Challenge Name and Number: #02, Emotions
Story Title: Totenpass
Word Count: 910
Warnings (if applicable): None
Pairings (if applicable): Nick x Juliette
Summary: She can see the dead as they have died, bodies broken and wailing in sorrow, but never before has she seen one like this.
Author's Note: This takes place at the end of the second episode. The quote is from Charles Bukowski's Consummation of Grief. This story won Third-Place and Most Creative recognition at the second Grimm Challenge on LJ! I hope you enjoy.
"I was born to hustle roses down the avenues of the dead."
Totenpass
"Here you go, dear." The woman smiles kindly at him as she wraps the flowers in clear plastic. "I'm sorry for your loss."
"Thank you." The response is automatic, but the sentiment behind it is anything but; he has heard the phrase more times than he cares to count and has spoken it himself more times than he should ever have to, but it still seems surreal to be the one on the receiving end for a change. It still doesn't change the fact that Marie is dead, and has left behind a bequest that he barely understands. He wonders, not for the first time, if her fate will eventually also be his.
The flower-cart does a brisk business, and Nick exchanges a five-dollar bill for a bouquet of yellow and blue flowers, something colorful for a day that feels anything but. Marie's grave is in the middle of a row, near a large tree; she would have liked that, Nick thinks. Juliette reaches for his free hand and grasps it tightly, offering silent comfort, unsure of what to say that hasn't already been said before. With Marie gone, his family is reduced to the two of them. They have never thought of themselves as a family before, but he is starting to like the idea.
The two stand together before the gravesite, and Nick settles the flowers on the ground, where the breeze ruffles the edges of the plastic to curl them over the flowers. It almost looks like it is protecting the flowers from the wind.
"If you want to talk…" Juliette trails off, but Nick shakes his head.
"Maybe later." And he does want to talk about it, desperately, but Marie had advised him not to, and he is determined to do her strange legacy justice—investigating the trailer was his next step, and trying to uncover as much as he can about the world she had lived in for so long.
"When my grandmother died, we all went back to her house—she kept a recipe box, and we made every single one. We just wanted to taste her cooking again. Ours didn't taste a thing like it, but it was cathartic." Juliette sighs wistfully, offering him a smile. "She was phenomenal. I get that from her, you know."
"I know," he says, chuckling. Juliette has always been so good at cheering him up.
"I…didn't know your Aunt well, but I think you get a lot from her. She was a very strong woman."
Nick knows Juliette is referring to her battle with cancer and her fight against the pretend priest, but he has an entirely different battle in mind. And she is entirely correct; he likes to think he deserves the compliment in comparing the two of them. He likes to think he'll be able to find that same strength in himself, to go after the bad ones, to maintain justice in his city.
"Thanks." He has been staring at the gravestone long enough to memorize every bit of engraving, every last wrinkle and blemish in the granite. That's enough.
"Marie would tell me not to mourn her," he says. "She'd get mad at me for wasting my time on someone who's dead when I could be working to save the living." He pauses, and links his hand with one of Juliette's once more. "I hope she can finally be at peace. Are you ready to go home?"
"It is getting a little chilly," she responds. It isn't, but it's enough of an excuse, and he pulls her just a little bit closer as they walk down the lane, away from the grave. At the entrance they walk past a set of thick wrought-iron gates and the flower-cart; the line is empty now, and the woman waves to them as they pass.
Once they are gone, the woman turns to the air beside her. "Was he yours?"
"Yes." The spirit of Marie Kessler leans against the gates, her body half-submerged in the iron. She passes through it easily, precise and moody, and continues, "Thank you for your company."
"The obol has been paid. Your spirit will move on, soon." The woman studies Marie's face, expecting to find relief or fear, the most common expressions on the souls she sees at the cemetery, but finds nothing but acceptance. "My kind has always ensured that offerings of some kind are made to ensure the safe passage of all souls to the next life." She can see the dead as they have died, bodies broken and wailing in sorrow, but never before has she seen one like this.
"And to prevent them from returning," is her wry reply.
"You know your folklore. But I'm not surprised, you are a Grimm." The woman wipes down the flower-cart's metal counter, brushing the flower clippings to the ground.
"I worry about him." Marie continues to stare in the direction the young man had walked, now out of sight. "I left him too soon. There's so much more I should've…if only..."
She hesitates for only a second, distracted by the skin of her arms, already pale and paper-thin, steadily growing lighter and more transparent. "Can you pass along a message? Please?"
"No, dear. Not even for a Grimm." She watches as Marie's spirit completely disappears; the obol paid, there is nothing more to hold her to this life.
"I do not get involved with mortal affairs," she says. "I only sell flowers."
Notes:
1) Totenpass is a German term that in English can be understood as a "passport for the dead" (Wikipedia). Seemed apt.
2) The Obol is a reference to the "coin placed in or on the mouth of a dead person before burial" (Wikipedia), but instead of a coin, I use it to refer to any offering—here, namely, the flowers.
3) Thank you for reading! I promise, more horror to come in upcoming one-shots! =)
~Jess