Adalind spends the morning trying to find her balance after last night's dream encounter with a very cranky little girl, and she's only been moderately successful before Nick surprises her with the offer of a date and a ride home, not necessarily in that order. He drives this time, and they're not holding hands, but she catches herself thinking that the silence between them was easier last night. They'd been cocooned by shock—clutching each other out of necessity—and even though they didn't have much to say to each other on the ride, they'd been there together, sharing the space.

Now it feels like they can't get out of each other's way fast enough. They're remembering everything that went before—her taunting, his threats, their shared history of violence and distrust. They'd been in a bubble last night—two people whose lives were changed in one shared instant—but now they have to go back to their separate lives and make sense of those changes. He's going home to Juliette, and she's going home to a mess—the apartment where she slept with Hank and the lurking specter of her mother and Sean and the key she doesn't have.

As it turns out, that specter is not even lurking anymore by the time she gets home. Sean is on the sidewalk in front of her building—arms crossed, foot tapping—waiting for her to arrive like a disapproving school marm, and she sighs as Nick pulls up to the curb and Sean's glare only intensifies.

"Oh, man," Nick says.

"I'll handle it."

Nick snorts. "Yeah, no. The last time you 'handled' Renard, Hank almost wound up dead. And he is my Captain. Whatever happens here, I have to deal with it at work later anyway."

Adalind can feel her teeth clench and grind. Nick will never understand her calculus around Hank. Sean could have just as easily set his sights on Juliette, and while Adalind wasn't exactly wild about Juliette's pretty, pretty princess routine when they met last week, at least Hank was an actual combatant on the board. All's fair in love and war, but she let Sean pick Hank because he was already a player. A fighter in his own right. And yeah, she was always going to win, but that's the game. Witches vs. warriors. Sometimes the witch burns and sometimes the warrior burns in her, but it's an age old fight and someone's always going to lose. There's no shame in the game.

But Nick doesn't play that game. He doesn't want to burn or be burned. He just wants justice. He wants a world built on trust and mutual respect and peace, of all things, and that makes her teeth itch, because the world she was born into doesn't work like that, but it would be so much better if it did.

"Fine," she says through her teeth, stepping out of the car and slamming the door behind her.

Sean is there immediately, staring her down.

"What is he doing here?"

"Bringing her home," Nick says, coming up behind her to place a hand on the small of her back. "We had a long night."

Adalind closes her eyes and counts to ten. Just because Nick wants peace in the wesen world doesn't mean he's opposed to starting a few little personal conflicts of his own, and it's just her luck that his chosen target is the only Royal worth striking a bargain with for 5,000 miles.

When she opens her eyes she's treated to the incredibly rare sight of Sean Renard speechless, and all of a sudden she's feeling much more fondly towards Nick, who's hand really is lovely and warm where it slides between the edges of her jacket and jeans.

"A lot's changed, Sean," she says. "The key is the least of our problems. Talk to Henrietta, and then we can talk. We can't fight you, but hurting us right now might destroy the world, so consider that something like a nuclear deterrent for the time being."

Sean stills and his eyes zero in on her face.

"You've lost your powers," he says. "You're useless to me."

Behind her Nick stirs, and Adalind stretches out a hand to hold him back before he can punch Sean and get them both killed.

"You suck as a boyfriend, Sean," she says. "I would have followed you anywhere. You know that, right? I was raised to follow you. To love you. All the way to Vienna. But you never wanted me to get that far—you never wanted me much at all. And I don't want you, now, either, so let's call it quits and figure out how to be allies in this town, because I may not have my powers now, but once I do, you really won't want to be my enemy."

Sean stares at her, and then beyond her to Nick, who meets his stare with a glare of his own.

"What she said," Nick says, "without the boyfriend part. Although I heard the sex was lousy, so good luck with that."

There's a moment then when Adalind's whole life passes behind her eyes. Birth, Mom, Dad, homeschool, her mother's downward spiral, the sweet relief of law school where at least the torture was her own to choose, and finally her futile and inglorious death, occasioned by the testosterone-poisoned tongue of a depowered Grimm feeling some kind of way about the one time they fucked really, really well under the cover of the stars.

It was nice while it lasted.

Sean looks absolutely murderous, but Nick just grins.

"Let me walk you to your door," he says, pushing her forward with his warm, steady hand. "See you at the office, Captain."


"What the fuck was that?"

They're inside now, and Nick is picking up cushions from where Monroe had made a comfortable nest for Hank last night. Adalind is still standing at the front door—glaring at him with her hands on her hips—waiting for him to leave.

"What was what?" Nick says, like he didn't just taunt a Royal prince about his proficiency or lack thereof in bed.

Adalind takes in a deep, seething breath and releases it slowly. If her powers and her future weren't dependent on this man, she'd kill him right now and be done with the whole sordid affair.

"Nick, I'm not your girlfriend. Even if I were your girlfriend, you wouldn't get to taunt my exes about how good we were in bed."

He looks up sharply from fluffing the throw pillows and grins. "So you do admit that we were good?"

Adalind rolls her eyes. "Is that what this is about? Yes, I was there, too. It was good. Are you happy now?"

"Ecstatic," Nick says. He's closer now—a lot closer. Right in front of her and leaning in. How does this keep happening to them?

"Last night you said it was lousy," he says. "I thought I might have to remind you just how wrong that assessment was."

She's already swaying towards him, pulled in by the heat and the laughter in his gaze. It'd be so easy to fall—to close the gap—to tear his clothes off and make it end. They wouldn't have to talk then—wouldn't have to decide. They'd fall into bed and that would be it. The baby would come in nine months, along with their powers, and if they were really lucky, maybe they'd never have to talk to each other again for the next eighteen years.

Only that's not how parenting works. That much she knows. She doesn't have a great sense of what good co-parenting looks like, but she's pretty sure that it starts with said parents being on speaking terms. And if that's the goal—if they are going to raise a child together—then they can't start like this. Caught between her ex and the lurking shadow of Juliette. Propelled forward by the raw attraction between them—the magical drive towards creation that's been haunting them since the ruins. Hot sex is not enough to build a life together on. It's barely enough to build a conversation.

"Nick," she says, practically whispering into his lips, "we can't. Not today. Not before we're sure."

"Yeah," he says, watching her lips and sighing a little. "I know."

The front door opens then—not three feet away behind her—and when Adalind finally rips her eyes away from Nick, there stands her mother—the Ice Queen of Portland—immaculately dressed in exquisite black.

"Oh," she says, "you have company. Don't let me stop you, dear. Feel free to finish your little tête-à-tête. It's not like I haven't been up waiting for you all night."