Chapter 4: Fights & Picnics

Ordinarily, walking into his house only to see -and hear- a lamp shattering to smithereens was the sign of a pretty crappy day. Either the cherry on top, or just the start.

Today, though, it wasn't so bad. Maybe because it wasn't a sign of Wesen apocalypse or of someone coming after him; Gretel's breaking it was a complete and total accident.

Apparently female Grimms couldn't sit still long, as Gretel had been in the living room stretching her muscles, throwing a few light half-kicks up into the air. She avoided anything breakable (like the T.V. for instance).

Or tried to, anyway.

Over her own grunt as she put the weight of her hip into an air-punch, she hadn't heard Nick coming in and, startled to suddenly see him standing there, jumped back into what she thought was higher ground (or maybe just the couch), landing perfectly on her feet but also smashing her spine into a tall lamp right behind her.

She'd misjudged the distance and space during her automatic leap of self-preservation, off by a measly couple of inches.

Just enough to send the lamp crashing down behind her.

Gretel grimaced at Nick, then looked over her shoulder at the broken lamp. "I can replace that."

Nick chuckled and hung up his coat. "I doubt it."

It was true, actually. She couldn't even afford a place to stay, mooching off another Grimm. How could she possibly buy him a new lamp?

Gretel shook her head. "You're right."

Nick shrugged. "Don't worry about it."

A soft breath somewhere between a sigh of relief and a snort came out of Gretel in a low whistle.

"I do have one question for you, though," Nick told her.

"Yes?"

"What were you doing?"

"Keeping myself from getting rusty." Gretel found a small, pink two-pound weight Juliette had left on the side of couch -probably shortly after they first got the house- and started using it absently. "You never know when you're going to have to tear out some Hexen-bitch's throat."

Nick chortled, shaking his head. Now, he didn't have to worry about that kind of stuff, being all fit with his new abilities, but back before he'd had them, he hadn't exactly been zealous in training himself so to speak. Oh, sure, it wasn't like he'd sat behind a desk eating donuts all day every day or anything, but he never had the endurance for -or borderline obsession with- Gretel and his mother had about keeping on their toes.

It was funny, in some ways -when she did stuff like this- Gretel really did remind him of his mother (the only other female Grimm he knew), but in others she was completely different. He couldn't imagine her making the choice his mother had; Nick didn't think -if their parents hadn't abandoned them- Gretel could have made herself leave her brother Hansel the way his mom left him with Aunt Marie. Not even if it would have protected him. Probably not even if it could have prevented him from becoming a diabetic in the first place. True, it was a different bond, brother and sister instead of mother and son -a whole different dynamic- but still.

He wondered if Gretel regretted sticking so close to her brother, now that he was missing. This wasn't, though, something he thought he could ask her. Practically anything else was fair game (she was staying in his house, after all), but not that. Nick's curiosity wasn't cruel enough for that.

"Uh-huh," was Nick's slow, amused response.

"Hey, you seem pretty in shape." Gretel lifted her chin in his direction. "What did you do today?"

"I ate a doughnut at my desk."

Gretel's eyebrows lowered. "Uh-huh..."

Nick cracked a smile at her echoing his reaction.

"No offense, but..." Gretel lowered her voice, breathlessly adding, "I effing hate you."

His smile widened as he walked over to her.

In a way that would have been threatening if someone he didn't trust did it, Gretel snagged his wrist, her grip vice-like. Her eyebrows raised themselves challengingly. "You ever fight another Grimm before?"

Of course he hadn't. Well, unless you counted the brief moments before he realized who his mother was, and even then there had been someone else there, so Nick hadn't been particularly focused on fighting her...

"Not one who hates me," he volunteered cheekily.

She dropped his wrist and folded her arms across her chest. "If you've never fought another Grimm, how do you know if you're really any good?"

"Oh, so you're some big expert on fighting with our kind?" Nick wanted to know.

"No," Gretel admitted, letting her arms drop back down to her sides. "But my brother and I used to practice fighting each other every day we weren't killing Hexenbiests." Nonchalantly, she tossed the pink weight she still held in one hand down onto the couch. "It's how you know you're always prepared."

Nick sighed. "Yeah, I don't think I need to worry about that."

"But you still want to fight me." Gretel seemed to be reading his face with as much ease as she had read that German passage in Aunt Marie's trailer. She'd peaked his curiosity about her skills, and how his -however enhanced- measured against them.

