Chapter Ten

After a quick check-in with both Hank and Matthew, Nick pulled into the motel parking lot where Hector and Matthew had stayed for the second time that day. Stepping onto the pitted blacktop, Nick closed the door and gazed up at the room that was still cordoned off with caution tape.

He wasn't sure why he had returned to the motel; a quick check with one of the uniformed officers that had been assigned to the scene had confirmed that their forensics team had finished their collections and had already returned to the labs. Though Nick knew it was far too early to expect anything from them, he couldn't deny the pull to return.

Striding to the metal stairs, Nick jogged up to the second floor and headed for the door to the room that had belonged to Hector. Pausing for a moment, he gently tugged aside the yellow caution tape and pushed the door open.

With the exception of Hector's body, now safely ensconced in the morgue with Harper, the room looked just as it had that morning. Nick stepped inside, his gaze slowly and meticulously scanning from left to right.

The telling red stain that marked Hector's final moment of life was far more extensive than Nick remembered, though at the time he had been more focused on Hector and Matthew than on anything else. The spray of blood had stretched all the way to the wall, splashed across the dresser and television, and soaked into the carpet as well as the duvet at the foot of the bed.

Nick stood just inches from the stain in the carpet, frowning at the wall. He glanced briefly over his shoulder at where the door stood open, then adjusted his stance to match how Hector had to have been standing. Looking straight ahead, Nick found himself staring at the lone desk in the corner of the room, unmarred by the day's horrors.

Stepping gingerly around the dried pool of blood, Nick moved to the desk and poked around. Nothing unusual jumped out at him; the tray of complimentary coffee packets and a single mug still waited patiently for their guest to brew them. A notepad with the motel's logo on it and a matching pen sat beside the phone, along with a few brochures advertising local restaurants and attractions. Whatever had been on the desk when Hector had died was gone, either by his killer or their own forensics team.

Nick's mind whirled. Had Hector been onto something, and the killer had found out?

He glanced over at the bathroom, then turned back towards the bed.

Someone was standing there, watching him.

Nick felt his heart leap out of his chest, but his cop-honed reflexes had his gun out and pointed at the man before he had a chance to think about it.

The man didn't react, eyes never leaving Nick. He didn't appear to have any remarkable features; mousy brown hair and eyes, worn jeans and t-shirt with a flannel shirt thrown over it, standard work boots that were well-worn. The only thing that stood out to Nick was the thrill of anticipation coloring his expression.

"Police," Nick stated, still trying to calm his racing heart. "You are trespassing on a crime scene. You need to leave."

"He said it would be easy," the man stated, eyes glinting. "Easiest money I'd ever make. Didn't really believe him."

Nick estimated the man to be in his early twenties, only a few years younger than himself. At first Nick wondered if he was a drug addict looking for an opportunity to score, but his eyes were too lucid for that.

The man's head rolled around his shoulders as his features shifted. Nick found himself staring at the snarling face of a Fuchsbau.

"I don't want any trouble, but I will shoot you if I have to," Nick warned.

The Fuchsbau took a step forward, teeth glinting in a sharp smile. "That's not what I've heard."

Confusion threaded through Nick, threatening to distract him. "Oh yeah?" he replied. "And just who has been talking about me?"

The Fuchsbau took another step, almost within arm's reach of Nick.

Nick backed up a step, his gun still aimed at the Fuchsbau. "Don't take another step."

"Or what?" the Fuchsbau taunted. "You'll shoot me? You would have done that by now if you meant it." His smile widened menacingly. "You should have."

The Fuchsbau darted forward, teeth snapping at Nick. One hand swung out, knocking Nick's gun to the side before he could pull the trigger. The two fell to the floor, Nick's head striking the leg of the desk hard enough to send stars bursting in his vision. His gun slipped out of nerveless fingers, clattering onto the carpet as he clawed to the edges of consciousness with every fiber of his being.

The blurry shape of the Fuchsbau faded in and out as it hovered over him.

"The stupid pig was right," he stated. "Easiest money I've ever made in my life. I'm actually kind of disappointed."

The darkness was winning. Nick tried to push it back, knowing if he lost the battle, he would lose for good.

Something silver glinted between Nick and the Fuchsbau. Nick thought he heard another voice mutter something that sounded like 'don't be', but focusing on that cost him more energy than he had to spare.

The weight of the Fuchsbau suddenly vanished off of Nick. Nick blinked in surprise at the change, but slammed his eyes shut as the world started to spin.

