lack of communication skills with each other.
Like how she was going to kill one Grimm without possibly attracting the ire of the other. She groaned when Sean's words came back to her. 'Ugh. Maybe I do have to seduce him.' Her tongue stuck in the side of her cheek at that before nodded so-so to herself. 'Might even be worth it.'
"You've got quite the collection, Nicky," Marie commented as she examined some of the more modernized versions of some of their ancestors' weapon-craft. The available space was consolidated, everything having a place, and everything in its proper place with as much room to spare as possible.
A few choice firearms, including a modern Siegbarste Gewehr and a number of what appeared to be police-issued glocks; along with a crimping station to make his own ammunition. Clip-like cannisters with a meticulously organized row of cartridges that Marie had no idea what they were for, but she figured if her Nicky had them, they were useful.
Carbonized steel blades with sleek and efficient shapes: throwing knives, combat knives, survival knives, a longsword, and a claymore. He even had Hu-tou-gou twins, a Wakizashi, and even a Yanyuedao displayed on the wall. God only knew if he would use them. Their kind tended to prefer utility, simplicity and efficiency. Fancy weaponry was basically just a bragging right.
Even some of a Grimm's more traditional weapons were modernized. A hand-held and full-mount tactical dual-shot crossbow that replicated the Doppelarmbrust, a double-headed labrys axe, and a retractable bladed vambrace.
To top it all off, a fridge and several cabinets for cold and room storage for the varies poisons and concoctions their ancestors had made. All of it lined up, labeled, and dated. It even appeared that her rather experimentative nephew had put some of the substances that ancient Grimm's ingested before their fights in gel capsules for measured, non-lethal doses. Like bloody medicine! Brilliant. Simply brilliant.
"And you've added to it, I see." She continued perusing, thoroughly impressed with what he'd managed to gather together since the last time she'd seen him. And make. For everything he'd bought or ordered for the collection, another thing was something he had made or designed himself. If she didn't know better, she'd think this was a Grimm safehouse. In a way, it was.
There was even a desk, lined with journals – most labelled very clearly in Nick's hand, but others handed down from the trailer – detailing varies cases and potential related Wesen. Just like their ancestors records. Now that he was a Grimm, the accuracy would go up significantly case-to-case. Starting with his first Woge no doubt.
It was a few minutes of admiration in when she found something she really liked. "Is that a…?" She pulled out a single poled lance, admiring the light, but sturdy make. The most telling feature was the twisting entwined fuller hollow where the tip met the shaft. "You have a Bleihohl." This seemed to please her as she carefully set her cane off to the side to examine it further. She swung and stabbed it, twirling and swinging the end like she was born to fight with it. For a moment she felt so young again.
"Including lead rods," he stated with an amused smile, lifting up a small cylinder of compact lead that fit perfectly into the hollow. "It's made of a chromium-tungsten steel-based alloy. Keeps it light, sturdy, and resistant to temperatures over five-thousand degrees."
"Expecting a Dämonfeuer?"
"Just thinking ahead," he answered. "Plus I figured you'd like it."
She smiled genuinely at the weapon. "I haven't seen one of these in years. Your great-grand Uncle was said to have had one. One of the last trained spear dancers this side of the world. He was a jackass and a whoremonger by all accounts, but he knew how to fight. Rumor had it he could dance and spin through a fight without so much scratch on him. "Like trying to hit the wind", your grandfather would say."
Nick smiled. It always brought a smile to his face when he heard some tale or other about his family or his ancestors. Most of them anyway. With all the good some of them could do, there was a lot of bad mixed in. If nothing else, the Bleihohl had utility, but he wasn't anticipating fighting against any dragon- or wyvern-like Wesen. Might also work on a Cockatrice now that he thought about it.
"It's a lovely collection," she stated, putting the Bleihohl back in its place before donning her cane again. "You might actually get to use some of it now that you can see them."
"Maybe." He didn't seem too certain, but they all started out uncertain. Once the responsibility to maintaining Kehrseite ignorance settled in, it would come naturally. Especially since some Wesen didn't know the meaning of the word "subtlety"; and as a rule of thumb, people were stupid, ignorant, and prone to immediately let fear-fueled rage lead their reasoning when confronted with the unknown.
She patted him gently on the arm, giving him a warm smile. "You're doing good, Nicky. Just because you can see Wesen now, it doesn't mean you need to change. You're a detective too, so just shoot the bad ones."
He snorted, smiling his own smile. "It doesn't work like that Aunt Marie."
"Sure it does," she teased. Or was she serious? It was kind of hard to tell.
He shook his head again, holding back a laugh. "Anyway. What did you need refilled?" he asked, moving toward one of the fridges.
"Grey Blood, Rot Königin, as much Schlaftrunk as you can spare, and any Black Forest moss extract you can spare."
He immediately moved to dry storage, browsing over the list of alphabetically arranged ingredients, extracts, elixirs, potions, and poisons. Everything from dehydrated mushrooms (stems and caps separated, of course) to powdered mandrake root. To say his shelves were stocked would be an understatement. "Hmm. You'll probably also need some dried Death Cap and Komps Root shreddings."
"Please and thank you."