She'd got his attention, and she knew it.

His eyes drifted to the broken lamp. "Not here, though."

Good call. Gretel couldn't argue with that; a pair of Grimms scuffling was usually prone to leaving an extensive trail of property damage in its path. "Where, then?"

"Here." Monroe gestured at a comfortable-looking clearing in the woods, stretching out his arm as he crouched and set down the picnic basket. "This seems like a good place."

Rosalee took out the blanket she was carrying (Monroe had everything else; she'd offered to help, of course, but he'd insisted) and spread it across the warm greenery. It had been raining a little earlier. Not enough to get everything soaking wet and uncomfortable, just enough to make the world look like it was covered in dew despite the fact that it should have been way too late in the day for the morning droplets.

"This was a really good idea," she told him, sitting down on her legs as he opened the basket and started to pull stuff out.

Monroe glanced up from the gourmet vegan sandwiches, beet sausages, red wine, and fine Swiss chocolate and smiled over at his girlfriend. He was so glad that client of his with the 1920s rosewood grandmother clock had called to cancel last night; he'd been wanting some time off to do this with Rosalee for a while.

Sure, they saw each other all the time, now that they were living together, but it wasn't quite the same.

Seeing each other as you ran out the door didn't leave a lot of time for conversation. Besides, sometimes when you came home and found your partner already wrapped up in bed, grinning up at you suggestively with lowered eyelids, talking wasn't the first thing that came to mind. And then you were too usually tired afterward. With a picnic, you kind of got the best of both worlds. You could still flirt and touch, of course, but the environment was set up just right for catching up in the talking department, too.

Not to mention, they were just due for another picnic anyway. Monroe still remembered how badly their first picnic had ended, with that park and rec guy contaminated with the yellow plague attacking them and Roselee getting sick... Yeah, he figured he probably owned her a lifetime's worth of picnics to make up for that one.

"I'll say," Monroe agreed softly. Turning his attention back to the basket, he added, "Now, I know we remembered to pack those wineglasses somewhere..."

Rosalee sighed happily and pushed a lock of hair over her shoulder, sliding down onto her elbow so she could recline like an old Roman while they ate.

"Ah, here they are." Monroe held up the glasses. Speckles of reflecting sunlight twinkled off the rim and shone softly on Rosalee's lower cheek, lighting up half of her continuing smile.

Her eyes were smiling, too, full of satisfied contentment.

Monroe felt so emotional he almost went full woge right then and there. He thought he'd never seen anyone so beautiful.

"Do you really have to go?"

Ariel tossed her last bag into the trunk of the van and reached up to shut it. "Yes, Carl."

Carl Fieri was wearing a black hoodie, which he pulled -with a rapidly shaking hand- even further over his face when Ariel said his name out loud. "Jesus, Ariel!" he hissed. "I told you not to say my name outside."

"Stop being so paranoid." She walked over to the driver's side, opening the door.

"Don't leave me here alone," Carl begged her. "I'm trying to get clean. I need someone to slap the phone out of my hands if I try to get more Jay."

Ariel rolled her eyes. "When have I ever done that?"

"Having someone who knows what's going on..." Carl started, then stopped. His face had gone crestfallen, pathetically. "Wait, you wouldn't do that for me?"

She shrugged. "I don't know."

"Thanks for nothing."

"Love you too, Cuz."

"You know, you lied to me."

Ariel sucked her teeth, looking back at him. "Okay, fine. You don't look good since you stopped snorting Jay regularly. You look like death warmed up." She started to get in the car, still looking back. "Are we done here?"

He grabbed her arm. "No!" Carl snapped. "We're not. I can't believe you're just running away like this! I mean, I know I ran from him, but you told me you weren't scared of the Grimm."

"I'm not." Ariel's forehead crinkled, and he dropped her arm. "Wait." She got back out of the car. "That's what you think I'm doing? Running from Nick?"

"Aren't you?"

She snorted. "Of course not."

"Then why won't you tell me where you're going?"

"Because it's nothing you have to worry about. It's just something I've got to do." She reached out to pat his shoulder. "Besides, this time I'm coming back."

"You came back last time, after your father died," Carl pointed out. "It just took you a couple years."

"This time it won't."

"You promise?"

"I promise." She gave him a quick hug, feeling his trembling body against hers for a moment. "As soon as find what I'm looking for, I'll make a U-turn straight for Portland."