Sounds of a scuffle reached his ears, but they faded before Nick could drum up enough interest to question the source. He had a brief moment of peace before a pair of hands began patting at his face.

"Nick? Nick! Nick, open your eyes!"

The voice sounded like it belonged to Matthew. Nick wanted to obey, to open his eyes and reassure his brother that he was all right, but the mere thought of enduring the yaw and pitch of the motel room sent a wave of nausea rolling through him.

"Nick!" A sharp slap stung his cheek. "Nick, stay awake! Come on, little brother, open your eyes!"

The combination of pain, dizziness, and nausea was too much. Nick slipped into the encroaching darkness between one breath and the next.


A steady, rhythmic beeping poked holes in the thick fog of nothingness that wrapped around Nick. He floated on the ether, content to simply be as he relished the first moments of peace that he had felt in longer than he cared to remember.

If only the beeping would stop.

The fog was beginning to dissipate. Other sounds filtered through the holes left behind; murmured conversations, measured footsteps, and the squeaking of wheels.

Smells came next. Nick recognized the familiar brand of antiseptic and cleaners favored by the hospital. His brow furrowed slightly as awareness seeped into his brain.

Eyes slitted open next, pressing shut against the stabbing pain from the shards of light in the room. Slowly, carefully, Nick cracked his eyelids open, easing them into the level of light in his room.

His hospital room.

Nick lifted up his left arm, noting the weakness in his limbs. He frowned at the IV taped to his arm and the pulse oximeter clipped to his index finger. He turned his head to the side, wincing at the pain bouncing around in his skull, and looked at the machines monitoring his vitals.

"Nick!"

Nick's eyes moved to the doorway and found Matthew staring at him in surprise and relief.

"Matthew?" Nick croaked out. "What happened? What am I doing here?"

"A Fuchsbau got the drop on you at Hector's motel room," Matthew told him, moving to his side and dropping into a chair. "He would have finished you off if I hadn't gotten there in time."

Nick raised his right hand to his head, wincing at the tenderness he found where the desk leg had connected. "Thanks." He lowered his hand and glanced around. "How long was I out for?"

"A couple hours," Matthew answered easily. "I called Hank, who stopped by. He left to deal with the Fuchsbau. Called your captain too; he said to take the rest of the day off."

Normally Nick would have argued against being benched, but the throbbing in his head quelled any resistance he might have felt.

"What happened with the Fuchsbau, anyway?" Matthew asked. "What was he doing there?"

Nick frowned, sifting through the pain to find the memories of the initial encounter. "I . . . he kept saying how easy it would be to get money."

"Money?" Matthew echoed. "Money for what?"

Nick shrugged helplessly. "I don't know," he said. "I-."

His sudden silence caused Matthew to sit up straighter. "What?"

"He said something," Nick said, his voice distant as he recalled the exact words used. "He said 'the stupid pig was right'."

"Right about what?" Matthew pressed.

Nick slowly shook his head. "About . . . about it being easy. The easiest money he'd ever made."

Matthew mulled over the words. "And he mentioned a 'stupid pig'? He used those exact words?"

"Yeah." Nick watched as something dangerous rolled into Matthew's eyes. "Why?"

Matthew shook his head, expression lightening. "Just curious," he replied. "The Fuchsbau isn't saying much." He glanced over his shoulder at the door, then back to Nick.

"The doctor said you got your bell run pretty good," he stated. "Moderate concussion, but that you could go home once you woke up. What do you say?"

"I say the sooner, the better," Nick replied. He tossed the blanket off of his legs and struggled to sit upright.

Matthew pressed a restraining hand on his chest, pressing him back against the pillows. "Easy there, cowboy. It's going to take me a few minutes to get you discharged. Just relax until then, huh?"

Nick melted back into the pillows with a sigh. "Fine," he grumbled. "But if you're not ready to leave in twenty minutes, I'm leaving without you."

Matthew chuckled, patting Nick's chest and withdrawing his hand. "I'd like to see you try."

It was closer to thirty minutes before Nick was bundled into the passenger seat of his brother's rental car, threat notwithstanding. Nick had tried to text Hank to apologize for leaving his partner in the lurch with the case, but even looking at his phone's screen sent ripples of pain through his head. After two pitiful attempts, Nick gave up and decided to apologize the next morning with a box of Hank's favorite donuts.

