A/N: I honestly wasn't expecting this chapter to be what it is, but I kind of like its quietness. It's the calm before the storm of the Juliette break up. The next one should be a bit more lively, but until then, thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy!


Nick's starting to wonder how he went his whole life without having sex in a car once to practically making a habit of it in one day.

The answer is Adalind, of course. The answer is always Adalind.

"That was hot," Adalind says, her voice muffled. She's spread out on his chest—her forehead pressed to the place where he can feel his heart thudding—her hair falling everywhere like spun gold in the moonlight. They're laid out on the back seat, where they fell together in the aftermath of a release that they've been working up to all day.

And it's been a very, very long day.

"Hot," he says, "and absolutely exhausting."

"Oh my God, yes," Adalind says, not moving a muscle. "Find me a bed, Burkhardt. Any bed."

"Right," he says. "Sure. You move first."

Adalind sighs.

"Here is good," she says, and then they both doze for a bit.

Later, Nick comes to with a crick in his neck and the growing awareness that his full body blanket is mumbling in her sleep. Nothing he can really make out—a few moans and gasps that make him wonder if she's dreaming of him the way he was dreaming of her—and then, clear as day—

"No! Diana!"

She screams then, trembling against him, and Nick strokes her back, her shining head, her damp forehead, hoping to bring her back from her nightmare gently.

"Adalind," he says, "Adalind, wake up."

He can tell when she wakes—she tenses against him—all that softness momentarily going rigid—like she's used to being on guard when she wakes up. It makes him wish he knew her before. Before he was a Grimm—before she was a hexenbiest-for-hire—before his parents died—before her father left and her mother snapped. There's a lot of befores there—a lot of bad things he wishes he could undo for her—for him—for them and the life they're on the edge of building together.

But the befores made them both—he wouldn't even be in Portland if his parents were still alive and well in Rhinebeck, New York. She wouldn't be in his arms if she hadn't kissed a few frogs masquerading as princes—especially if one of those princes hadn't set them both on a collision course. So Nick figures he'll have to learn to live with the befores. He'll have to figure out how to make a better after—for Adalind and their kid and their friends and—what the hell—all of Portland. Why not?

This is the point, he thinks. This is the point of Switzerland. So we can all wake up to better afters.

"You awake?" he asks. He knows the answer, but Adalind isn't talking yet, and he gets nervous when she's not talking.

"Yeah." She props her chin up on her hands on his chest. "Weird dreams. What do you think about Diana, for a name?"

"Was that what you were dreaming about? Our kid's name is Diana?"

"It was in the dream," Adalind says.

"It didn't sound like a happy dream."

"Yeah, well, she was on fire again."

"Ah." Nick remembers his own dream ending much the same way. "Purple fire, right?" Adalind hums in agreement, and Nick sighs. "Something tells me we're going to have to be really strict about not starting forest fires."

Adalind snorts. "Maybe that's why we should name her Diana. Moon goddess—huntress—protector of the forest—sounding about right to you?"

"Yeah," Nick says, and then, dropping his voice—"Only you can prevent forest fires."

Adalind laughs and drops her forehead back to his chest. "We could always call her Smokey."

"I like Diana," Nick says. "And it couldn't hurt to have a goddess on our side."

Adalind raises her head again, smiling. "Yeah? You and my mother are going to get on, once she gets over the whole prince thing. She's got goddesses on speed dial."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Adalind says. "I guess this is as good a time to tell you as any—I was pretty much raised pagan. It's a witch thing—not a lot of established religions with an affinity for witchcraft. My mom went full Wiccan for a bit in the seventies. I know it's hard to believe, looking at her now, but she liked the vibe and the community. It was very—accepting. She does her own thing now—she was way too power hungry for them—but the ancient Celtic holidays kind of stuck, and I like to celebrate them with her when we're not, you know, fighting. Is that going to be a problem for you?"

She's biting her lip, looking genuinely nervous, and Nick doesn't really understand the concern.

"Adalind, we were trying to kill each other last night. You're an actual witch. You think a few pagan holidays are going to be the deal breaker for me?"

Adalind blushes in the moonlight, actually honest-to-god blushes, and Nick finds himself falling for her all over again.

"Well," Adalind says, "I didn't want you to think I was weird or anything. Also, you know, my mother."

"Adalind, you are weird. You are weird, witchy, and wonderful. I'm into it. Even if it means spending the holidays with your mother. That's what families do, right?"