Even though she didn't think he could do it, Ariel actually felt herself secretly hoping her cousin would somehow overcome his Jay addiction. She'd almost forgotten what he was like before, back when they were kids and her mom was still alive, before her father failed to protect her and became a broken man.

Carl's parents had been alive back then, too. They'd been a happy extended family of Daemonfeuers once upon a time.

Seeing him here like his, broken and scared and driven almost mad with withdrawal pains, she wanted her cousin back. If she couldn't have her parents, she wanted him. She might not have wanted him to clean up his life for Bianca, but she wanted him to be healthy and safe for his own sake.

She would never stand in the way of him doing what he wanted -dating the wrong kind of girls and women, getting hooked on Wesen drugs- but she did care. She couldn't help that.

"See you soon." Carl gnawed on his lower lip as his cousin pulled away and got back in the car.

Ariel slipped as smoothly back into the seat as a serpent easing into its lair. "By the way, if -by some off chance- Nick does catch you, tell him I said hi." She smirked and rolled up the window.

And just like that, she was gone. Carl felt the itching temptation in his fingers to go for the phone.

To call Bianca? Or to call someone who he knew could supply him with Jay at a moment's notice -at a price? Even he didn't know. Either one was dangerous right now.

He wanted to be sure Bianca was okay, but her seven psychotic uncles would find out if he called her. The really sad part was he didn't even know if she was out of the hospital yet.

And to call the one person he knew would be able to get him that Jay fix he was desperately craving... It was unthinkable. Especially after everything that had been going on.

He couldn't -wouldn't- go crawling back to her.

"Maybe I'll just lock myself in the closet and sit on my hands for an hour," he mumbled to himself as he shook his head under his dark hood and made a dash up the -way too open- driveway, back for the safety of the unsold house he was the squatter in (now -with cousin Ariel gone- alone).

Nick had to hand it to Gretel; even for a Grimm, she was tough. He had the feeling that if it wasn't for his new abilities, despite all the fights he'd won and all the Wesen he'd taken down, this woman might be kicking his ass right now.

He was a little surprised that after she started to breathe heavily and there was no change whatsoever in his breathing, his heart rate barely up, Gretel didn't even suggest taking a break.

It was lucky she was so quick. That all her practice with her brother over the years had paid off. Otherwise, he would have felt guilty trying to hit her as she slipped past him blocking a blow and counter-striking with one of her own, usually a lightning-fast kick he somehow didn't see coming until it grazed his chin or neck as his reflexes sent him reeling backwards to avoid full contact.

This was, Nick had to admit, wonderfully freeing. And the most fun he'd had in a long time.

Fighting a fellow Grimm in the middle of a forest -dodging trees and blows at the same time- shouldn't have been this enjoyable, but it was. It was like being almost evenly matched, for once. It gave him a chance to really feel -not just see, not just find out, but feel- what he could do. To know what he was -and could be, with practice- capable of.

Gretel jumped over a half-rotted stump and, whirling, aimed a fist at Nick's head.

Nick's hand shot out like it was attached to a spring, his larger hand closing around her smaller one, twisting the clenched fist so that she had to turn the other way, allowing him to duck and roll under her arm as he let her hand go.

But Gretel wasted no time in whirling again, this time using her feet to trip him up as he got back onto his feet after that roll.

If he'd been dizzy, she would have won the fight right then and there, but Nick was feeling dizzy less and less these days, and so was perfectly fine.

To protect himself from falling -like Gretel meant for him to- Nick grabbed onto her waist, using her middle as a ladder, regaining his balance.

Wrenching herself free, Gretel pushed him back into a tree and gasped out, "Not bad for a man who spent the morning eating donuts."

Pressing his head back to rest it against the rough bark, Nick rolled his eyes. Not bad? Oh, please. Even he knew he was doing much better than just 'not bad'. "Maybe we should call it a draw."

"No." Gretel pressed her lips tightly together and shook her head. "No way. A Grimm always finishes what they start."

Nick lifted his head and took a step towards her. "You just look a little tired, that's all."

She shook her head again. "I'm not."

"You sure?" Nick raised his eyebrows. "Because you look tired."

"Well, I'm not."

"Wait, what's the matter with your chin?" His sharp eyes narrowed in on a line of brownish-red caked in a dripping strand from the side of her mouth straight down to her chin.

Gretel pressed two fingers against the line. "It's dirt, don't worry about it."