Matthew navigated the traffic with ease, doing his best to avoid aggravating Nick's pounding skull. By the time they had arrived at Nick's house, Nick was more than ready to take whatever the doctor had prescribed for him, crawl under the covers of his bed, and not emerge until the little gnome inside his head finally put his pickaxe away.

The two shuffled silently into the house, both occupied with their own thoughts. They were barely ten steps into the house when a voice caused them to freeze.

"Hey, Nick, great! Listen, I-."

Monroe charged out of the kitchen and immediately stumbled to a halt when he saw that Nick wasn't alone.

"Uh . . . hi." Monroe frowned at Matthew, looking between him and Nick. "Well. This is awkward."

Nick relaxed once he realized who had surprised them, but Matthew continued to stand rigidly at his side, staring at Monroe.

Monroe's eyes began to take on a reddish glow at the challenging stare. Nick felt himself begin to tense up, his pain giving way under the sudden adrenaline rush.

"Matthew," he said, hoping to defuse the escalating tension. "This is-."

"Blutbad," Matthew growled, twisting his body to face Monroe.

Monroe woged, his hands coming up before him. "Hang on-."

Matthew pounced, hands grabbing Monroe's shirt and bringing Monroe down to the ground. Monroe rolled with the impact, dormant reflexes and Blutbad strength propelling Matthew off of him and towards the kitchen. Both men were on their feet in an instant.

Nick darted in front of Monroe, hands held out to warn Matthew back. "Matthew, wait!"

Matthew ignored him, crouching down to pull out a six-inch blade from one of his boots. "I'm getting real tired of this fucking challenge."

"Dude, you attacked me!" Monroe shouted.

"He's not-," Nick tried.

Matthew dove forward again, one arm sweeping wide and shoving Nick aside as he swung the knife around. Monroe ducked under the knife, snapping his teeth at Matthew before shoving him back.

Nick changed tactics, diving at Matthew and holding him back. "Matthew, stop! It's okay! It's Monroe! He's my friend!"

Matthew froze slightly, his gaze finally turning to Nick. "He's a Blutbad!"

"I know," Nick said. "And he's my friend."

Matthew's eyes darted between Nick and Monroe, disbelief plain on his face. "You can't be serious! Nick, he's a Blutbad!"

"You said that already," Monroe sniped.

"Monroe!" Nick shot a quick glare over his shoulder at his friend, who threw his hands up in surrender. He turned back to his brother. "I told you about him, remember? The one helping me with the Grimm stuff?"

The look of betrayal cut Nick deeper than he expected it to. "You've been trusting a Blutbad to help you? Nick, do you have any idea how reckless that is?"

"I tried to tell him," Monroe spoke up.

Nick gritted his teeth. "Not helping, Monroe."

Under his hands, Nick could feel Matthew still thrumming with tension, but he no longer tried to push past the younger man. Though the immediate threat seemed to have passed, Nick knew better than to believe the danger had gone with it.

Matthew dragged his free hand down his face, clearly struggling with the newest revelation. "I just . . . I can't . . ."

"Look, I get how bizarre this might seem," Nick said.

"Might?" Matthew echoed, incredulity lifting his tone another octave.

"But you have to understand," Nick insisted. "I didn't have anyone. Monroe has been a good friend since the beginning, and he's saved my life several times. I know that this flies in the face of everything you've learned, but you can trust him. He's on our side."

Matthew stared at Nick for several heart-stopping moments, then looked over him to stare at Monroe. His hand flexed on the handle of his dagger as if he was tempted to throw it at Monroe, and for half a moment Nick thought he might.

"Fine," the older Grimm finally said.

Nick narrowed his eyes, not entirely trusting Matthew's sudden change of heart. "Fine?"

"Fine." Matthew pointed his dagger at Monroe, but made no move towards him. "For whatever reason, Nick trusts you. So I won't cut off your head unless you give me a reason to."

"Thanks for the restraint," Monroe snarked.

Matthew crouched down to slide his dagger back into his boot, then straightened. He fixed his brother with a stern look.

"You and I are clearly overdue for a long talk," he stated. "Do you even know the danger you've put yourself in? I mean, the Eisbibers were bad enough, but at least they weren't predators."

"So you've met Bud, then?" Monroe asked.

Matthew glanced at Monroe in surprise, then back to Nick in remonstration.

Now that Nick was no longer worried that Matthew was on the verge of killing Monroe, the pain in his head was returning with a vengeance. Grimacing, he swayed lightly on his feet.

Matthew reached out to steady him, concern overtaking his other emotions. "Let's get you sitting down, huh?"

