Disclaimer:Forgot about this before, but seriously if I owned Grimm, it wouldn't be on break. And Nick/Renard would be canon. :P
Author's Note:I tweaked a couple of details from the prologue. The first: Renard is not Mayor. He is still very much a police captain. This is for two reasons: It didn't fit the purpose of my story. And secondly a mayor has to be elected, that's not bad ass. And Renard=bad ass.
Also he lives in a mansion, not a condo. Though in my opinion condos are more bad ass, Portland is more of a mansion place than a condo. So large sprawling 19th century mansion it is. (if such houses don't exist in Portland, then I plead my right to artistic license.)
Chapter 1: Revival.
Renard moved cautiously nearer to the bed, his heart hammering loudly against his chest.
It couldn't be.
And yet…
Renard reached Nick's immediate bedside, and slowly, as if afraid that with any sudden movement he would break the dream like bubble and be jolted back into reality, he reached out and took Nick's flaccid hand in his.
The grey eyes kept looking at him, and Renard could see himself reflected in them wholly, as if Nick was staring not at him, but through him, right to his very soul. Confusion was swirling in those twin orbs and Renard realized that if he was indeed awake, Nick would be more than a little disoriented.
He gently pressed Nick's hand in his own, applying only minimal pressure, almost afraid of hurting the weak skeletal hand grasped in his own. He peered into Nick's eyes, hoping fervently for any kind of reaction.
The confusion did not clear, but Renard's heart leapt when he felt the tiniest movement of fingers in his palm.
Blood pounding in his ears, he took several breathes to calm himself, to stop himself from whooping out of sheer joy, to control the beast inside him wanting to get free and simply howl with delight. He reached out to the other button and pressed it, calling for the doctor, and sat down at the edge of the bed, still not letting go of his hand.
"Nick?" he whispered, quietly.
No spark of recognition followed. Renard swallowed and tried again.
"Nick, it's me, Renard."
Doctor Charles Blake was completely spent. Last night had been his second all-nighter in a row, and he was starting to feel its effects. Still, he couldn't be bothered to go back to the cold silent place he called home. And anyways, most of the staff would be here in an hour anyway.
Deciding to close his eyes for a bit, he settled into one of the more comfortable chairs in his office. He knew he wouldn't be able to fall asleep, he was much too exhausted for that, but a little shut eye couldn't hurt.
It was merely five minutes later that his pager pinged and he sat back up, rubbing his eyes blearily and unhooking it from his belt.
It was an urgent call to…room 221?
But that was where the comatose detective was!
He stood up, grabbed his coat and hurried out of his office to the elevator.
Renard was pacing in the corridor, right outside Nick's room.
His heart was still beating rapidly, he still couldn't believe it.
After all these years, all the false alarms, all the crushed hopes, Nick had finally woken up.
Doctor Blake, had taken one look at Nick, and called several nurses and doctors up with various instructions and orders.
Then he had very patiently but firmly told Renard to step out.
Renard smiled. He quite liked the man. He was a perfect blend of professional doctor and sympathetic human being. Dr. Blake had been a newly transferred doctor when Nick had come in, injured and wounded, barely alive. He had been one of the doctors placed on Nick's case, and one of the few that two years later had remained confident that Nick can still recover. After Renard had personally taken charge of Nick's treatment when the state funds had stopped, he had opted for Dr. Blake to be Nick's lead doctor.
Since then and now, they had struck up a steady friendship, both men drawn by their similar character traits of being men of action, rather than words.
Renard had even attended Bobby's funeral, a year ago.
It took several seconds for Renard to realize that the humming noise was his phone vibrating in his pocket, and still in a state of shocked disbelief, he pulled it out and answered it without glancing at the caller ID.
"Hey Captain, how are you?" Hank's gruff voice reached Renard through the haze his mind was enveloped in.
"Hank…" Renard started, and then stopped, not knowing how to tell him. "Hank, you need to come to the hospital."
"Is everything okay?" Hank asked immediately. "Captain, what's wrong?"
Renard recognized the panicked edge and hastened to assure him that nothing was wrong before hanging up, knowing the younger detective would be here shortly.
The tests they were going to perform on Nick would probably take some time, he decided to go and wash up in the toilet. Make himself a little presentable.
Looking at himself in the bathroom mirror, and taking in the haggard appearance, the sunken eyes shadowed by deep dark circles, and hair a complete mess, he allowed himself to ponder on what had been nagging him ever since he had stared into Nick's grey eyes.
He hadn't recognized him.
Maybe he was simply disoriented after waking up for so long. Or perhaps Renard had really changed a lot in the last five years; he could easily spot a lot more grey hair than before… or maybe Nick wasn't accustomed to his usually impeccably dressed captain looking like he had just survived an earthquake, or been run over by a truck. Or both.
He sighed, and ran a wet hand through his hair, straightening it some, before washing his face, and straightening and squaring his shoulders.
It didn't matter.
What did matter was that Nick was awake.
"Blood pressure is low." The nurse informed Dr. Blake.
He shook his head in agreement. "That is to be expected," he replied, holding Nick's wrist in his hand and counting the seconds on his watch.
He looked down at the dazed young man, having taken care of the more immediate concerns. He looked so pale and frail, almost skeletal. Existing on nutrients from a plastic bag for five years had done no wonders to his health. Yet there was something in those grey eyes that reminded Charles of his son…
Ignoring the pang of sorrow in his chest, Charles forced a smile, and signalled a nurse to give him some ice chips. "Hello, it's nice to finally meet you. I'm Doctor Charles Blake. Can you speak?"
Nick nodded slowly.
"Good, how do you feel?"
"Numb." The word came out in a hoarse whisper.
Charles frowned as Nick's confused look changed rapidly into one of full blown panic. "I…I can't move…!"
Charles placed a soothing hand on Nick's forehead. "It's okay. Relax, there isn't anything to be worried about." He spoke quietly, trying to placate the younger man. "You're weak, don't try to move for a while." He didn't see the need to tell him that he couldn't move because of muscle atrophy. "Try to relax. I'll send in Renard."
Nick had calmed down considerably but his eyes still retained the panicked edge. He looked up at the doctor and blinked.
"Who… is Renard?"
Charles looked at the man intently and was about to ask what was the last thing he remembered when Nick prevented him doing so by another question in the broken raspy whisper, and his worst fear was confirmed.
"Who… am I?"
~tbc.