Nick knew she was lying. "Nice try, but that's definitely blood." He reached to move her hand away from the small cut.

She dropped her hand to the side before he touched her.

"Geez." Nick's brow furrowed, the corners of his mouth turning down in apologetic concern. "I didn't realize I actually got you."

Gretel snorted. "It's just a scratch, Nick. You barely nicked me."

"Maybe we should stop."

"You've got to be effing kidding me."

Nick laughed. "Come on, Gretel. I'm obviously not getting tired."

"Fine." She exhaled sharply, one hand massaging a sore spot on her hip. "Then why don't we just do this: next person to pin the other one down wins the whole fight."

"It wouldn't be fair." Nick was thinking about how she was wearing herself out and his body was just getting started.

"I don't have a problem with that." Gretel smirked. "After all, who said Grimms played fair?"

Nick took a few steps back, swaggering loosely, keeping his muscles relaxed to give her at least some advantage. "Whenever you're ready."

"Yaa!" Gretel ran at him.

"What do you mean you don't see it?"

Rosalee laughed and -still lying on her back, looking up at the clouds- squirmed closer to Monroe on the picnic blanket. "I mean I don't see a wolf eating a sheep."

Monroe scoffed lightly. "You're telling me that cloud on the left doesn't look like a sheep. Really?"

"They're clouds, they all look like sheep," Rosalee pressed the side of her head against his thick, warm shoulder.

Monroe squinted. "They kind of do, don't they?"

"This is so relaxing," Rosalee sighed.

"Mmm," Monroe agreed in a low grunt. "We should do this more often."

Crash!

Suddenly two people came shooting out of the closest trees and landed long-ways across Monroe and Rosalee's laps.

"Or, you know, maybe not," Monroe said, glancing up from the two people in his lap.

It was a guy and a young woman. And she'd landed on top, the guy trapped under her, his upper half sandwiched between her body and Monroe's lap.

"You win," came Nick's muffled groan. "Now would you mind getting off me?"

Gretel pushed her hands into his chest to pull herself up. She noticed Monroe and Rosalee and grimaced apologetically. "Sorry," she panted.

"Are you okay?" Rosalee asked, scooting her lap out from under the joint weight of Nick and Gretel.

"Nick?" Monroe saw his face as soon as Gretel was far up enough that she was no longer practically suffocating her fellow Grimm.

"Hey, Monroe." He smiled sheepishly. "How's it going?"

Monroe shrugged and bobbed his head in a noncommittal fashion. "Oh, well, you know, can't complain."

Rosalee's emotions betrayed her with the sudden desire to laugh. Really laugh. Not just a little chuckle, but a deep, hearty, full body shaking laugh. Which, as it turned out, was enough to reveal her full-on woge face to Gretel for an instant.

Gretel caught her breath. "Ah, Fuchsbau."

Rosalee's eyes widened. "Grimm."

"Yeah."

"Monroe told me about you," Rosalee realized. "You're Nick's friend."

"Nice to finally meet you close up and not smelling like a Bauerschwein nosebleed," Monroe cut in.

"I know, I hate that smell too," Gretel agreed. "I remember you; you were at the diner. Nick told me about you after we got kicked out."

"Define we," Nick groaned, still trying to completely untangle himself from his friends.

"Oh!" Monroe helped, scooting backwards. "Sorry, man."

"Thanks," Nick said, sitting up. "That position was starting to get a little awkward."

Gretel was now on her side sprawled out on the blanket. She chortled and rolled her aching body over, rubbing her eyes as she forced herself to sit up.

"Hey, do you want some water?" Rosalee asked Gretel, suddenly concerned. "You're drenched."

It was true. Gretel was covered all over in sweat; her hair was plastered to the side of her head and so were a few leaves.

Monroe looked at Nick in surprise. "Dude, you're dry as a bone."

While Gretel chugged some water and wine and alternatively apologized again for crashing Monroe and Rosalee's picnic, Nick thought about sweating. He'd been aware that it took more to make himself sweat, and that he could control if he wanted to wake up in a cold sweat from a nightmare or not. This, though... This was getting extreme. He hadn't just gone for a jog, or had a nightmare, he'd been really pushing and exerting himself. Even just now, half-trying to let Gretel win, he'd been pushing his body to see how much it could handle.

These abilities were getting stronger fast. There was no doubt in his mind about that.

No chance of denial, either.