"What's wrong?" Monroe asked. "Nick, are you hurt? Again?"

"I'm fine," Nick assured both of them, but he allowed Matthew to maneuver him over to the couch in his living room.

"Yeah, you look fine," Monroe shot back, hovering just on the edge of the living room and well out of range of Matthew.

Matthew shot him an annoyed look as he eased Nick down onto the sofa. "How about you make yourself useful and get him a glass of water?" he snapped, crouching down beside his brother.

Monroe bristled, but a stifled grunt of pain from Nick sent him striding to the kitchen.

Matthew dug the pill bottle he'd collected from the hospital's pharmacy out of his pocket, twisted off the cap, and shook out two pills.

"I was going to run back to the precinct for a few more hours, but now I'm not sure I should leave you alone," he told Nick quietly.

"Why?" Nick asked, frowning. "Because of Monroe?"

"Partly," Matthew admitted. "And partly because I'm seriously beginning to doubt your sense of self-preservation."

Monroe returned in time to hear the comment, glass of water in hand. "What sense of self-preservation?" he muttered.

Matthew's dark, distrustful look as he took the water from Monroe sucked the attempt at levity from the room. He handed Nick the pills, but took a sip of water from the glass first and paused before passing it to his brother.

Monroe rolled his eyes at the action. "I didn't poison it."

Matthew was undeterred. "Like I'm going to trust the word of a Blutbad."

Nick tossed the pills back and downed half the glass of water, desperately hoping for relief. "Matthew, I'll be fine. Safer, even, with Monroe here."

"That's debatable," Matthew said.

"Go help Hank," Nick insisted, leaning back and closing his eyes. "It's bad enough I can't help out; go catch this son of a bitch before he strikes again."

Matthew hesitated, then patted Nick's shoulder and stood. "I'll be back in a few hours, and I'll bring some dinner with me. You get some rest until then, all right?"

Nick hummed, not bothering to open his eyes.

Matthew turned to Monroe, the air between them beginning to cracklet with danger once more.

"Anything happens to him before I get back, I'm blaming you," he said flatly. "And then I'm killing you."

He didn't bother to wait for a response, stalking to the door and nearly slamming it closed behind him.

Monroe sank into the easy chair, staring in the direction Matthew had gone. "Charming friend you've got there."

Nick threw an arm over his eyes, hoping to block out any excess light. "That's Matthew. M' brother."

Monroe looked at Nick, eyes sweeping over the Grimm. "Your brother?" he repeated. "The one responsible for your sorry state last night?"

"Mmm-hmm," Nick hummed.

"Is he also responsible for your present condition?" Monroe asked.

"No," Nick replied. "Fuchsbau."

The silence stretched out between them, prompting Nick to peek out at Monroe from under his arm. The look of disgust on Monroe's face puzzled him. "What?"

"A Fuchsbau?" Monroe echoed. "Nick."

"What?"

"A Fuchsbau?"

A slight pout tugged at Nick's mouth. "Technically, the desk was what took me out."

"That's not better!" Monroe cried. He shook his head. "Do me a favor; when you tell this story, tell people it was a Hundjäger or something."

"And just who am I telling this story to?" Nick asked.

Monroe crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't know. Your Grimm journals, maybe."

Nick snorted and covered his eyes again. "I don't think I'll be adding this particular encounter to the books."

"So are we going to talk about how you've managed to come home two days in a row with some kind of damage?" Monroe asked.

Nick didn't move. "Nope."

Monroe slouched in his chair. "This is not a good pattern, man. What's next? A broken arm? Severed leg?"

Nick peeked at him again. "Why are you here, Monroe?"

Monroe jolted, his eyes widening in excitement as he remembered what had brought him to Nick's house. "Oh yeah! I reached out to a cousin of mine in Mehlingen, over in Germany. He's really into the old stories and I thought if anyone had any extra information on the Huntsman, it'd be him."

Nick dropped his arm, his interest piqued. "And did he have any?"

"Sort of," Monroe answered. "There were the usual stories from when we were kids, but there were two big things that he told me that might help. First, he heard from his sister's best friend's neighbor's grandfather-."

"From who?" Nick exclaimed.

Monroe flapped a hand at him. "Not the important part. Listen; this guy used to have this journal that he found when he was a kid, kept by a distant relative to one of the local Royals. He said that this relative witnessed a ceremony where the mantle of 'Huntsman' was bestowed upon a protégé by his master. The journal was lost in a fire shortly after he read it, so no one really believed the account, but my cousin swears the guy is legit."

