A/N: I know I'm a bad person. Life showed up at my doorstep and this got moved to the back seat and for that I'm sorry. Hope there are still some of you reading out there, do drop a word. You'll lighten up my currently very sad life.
Enlightenment.
Confusion. Panic.
He had no idea where he was, who he was, how long he had been here.
The doctor, Doctor Blake he said his name was, was asking him questions.
Questions he had no answer for.
What is the last thing you remember? Do you remember how you got here? Do you remember what you do?
Remember, remember, remember.
No he did not remember anything.
After the initial panic there was nothing but a feeling of… emptiness. Whenever he tried to think of the answers to those questions. A vacant sense of detachment.
As if he was a stranger in someone else's body.
He didn't know anything about himself, so he tried to find out as much he can about the 'enemy.'
All the nurses and doctors were bustling around, taking blood, and arranging IV tubes, all of them taking orders from Doctor Blake. So he concentrated on said doctor. Not on his questions, but on the man himself.
He had greying hair but other than a few worry lines a wrinkle free face so he must be in his late forties.
Unkempt shave, rumpled clothes, pant more so than shirt: he hasn't been home in a while, slept in a chair probably.
The sneakers though. They were the anomaly. The deviation from the workaholic, dedicated doctor, got old before his time.
Black with red stripes, not something a man with such down to earth fashion sense would otherwise wear, and they looked worn out but not so tattered that they can be from his younger days.
He pondered asking, but then decided against it, not wanting to appear intrusive. There was something in the glint of those blue eyes that sparked a memory of long ago. Another man... far away.
It was quite some time before he was led back to his room and a series of MRIs and tests and questions later that he was left alone, with only a nurse sitting at his bedside, and the promise that someone would be here to see him soon.
Not many things managed to make Sean Renard afraid. He was the protector of an entire city, and it took a lot of pressure to ruffle his feathers. Usually.
Right now however, standing outside Nick's room, with one hand on the doorknob, Renard could not work up the courage to go in and face him.
Renard had grown accustomed to waiting, to praying for a miracle, to hoping and talking to the sleeping man as if he was awake.
Now he had no idea how to actually talk to him when he really was awake and conscious.
Not to mention that said man had no idea who Renard was.
Biting his lower lip Renard reached out mentally for Nick's presence in his mind. The quite hum of Nick's mind was stronger now, more solid. Renard did not tap into the presence as he could have on being given permission, but he just let it engulf his whole mind for a second.
Confusion and mild panic seemed to reach him, even though Nick had not been projecting, not consciously at least.
Knowing that his oblivious mate needed him strengthened Renard's resolve. Nick was confused and needed answers. He took in a deep breath and knocked twice before opening the door.
"Hey again." Renard stepped into the room to find Nick propped up on the bed with the help of cushions.
"Can you give us some time alone?" he asked the elderly nurse sitting by Nick's bedside in case he needed something, and she quietly and quickly exited the room.
Renard observed the still form on the bed as he walked into the room. All the times he had imagined him waking up, some scenarios magical and beautiful with Nick falling into his arms the minute he opened his eyes, and some horrible and mangled with Nick screaming bloody murder on setting sight on Renard, he had never imagined the blank look of confusion and polite hesitant smile with which Nick was looking at him right now.
"Hello…" Nick's voice was still a little raw, but to Renard, who had dreamt about it endlessly when he had been deprived of its soothing lilt, to his ears it was the sound of music.
"Renard. I'm Captain Sean Renard," Renard interjected, when Nick's voice trailed off and his brow furrowed slightly.
"Captain? As in police?" Nick asked.
"Yes, and you are Detective Nick Burkhardt." Renard replied, sitting in the chair besides the bed to come on eye level with Nick.
"I'm a detective… So that makes you my boss, right…sir?" Nick's raspy question had Renard smiling instinctively.
"Yes, technically speaking, I'm the boss." Renard sat down in the chair beside the bed. "Though just Sean or Renard would do," he added softly, hoping that the first name basis would make Nick trust him more easily.
"Sean… alright," Nick said slowly, and looked at Renard expectantly.
Doctor Blake hadn't yet told him anything concrete and Nick was curious. This man, tall military hairstyle, clean shaved, formally clothed in a creased suit, a captain; his boss… He seemed like a good enough person to get answers from.
And besides there was something, an instinct maybe, or a faint shard of his memory returning which did not make Nick wary of the man. He actually felt a lot calmer and grounded ever since that man had stepped into his room.
Renard cleared his throat and broke eye contact for a second, gathering his thoughts. Charles had thought it would be a better idea for Renard to tell Nick himself, so that he might be able to better dispel the questions which were likely to arise. It had seemed like a good idea, but faced with Nick's inquisitive eyes, Renard suddenly found all words leaving him.
How did one tell a man that the fact that he knows nothing about himself was likely to never change?
Still he needed to tell him something. And Nick deserved hearing it from him.
