Chapter 15: Enough of an Ending

Nick set the leaky pen down beside the open book and, with a light wince, flexed the cramped muscles of his hand. He could hear the ink-spotted knuckles cracking loudly in the cold, echoing air of his late aunt's trailer.

"You're ending it there?" said an incredulous voice from the person peering, rather rudely, over his shoulder. "Bit Lady or the Tiger, isn't it?"

"Hansel, I didn't invite you here to be a running commentary on my writing choices."

Hansel scoffed. "You didn't invite me at all."

"Good point. What the hell are you even doing here?"

"Mooching off family," he said, rather obtusely. "It's sort of become my thing over the last six years."

"Exactly," said Nick, gesturing down at the open book filled with drawings (he hadn't drawn them himself, at least not the good ones) and lined with text, detailing the story of how he had met Gretel and Hansel – it was also the story of the Bianca Snowlight case, and at least that portion was complete. "It's been six years." There were a lot of painful bits, things he'd would rather not remember, even if it had all worked out for the best. Moreover, some things were private. "I think this is the last I have to say about it."

Folding his arms across his chest, Hansel leaned his thigh against Nick's desk. "What would you say to future generations, future Grimms reading this, when they ask what happened?"

Nick thought for a moment. Then sighed. "I think," he said, without malice or even weariness, just a slightly burnt sense of right and wrong, "I'd tell them the story is over; close the book and leave the trailer."

"Yeah, I guess we all have to," Hansel agreed vaguely, in a tone that was maybe intended to be deep, "sometime or other. I still think it's a rotten cliffhanger, though."

"She never did come back," Nick murmured. "She just walked away, angry at me, and never came back."

"I know, Nick," Hansel reminded him. "I was there."

"Stealing coffee mugs."

"Never going to let that one go, are you?"

"Do you need a ride back to your place?" Nick asked.

About five years ago, Nick had helped Hansel, who was finally able to function at that point without being a self-destructive basketcase (within reason), get an apartment; and luckily the wayward Grimm had managed to keep it. He hadn't even gotten into that many fights with his landlord, which was a miracle in and of itself. Since Hansel and the landlord, in the way of these things, absolutely hated one another.

"No, I'm fine walking back in the freezing snow." His voice dripped with sarcasm. "I even hope I meet up with some surly Wesen on the way, I'm so frigging pumped."

With a little frown, Nick made his way to the door and opened it with a jostle. "It's snowing?"

"You really were lost in your own little world, writing that, huh?"

"I guess so."

It was late when Nick made it to the house and dragged his feet up the empty stairs in the dark.

There was a dim lamp left on in the bedroom. His wife always left it on if he wasn't there when she went to sleep. He sometimes wondered if she knew how much he loved her. There had been a time, he knew, when she doubted it. Doubted he didn't wish she was someone else, regardless of the fact that he always told her otherwise, tried to assure her it was the honest truth.

He wished he knew if she still had those doubts on their wedding day, about four years ago. He didn't know if it was worse to think she had or that she hadn't. If she hadn't, it entailed a certain confidence in him, one he liked to think she had. He didn't like to think the life they'd had together – were still having together – was built on insecurities, mostly of his own making. But if she had, it meant she'd made a leap of faith; it meant she loved him enough to risk either outcome.

There was still snow in Nick's hair as leaned over the foot of the bed to reach for his nightclothes.

The slight give in the mattress as he rested against it woke her, and she sat up, dark hair tussled. "Mmm. You're back. What time is it?"

"Late," Nick offered, his grin sheepish.

She blinked blearily at the alarm clock by the bed. "Did Hansel get home?"

"Yeah, he's fine." A complete pain in the ass and an impromptu historical records critic, Nick added in his head, but fine.

"Yeah, I know my brother can be a pain in the ass," she yawned, as if reading his mind. She did that a lot, actually.

Nick's eyes drifted to the little silver-framed wedding photograph beside the alarm clock. "He made a damn good usher, though. I still say we should have gotten him a job at a movie theater."

"Nick?"

"Yes?"

"How much of what happened did you write, in that book?"

"Enough," he answered, simply.

And in the half light, her partial woge visible, Gretel smiled.