"If the title is being passed down through the generations, it explains a lot about how he's still operating after all these years," Nick mused. "What's the second thing?"

"My cousin heard from his friend over in Austria that a resistance leader against their Royal Family was mysteriously silenced before he could build up much of a following," Monroe told him. "The official word was that he had been exiled to Italy, but my cousin's friend knows people in the palace, and they said that the Family sent the Huntsman for him."

"When was this?" Nick asked, lowering his arm and sitting up.

Monroe kept a careful eye on Nick's slow movements, but didn't admonish him for them. "My cousin didn't have a specific date, but it was about eight years ago."

Nick was patting at his pockets, pulling out his phone. He tried to squint at it, wanting to unlock the screen, but the pain in his head spiked.

Monroe snatched the phone out of Nick's hands. "What are you doing?"

Nick pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. "I need to tell Hank to dig up more on victims in Austria."

"Or," Monroe said, "you can wait until tomorrow morning. It's the middle of the night in Austria right now; no one is going to be answering any phone calls or emails right now."

Nick slumped wearily back, his head ducked low. "God, I'm so tired."

The admission slipped out without Nick's permission, but the truth of it was wrapped around every line of his muscles and etched deep in his bones.

"Well, it's been one hell of a week," Monroe offered.

The laugh slipped out of Nick before he could catch it. He lifted his chin, smiling at his friend. "Yeah."

Monroe nodded, mentally searching for something supportive to say to the young Grimm.

"I gotta say, man," he said. "I don't like your brother."

It wasn't exactly what he was looking for, but the honest comment still managed to lighten the air.

Nick snorted. "You're just saying that because he tried to kill you."

"So did you when we first met," Monroe pointed out. "And you managed to scare me at first, but you didn't make me fear for my very soul."

Nick grinned at him. "You say the sweetest things."

Monroe rolled his eyes, then shook his head. "I regret opening my mouth."

Nick was discouraged in the least. "Don't worry; I know you care. Your secret is safe with me."

Monroe glowered at him. "Don't make me hurt you."

Nick merely chuckled and reclined back on his sofa, lifting his arm to cover his eyes once more.

A memory from earlier resurfaced in Monroe's mind. "So what's this about a challenge?"


Monroe had lingered for a while, ostensibly to keep Nick from injuring himself further, but Nick could see the worry hidden behind his friend's quips and careful movements. As if operating on some wesen sixth sense, he made himself scarce about ten minutes before Matthew returned, bearing food.

No new developments had been made on the case, not that Matthew had shared much about their findings. He had spent dinner trying to interrogate Nick on Monroe and the Blutbad's involvement in Nick' Grimm life. Once his line of questioning had been more or less satisfied, Matthew simply moved on to other wesen Nick had regular dealings with.

Nick didn't name Frank or any other wesen by name that Matthew didn't already know about, and he kept his answers as vague as possible. He couldn't explain it, but there was something in his brother's posture and sharp words that told Nick that sharing those particulars would not end well for anyone. He hadn't been at the Grimm part of his life for very long, but Nick had always trusted his instincts. And his instincts were screaming at him to keep quiet.

By the time the meal was over, Nick was exhausted and in pain. He could tell that Matthew was chomping at the bit to scold Nick for what he perceived to be a series of very bad decisions, but to his credit he held his tongue. With a care Nick hadn't seen from him before, Matthew bundled him off to bed with another dose of painkillers and a glass of water. Nick hadn't protested the comparatively early bedtime, and allowed sleep to claim him.

Dawn brought with it the lucidity that Nick had been missing since his encounter with the Fuchsbau. The only sign of ill health left was a tenderness where his head had connected with the desk as well as a faint, pulsing ache in the same place.

Tossing his blankets aside, Nick gingerly climbed out of bed and began his usual morning routine to get ready for the day.

He was just setting the coffee machine to brew when Matthew shuffled into the kitchen. He was dressed for work and his hair was combed neatly, but the bleariness in his eyes and slight slump of his shoulders spoke of a man still moving on autopilot.

Nick hid a grin, pulling two mugs from his cabinet. "Coffee'll be ready in a few."

Matthew leaned back against the counter, folding his arms and running an assessing gaze over Nick that was far more alert than he expected. "You look like you're doing better."

Nick nodded. "I heal fast. Always have."

Matthew grunted. "It'll be even faster now. Survival trait for someone in our line of work."

Nick filed that tidbit away for closer examination when he had time.