"Nick." Renard said his name as a complete statement, as he looked back into the grey eyes which did not fail to take his breath away as they had so often before. Not letting any of his reluctance or trepidation show on his face he started: "Doctor Blake has performed several tests and he says that there is no lasting brain damage from the injury you suffered." He drew in a long breathe and continued, "However because of the trauma, your brain seems to have repressed all long term memory connected to who you were as a method of coping."
Nick was quite for a minute after Renard stopped talking. "So I'm not brain damaged, but I'm suffering from trauma?" he asked. "So this might not be permanent?"
"It can be a while before you remember." Renard replied gently. "It is also possible that all of it doesn't ever fully return to you." He tried to make his naturally hard voice soft and laid a hand on Nick's arm, the stricken look on the young face clenching at his heart. "But it's important that you work on your physical recovery more that torturing your brain for something it isn't ready."
Renard could see the horde of emotions which Nick was feeling play out on his face. Confusion turned to anger which turned to a look of sorrow and then quiet detachment.
The young detective cleared his throat after a few minutes. "Physical recovery? What did the doctor say about that?"
Renard leaned forward in his chair, eyes fixed on Nick's grey orbs. "Your muscles have atrophied but with physiotherapy you can regain almost complete use of your limbs."
"How long?"
"A few months." Renard smiled, hoping that it actually did convey the reassurance he meant to convey rather than just look like as if he was grimacing. "You've got to take it slow, give yourself time to recover."
"Right, take it slow…" Nick said, voice so heavily laced with sarcasm that for a split second Renard felt his heart clench at the thought that the Old Nick really was back. "Why would I want to not take it slow? Lying on my ass with everyone doing everything for me, life's perfect isn't it?"
Renard sighed.
"Nick, I know it's hard. I won't pretend it will get easier, not anytime soon." He stopped until he had Nick who had been resolutely glaring off in the distance not looking at him, meet his eye. "But it's better than being dead."
Nick peered into the eyes of the older man. There was something intense about him, something which drew Nick to him, made him want to believe him. Maybe it was his instinct, but he felt that he could trust this man.
And he had to listen to his gut feeling right? After all he was a cop, even if he did not remember any goddam moment of being one.
"You're right. I'm sorry." Nick looked away for a second and bit his lower lip. "I shouldn't have taken it out on you. It's just… can't really look forward to so many months in this room…"
"Hey, it's okay." Renard shot his reputed 'dazzling' smile at Nick. "You're allowed some crankiness and mood swings… just tell me before hand as soon as you feel the morning sickness setting in."
"Hey!" Nick protested, while Renard just grinned, happy to see his detective return to Renard's favorite petulant expression. But just as suddenly as the mock indignant look in his eye had appeared it vanished and he grew somber. "Look, I know you're my boss and I really shouldn't ask you this, but then again you're a cop and there really is no one else here… how did I get here? Doctor Blake mentioned an accident, what happened to a family, parents…" Nick's voice trailed off as hesitance was replaced by trepidation.
Renard swallowed, nervous. He really did not want to do this part.
How do you tell a man that he had no one left in the world?
He cleared his throat. "Your parents had died when you were 12 Nick. You were raised by your aunt after that and…" he suddenly looked away, wanting nothing more than to escape that analytical gaze, even if just for a second. "And you didn't have any wife or kids."
Nick discreetly let out the breath that he had been holding. "So I was alone in the accident?"
If he had any recollection of that incident he would have gotten consumed with guilt and instead of working towards physical recovery, Nick would have started regretting the fact that he survived.
Charles' voice sounded in his ears and Renard nodded in reply his heart breaking a little by how relieved the man seemed to being the only one to go through such an ordeal.
He could not know. Not yet anyway.
Knowing would crush him.
"Yes, you were alone at home when the gas leak happened." Renard said, looking down at his hands, not being able to bring himself to look the man his heart claimed as his own in the eye while lying to him.
When had that become a problem? Renard had lied through his teeth to Nick before. Dozens of times in fact...
But there was something disconcerting in the young man's look, that absolute trust in his eyes... Trust that Renard did not deserve.
"Sir, there is someone here to see you." A nurse popped her head inside, only partially opening the door and addressed Renard.
Renard nodded to her and she left. He stood up and straightened his coat, almost grateful to leave Nick for a moment. The Grimm seemed to bring out the strangest of emotions in the usually stoic Grimm. "I'll go see what the matter is, you try to get some rest," he said, looking down at the frail, pale man on the bed.
"Rest? I've had plenty of that." Nick said his tone one of mock enthusiasm. "Let's see if I can do a hundred push-ups till you return."
Renard could not even pretend to be annoyed when an eye roll followed the exclamation. He simply smiled down at the man, "I'll be back in a few."
Before he could think it through, Renard bent and placed a chaste, quick kiss on Nick's forehead, at the brim of his hairline. He straightened up quickly and without a further word, walked out of the room.
Hank was standing with his back and one foot against the wall besides Wu who was seated on one of the chairs when Renard entered the waiting room.