"Yeah," she says, and that soft, little smile is back. It feels like it's just for him. "That is what families do."


The ride back to his house with Juliette is tense. They've been operating in a beautiful little bubble all day, and it's been easy for him to keep forgetting the fact of Juliette when Adalind is right there, jumping into danger and dragging him with her. Or is he the one jumping, and she's the one leaping after him? Either way—they've been on the move all day, and it's only when he pulls up in front of the house that it really becomes clear to him that the next bit of being with Adalind is going to demand having a long overdue conversation with Juliette.

He turns off the ignition and looks to Adalind. Her dress is rumpled beyond redemption at this point. He might not even have to tell Juliette if she sees Adalind in that dress—her hair wild from his fingers—her lip split again from his over eager teeth. They really do need to try being gentle with each other, he thinks. Just for the novelty.

He looks to the house again—dark and brooding on the hill. Juliette must have gone to bed a long time ago. She didn't even leave the porch light on for him.

"So, um…"

"Yeah."

"I'll go talk to Juliette."

"Nick, it's 3am," Adalind says, running her fingers through her once again thoroughly fucked hair. "I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to wake people up to break up with them. And I would really like to sleep in a bed tonight. And if you have to fight it out with Juliette for the next however many hours, that's not going to happen."

"So, you don't want me to break up with Juliette?"

"Oh, you're breaking up with Juliette." Her tone is sure, her eyes are bright and steely blue in the street light. "If you want to be with me, I don't plan on sharing. I'm just suggesting that there might be a more auspicious time to have this conversation than at three in the morning when we're both covered in each other, and we've spent the last sixteen hours running around Portland trying to find and murder a murderer, you know?"

"Right," Nick says, feeling slow and lethargic in his very bones, "that makes sense."

So they get out of the car and climb the walk and Nick opens the door with his key and then they're inside his house with Juliette, and Nick is overwhelmed by the familiarity of it and the strangeness. It doesn't feel like he belongs here, at all. The place is dark and silent, and he feels like a burglar, sneaking in just to sneak right back out.

He leads the way upstairs, stopping at the guest room to make sure Adalind has what she needs for the night. He doesn't kiss her goodnight, even though they both pause at the door and stare at each other—poised to do it. It feels wrong here in this house. Now that he's here—less than ten feet from a sleeping Juliette—it feels like he should wait until he's free.

"Tomorrow," he whispers.

"Tomorrow," Adalind agrees, her lips curling in that way that drives him wild—her eyes gleaming.

Tomorrow, he tells himself.

Walking into the bedroom he shares with Juliette is like stepping into a memory of another time and place. It's only been one night and two days since he's slept here, but right now it feels like a relic of another life. One that he's already chosen to give up in a thousand little ways that all begin and end with Adalind Schade.

Juliette is fast asleep in their bed—her silky red hair dark against the sheets, her delicate hands clutched around his pillow. He desperately wants to sleep in a bed tonight, but he looks at Juliette—at her beauty and her peace—and he knows it's not for him. Not anymore. Maybe it never was. Instead he grabs a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, and heads for the bathroom.

Changing doesn't take much time at all—he just strips and drops it all in the hamper, trying not to think too much about the new stains on his button up shirt—him and Adalind, all mixed up together and very much all mixed up on his shirt, and her dress, and maybe even the car seat. That was something they never showed you in the movies. Car sex could get really messy.

He pulls on his pajamas and takes stock of his reflection in the mirror. He looks like death—he hasn't slept well in forty-eight hours, and he's not going to get the chance tonight, either. There's a hint of a hickey peeking out of the collar of his t-shirt, which is fair, he supposes, since he really enjoyed giving Adalind hers. He enjoyed getting his, too, he's pretty sure.

He pokes at the necklace Henrietta gave him last night. The one made from his and Adalind's blood—all mixed up and suspended so that wherever they go, they go together—holding a piece of each other so that they can stand to be apart.

Magic, he thinks. That's what brought him and Adalind together. Big, wild magic. It's easy to forget, what with everything else going on, but it's also kind of reassuring. Somewhere out there, some force of nature probably has a plan. That should probably be terrifying, but right now, Nick is happy to let it do the heavy lifting.

He tucks the necklace away under his shirt and leaves the bathroom and the bedroom beyond, sneaking out past Juliette and taking a blanket to make his bed on the couch.

Tomorrow, he thinks. Tomorrow can't come fast enough.