Matthew straightened, a fire burning away the fog in his eyes. "Speaking of our line of work . . ."

"Subtle," Nick muttered.

Matthew ignored that. "You're a smart guy, Nick. Even if you've never heard of Grimms, you must have heard the stories! Hello? In the story of the Three Little Pigs, who in their right mind would take the side of the Big Bad Wolf?"

Nick picked up the freshly brewed carafe of coffee, pouring the steaming liquid into two mugs. He passed one to Matthew and reached for the creamer to add to his own.

"When I first met Monroe, it didn't go well," Nick admitted. "I saw him woge and thought he had kidnapped this little girl. I actually tackled him in his house."

"A perfectly reasonable reaction," Matthew stated, carefully sipping at his coffee.

"Then, later that night, when I went back-," Nick continued.

Matthew thunked his mug down on the counter, the coffee sloshing dangerously close to the rim. "You went back?"

Nick held up a hand. "Remember, I still didn't know what I was seeing. By this point, Aunt Marie was in the hospital unconscious and I had seen all of three wesen. And I still believed he was the kidnapper."

"I take it that he wasn't?" Matthew asked.

Nick sipped his coffee and shook his head. "He, er, attacked me when I trespassed on his property. Then invited me in for a beer." He laughed softly to himself at the memory. "I was so lost and had no idea what was going on, but he seemed to have the answers I needed."

"And you just . . . went?" Matthew asked.

Nick shrugged. "He could have killed me already by that point, and he didn't. I took a gamble, and it paid off. He told me about Blutbaden and helped me track down the real kidnapper. And he's helped me ever since."

Matthew stared at him, still clinging to his disbelief. He shook his head. "Trust you to find the one Blutbad who doesn't want to tear out your throat."

"He hasn't been the only one," Nick replied, drinking half of his coffee. "I'm telling you, they're not all monsters."

"Yes, they are." Matthew moved closer, placing his hands on Nick's shoulders and leaning down slightly to catch his eyes. "Nick, if you've managed to find help with these creatures, then that's great. But these wesen . . . they're not like you and me. At their core they're still ruled by animal instinct. Even the most well-trained dog will bite the hand that feeds it if provoked."

Nick shook off Matthew's hands, a spark of protest in his eyes. "You don't know them like I do."

Matthew sighed, stepping back. "Nick, have you heard the story about the Scorpion and the Frog?"

Nick narrowed his eyes at the strange shift in topic. "Is this more wesen cautionary tales?"

Matthew barked out a laugh. "Not exactly, but it applies here," he replied. "So there is a Scorpion who wants to cross a river, but he can't swim. He asks several animals to carry him across, and they all say no. They know that one sting from the Scorpion will kill them."

Nick finished his coffee and set his mug aside, curious as to the direction the conversation was going.

"A Frog comes along, and the Scorpion asks the Frog to carry him across the river," Matthew continued. "The Frog says no, but the Scorpion promises not to sting him. After all, if the Scorpion stings him, they will both die. So the Frog agrees.

"With the Scorpion riding on his back, the Frog begins to swim across the river." Matthew makes sure to reinforce his words with a pointed stare. "But halfway across, the Scorpion stings the Frog."

Nick's full attention was on Matthew, wrapped up in the story.

"Dying, the Frog turns to look at the Scorpion," Matthew said. "'Why did you do that?' he asks. 'Now we'll both die.' The Scorpion looks at the Frog and answers, 'I couldn't help it. It's my nature'."

Matthew took a single step closer to Nick. "Don't you see? Your wesen friend can have all the best intentions in the world; make all sorts of promises. But in the end, they will always act according to their nature."

Nick looked away, unwilling to believe his brother but unable to find the words to argue.

Matthew placed a hand on Nick's shoulder, squeezing gently. "I'm sorry to be the one to tell you, but it's better you find out the truth now, before you get hurt."

He squeezed Nick's shoulder again, patted it, then dropped his hand. "I'll be ready to leave in ten, okay?"

He quietly left the room, not bothering to wait for a response he knew wouldn't be coming.


It was a subdued Nick that led Matthew into the precinct, carrying a box of donuts and detouring first to his desk for updates and messages on several of the other cases he had also been assigned. Matthew patted him on the back, giving him a sympathetic smile before heading to the conference room.

Nick set the box of donuts down on his desk and sat in his chair, shuffling through papers and folders that had appeared there since he'd last been there. He was just skimming over a statement he'd been sent when a shadow fell over him. He looked up to find Sean Renard standing behind him, eyeing him critically.