The nurse had informed him that they had come looking for him, asking if everything was alright. Renard paused in the doorway, collecting the tirade of feeling coursing through him.
If it were left solely up to him, he wouldn't allow anyone to come within five feet of Nick when he was so emotionally vulnerable that even a misplaced word could send him spiraling down memory lane.
But Hank and Wu deserved to know, to talk to him, to help him.
God knows both of them had been hard hit by the incident, Hank even more so than Wu. Nick's former partner had been struck with guilt at not being able to protect his friend better and it had resulted in determined diligence to track down those responsible behind the attacks. Renard had watched theman destroy himself, following up on false leads, going through witness interrogations over and over and over and finally he just couldn't watch one of his best detectives ruin himself like that.
And so one day, eight and a half months after the accident, Renard had taken Hank to tea and told him.
He had told him about the wesen world, about Nick being a Grimm, about being a Regnant himself, about the reapers whom he had affronted by protecting Nick, the reapers who had then retaliated with the attack and how he had tracked down every reaper in Portland and disposed of every single one of them himself.
Hank had been furious.
He had listened quietly while Renard had spoken and only after the Captain was done had he banged his fist on the table so hard the whole café had gone quiet. Then he had started.
Renard had no idea that Hank was so very eloquent when he was pissed. Curses the likes of which even the centuries year old regnant could not have dreamt up had flown from Hank's mouth at such rapid a pace that they had left Renard surprised. He suspected that if they had been somewhere private, Hank would have actually punched him.
It took several days for Hank to come to terms with what he had been told enough to talk to him without snarking, and two whole months before he would talk to Renard about Nick. That was what had had Hank pissed off the most: the fact that Renard could have prevented the attack if he had told Nick about the threats that surrounded him. The detective hadn't questioned whether he was telling the truth, he hadn't even asked for proof. All that he had said was one sentence. One question.
You knew? And still you didn't do anything?
Renard hadn't been able to give an answer to that. It had been a question he had asked himself many, many times. What if he had told Nick? Could he have convinced him into getting a protection detail? Would things have happened differently?
Renard shuddered to think what Nick's reaction would be on finding out about him, if Hank's had been so invectively emotive.
He walked into the waiting room, a small smile playing on his lips. Really he had to stop smiling; his cheek muscles were starting to ache. Hank straightened quickly and Wu stood up. The Asian man had been playing with his hands, a nervous tick Renard found extremely telling.
"Captain, is everything alright?" Hank asked his tone fearful. "The nurses told us to wait here, they won't let us go in to meet you, is Nick alright?"
Renard smiled at the storm of questions, "Nick is more than alright, Hank, relax. He woke up a couple of hours ago."
A series of emotions flitted across both the men's faces and Renard studied both their reactions. Wu, who hadn't spoken till now just looked at him with his mouth hanging open; but Hank's face was more expressive: happiness replaced the initial surprise but then that was overcome with fear.
It was however Wu who recovered first. He shut his mouth, swallowed once and fixed Renard with a cautious gaze. "Is he alright?"
Renard ran a hand through his hair. "He can't move, muscle wastage and all and there's no brain damage."
"But you didn't sat he was alright." Hank interjected, and Renard mentally rolled his eyes. Sometimes his detectives really didn't know when to stop 'detecting.'
"No, he isn't." Renard sighed. "He doesn't remember anything."
Wu took in a sharp breathe, but Hank only looked contemplative. "You sure? He could just be confused after waking up after so long and all…"
"He didn't remember his own name Hank." Renard shook his head, hating to crush the hope on the detective's eyes.
"But these things aren't permanent." Wu said, his tone making it a hesitant question.
"Doctor Blake thinks it's a form of PTSD. The brain can't cope with the details of what happened so all the memories have been blocked out." Renard informed them, remembering the long talk he had had with the doctor. "So no it's not permanent."
"Alright, temporary amnesia…" Wu started to say but Hank cut him off.
"What are you not telling us?" he asked, tone suspicious and eyebrows raised.
If it had been anyone other than Nick that they had been talking about, Renard would have been offended at the assumption that he wasn't being entirely honest. But considering the fact that the man's partner had just arose from a coma, he cut the detective some slack and cut off the sharp reprimand that had risen to his throat.
"I'm not hiding anything, but it also isn't as simple as temporary amnesia." Renard said, taking a long breath to calm himself. "Charles says that its best he doesn't remember for now. It'll give his body time to cope before his mind is attacked with the onslaught of guilt and sorrow which remembering would accompany."
This time both the men drew in sharp breaths collectively.
"So you can talk to him, but be careful not to let anything about the accident or Juliette or just about anything that you think could act as a trigger to his memory, slip." Renard looked both his men in the eyes seriously. "This is very important. He cannot be allowed to remember yet, understood?"
He waited for both of them to voice their affirmation before nodding in return. "Good, now go and introduce yourself." He smiled and let both the men pass before settling down on one of the chairs and pulling out his phone.