"How long will you be in town?" he asked as he began to pull down items. "I can offer the guest room, so you're not stuck out in the trailer."
"Hopefully just a few weeks. I'm not due for any more treatments for a little while yet, and I don't want to impose."
"That's good to–"
Ding-dong!
Aunt and nephew both stiffened reflexively, Nick glaring curiously up the stairs.
"Expecting someone?" Marie asked.
"No," he answered, half-gripping the knife in his sleeve. "Unless Hank really sent that Strip-o-gram he was threatening me with."
"Oh. How is Hank doing?"
"Doing good. He asked me to say hi."
"What a dear."
Ding-dong!
Nick groaned aloud, marching up the stairs. "Fine. I'm coming, I'm coming." He turned back for a second. "Just wait a moment. I'll be right back." He barely noticed Aunt Marie gripping her cane tighter. Barely; but he still noticed, and it automatically put him on edge. On his trek to the door, he reflexively began calculating how many hidden weapons he could reach across his home.
'Eight,' he thought. Easy answer.
Ding-dong!
The last ring rang just as he approached the door. He kind of wished he'd installed camera's, but that might be too noticeable for this neighborhood. Bracing himself, he unlocked the door before smoothly opening it, not immediately peering out. Just in case.
To his own surprise, what greeted him was a fuller middle-aged man with a receding hairline and a old leather jacket. He held up a police ID for a moment, but not long enough to catch anything significant. "Sorry to bother you this evening. My name is Detective Todd Rogers with the Portland Police Department. I was wondering if I could trouble you for a moment of your time, sir."
Nick's neck bristled, but he quietly allowed it to tame down. "What can I do for you, detective?"
"We were wondering if you've happened to see this woman?" He held up a photo, and Nick had to hold back a snort as he saw a photograph of Aunt Marie. "I know she looks unassuming, but she's wanted for multiple accounts of murder. We had a tip that she was spotted in the area, and are going door to door."
Nick's "detective" – or maybe his inherent "Grimm" – instincts were clocking in. 'No viewable car – possibly understandable. Detectives work in pairs, but no apparent partner in sight – happens a lot. Put away the badge too quickly – interesting.' But that's where his pretense ended.
'Says he's from the PPD, but the Captain certainly didn't inform the department. All the precincts would have been notified for something this high-end. Hell, I'd be the first to know. Didn't say who he was looking for, only showed a picture. And this guy is looking for Aunt Marie.' Sure she was brutal, but she knew how to keep on the downlow. She was a pro (not that he was condoning murder; far from it in fact), and a Grimm at that. Which meant….
This guy was Wesen. No doubt. Any individual point might have been a coincidence. But all together, it was pretty damning.
But who did he work for? So many choices. So many little factions, resurgence, insurgence, and little tell-tale groups that had lived, died, and sometimes reformed over the centuries. Or it could be any one of the big ones.
It wasn't hard to purse his lips in thought, looking closely at the photo as though he was thinking harder. "Mmm, no… I don't think so."
"Are you certain?" Oh, Nick had to give him props. This guy wasn't the best, but most civilians would probably fall for it. This guy just had the misfortune of knocking at his door. Unless….
…Unless he knew that Aunt Marie was here. Only one way to find out.
"I don't think so," he answered. "Sorry. If I see her around, I'll call it in."
"Alright then. You have a good evening, sir." Oh, so he didn't know. But still, this guy was after his aunt.
And it smoldered in Nick's chest.
"What did you say your name was again?" Nick asked, revealing more of his own profile through the door.
"Detective Todd Rogers," he stated, furrowing his eyes in confusion.
"Could I see your badge again?"
"I'm busy sir, I don't have time to sit and chat," he stated, the inflections in his tone clearly agitated.
"Oh, I'm just asking, since… I didn't get a call about this." He put his hands on his belt, making sure it caught – whoever this guy really was – his eye, as he brushed along his own gun and badge. Either fortunately or unfortunately, he hadn't thought to take his gear off for the day. "So I'll be needing to see that badge and badge number. Which precinct were you from again?"
The man's eyes widened ever so slightly in surprise, and his neck twitched. Leathery yellowish-green skin melded over his features, forming a larger nose, pointed teeth, and pointed ears.
The Wesen's eyes widened as Nick watched the transformation. "Grimm!" Right! That was a typical Wesen response!
"Hässlich," Nick commented reflexively, almost as though they were simply stating what the other was. At least until Nick got front kicked back into his own house.
He landed on the wood tile with a gasp, instincts kicking in as the Hässlich stepped in, drawing a weapon from behind him as though it were magic. Then it sprung open into the clear shape of a scythe.
'Are you frickin' kidding me?!'
"Reaper!" Nick called out, hoping to warn Aunt Marie as his hand instinctively moved to his holster. Just as he did so, the Hässlich did his own moving.
Author's Note:
Heads-up: I'm not sure how often I'll be posting these yet, or if it will continue. This is mostly to relieve the pressure on my brain. Because it's a Sample Story, if I get serious about writing this, it will be subject to changes. So not everything here will be gospel if I come back to it.
I have the ideas, but only time and feedback will determine if anything comes out of it. No name ideas for Chapter 2 if I decide to work on it, but, we'll see.