"Nick," he greeted quietly. "How are you feeling this morning?"

Nick set the statement down on his desk. "Much better, sir. Thanks."

Renard nodded, dropping back into his contemplative silence. Nick waited patiently, wondering what it was that his captain saw.

"Do you have a few minutes?" Renard finally asked. "I'd like to speak with you privately."

Nick glanced at the conference room door, then back to Renard. "Ah, yes, sir. Your office?"

Renard nodded. "Please." He gestured towards his door.

Nick stood and obediently walked to Renard's office, pushing open the door and leading Renard inside. He sat in one of the visitor's chairs when his captain directed him and was mildly surprised when Renard chose to perch on his desk in front of Nick rather than claim his office chair.

"I learned some interesting news yesterday regarding your attack," Renard began. "Evidently there is a challenge among some of the wesen in the community with you at the center of it."

Nick nodded slowly. "So I've heard."

Renard arched a single eyebrow. "What, specifically, have you heard?"

The question drew Nick up short. He thought back over the few instances when it had come up in conversation.

"Just that some teenagers want to try to take me out as a way to establish themselves," he finally answered. He shrugged, unconcerned. "I'm not too worried about it; most wesen either attack me or run and hide when they realize what I am anyway."

"I see," Renard replied. "And is that all you've heard?"

"Yes." Nick nodded jerkily, sensing there was more coming.

Renard nodded to himself. "One of my contacts reached out to me when she learned what was going on," he explained. "The part of the challenge you heard about was the first part released. There was a second part of this challenge, however, that put out a hit on the local Grimm. The hit challenge was given to a number of small-time criminals and spread from there. It's this challenge that has me concerned."

"What does it involve?" Nick asked hesitantly.

Renard glanced behind him, twisting his body slightly to lift a notepad from his desk. Green eyes scanned the words scrawled on it.

"Two hundred dollars for assault," he read out. "Three hundred for battery, with an additional twenty-five dollars for each broken bone. Then there's various amounts depending on the weapon used. After that, there is an even higher payout for your death, the amount varying depending on the method but ranging from one thousand dollars and up." He set the notepad back down, looking back at Nick's decidedly pale face. "When I was informed of your attack shortly after being notified of this, I spoke privately with your assailant. Once we worked through his rather forceful- and colorful- language, he confirmed what I'd heard."

Nick swallowed thickly, desperately fighting back a wave of nausea. "Did he . . . did he happen to mention who was behind the whole thing?"

"Unfortunately, no," Renard answered. "The way the challenge is set up, the person responsible for . . . fulfilling the challenge has to collect photographic evidence and upload it to a secure website along with bank account information. The person who set up the challenge would wire the money to the account provided after verifying that the conditions of the challenge had been met."

It was a very considerate way of telling Nick that photos of his mangled body were currently for sale.

"That's not to say that I don't have my suspicions," Renard added.

Hope lit Nick's eyes.

Renard lifted a hand. "And no, I'm not sharing them just yet. But I was able to get the website address from the man who attacked you yesterday and sent it to a friend of mine at the FBI. He's having his cyber crimes department trace it for me."

Nick nodded.

"In the meantime, I cannot in good conscience allow you to go about without some degree of protection," Renard stated.

Nick bristled, tension sweeping through his body. "I don't need a babysitter!" he protested.

Renard's gaze turned stern. "In addition to yesterday's incident that resulted in a trip to the hospital, the brawl in the bullpen and your near-kidnapping would suggest otherwise."

Nick scowled at him. "Then if they can get to me when I'm already surrounded by cops, what's the point of assigning protection? Now that I know what's coming for me, I can keep watch for it."

"No one, not even I, can maintain that level of awareness indefinitely," Renard replied patiently.

"Then I'll be sure to stick with Hank for now," Nick said. "Or my brother. He's staying with me anyway."

Renard's frown deepened slightly. "I'm . . . not entirely convinced he can be trusted to adequately protect you."

"Based on what?" Nick demanded.

"Based on the fact that he's responsible for at least some of the injuries I've seen you sporting," Renard replied.

Nick's jaw dropped. "I . . . I never said he was."

Renard gave him a wry look. "They don't exactly appoint police captains based on looks alone. It wasn't difficult to deduce, given the evidence in front of me."

Nick hunched over slightly, as if using his body to protect the truth from the captain. "It isn't what you think."

"I'm sure," Renard replied dryly. "I've also begun running a background check on one Matthew Becker."

A surge of fiery rage drove Nick to his feet, hands clenched into fists. "You have no business checking up on him!"

Renard met his gaze fearlessly, not reacting to Nick's posturing. "As ruler of this canton and as captain of this precinct, I am well within my rights to investigate any new arrival to this city, no matter who he happens to be related to."

"Except for the fact he's given you no cause to suspect him of anything!" Nick argued.

"Hasn't he?" Renard asked.

The placid question doused some of the fire burning inside Nick. He reared back slightly. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Renard held Nick's gaze again, gauging his openness to the answer.

"You have been- understandably- preoccupied with his arrival into your life," Renard told him. "Watch how he interacts with others you encounter; draw your own conclusions from that."

With that, he stood and circled around his desk. Sitting down in his chair, he clasped his hands together. "I'm glad you're feeling better," he stated. "I'll check in with you later regarding protective custody."

Nick ground his teeth at the dismissal. "I still think it's a waste of manpower to assign me a bodyguard."

Renard glanced at his phone as it started to ring. "It's never a waste to ensure the safety of one of my people," he replied, lifting the phone and bringing it to his ear. "Renard."

Nick shook off the shock at Renard's parting words, slipping quietly from the office. Detouring to his desk to collect the box of donuts, he went to join his brother in the conference room.

Matthew glanced up at him as he entered, his eyes inquisitive. "Is everything okay?"

Nick set the box of donuts down on the table among the mess of papers and folders. "Of course," he said, forcefully injecting some brightness into his tone. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"Your captain looked pretty serious out there," Matthew pointed out, gesturing vaguely at the window and the partial view of the bullpen it offered. "Something going on I need to know about?"

Nick shook his head, sorting through the reports nearest to him. "Nah, he was just touching base, making sure I was okay after yesterday."

"And that's all?" Matthew pressed, a dubious look on his face.

Nick debated sharing the news about the hit challenge placed on him, but ultimately decided it wasn't worth the trouble. "More or less," he hedged. "Have the reports come back on Hector's room yet?"

Matthew looked as though he didn't believe Nick's word, but he let it go. Closing the folder he had been reading from, he slide it across the table to Nick.

"Your ME ruled his death the same as the others," Matthew said as Nick flipped open the folder to scan its contents. "Looks like our guy struck again."

. . . the Huntsman exclusively targets wesen . . .

Monroe's words from the night before last bobbed to the surface of Nick's memory. Nick looked up to catch his brother's eyes.

"Was Hector a wesen?" he asked.

Matthew's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "What?"

"Just . . ." Matthew's story about the Scorpion and the Frog from that morning rang in Nick's ears. " . . .we haven't found any other link between our victims, and I was beginning to wonder if, maybe, this is more a wesen case than human."

Matthew was giving Nick another scrutinizing look. Nick fought back the urge to squirm under the relentless gaze.

"No," the older Grimm stated. "No, Hector was normal."

The way Matthew phrased his answer sent unease rippling through Nick. He did his best to ignore the feeling.

"Are you sure?" Nick asked. "I mean, some wesen have better control than others."

Matthew's expression turned pitying. Nick was rapidly beginning to resent that particular look on Matthew's face.

"I've been doing this for a long time," he told Nick. "I have yet to meet a wesen that I haven't been able to identify within seconds."

Unbidden, Nick's thoughts turned to Renard, and he wondered what, exactly, his brother knew about the captain. He knew better than to ask; six months of being a Grimm punctuated by discussions with Monroe and Frank had taught Nick not to simply 'out' one wesen to another.

"Well," Nick finally said. "I guess that's one more theory down the drain then."

The door to the conference room was pushed open, admitting Hank. The older man's eyes fell on his partner, concern and relief sparking in them.

"Nick!" he greeted. "How are you doing?"

Nick gave his partner a genuine smile. "Back to normal and ready to work."

Hank snorted. "The 'normal' part is debatable, but it's good to have you back."

"With breakfast," Matthew chimed in, nudging the box of donuts on the table.

Hank's eyes lit up as he reached for the box and flipped open the lid. "If you being injured results in my favorite donuts the next day, maybe I should hire someone to jump you every day," he joked, grabbing a donut and taking a healthy bite.

Nick and, to his surprise, Matthew froze and stared at Hank in shock. Sensing the sudden change in the atmosphere, Hank glanced back and forth between the two brothers, puzzlement creasing his face.

"What?" he asked. "Was it something I said?"