A/N: Sorry it took me ages to update this story! I needed to take a break from it to write some fluffy stuff ;).

A huge "THANK YOU" to the lovely wolfmetal for beta-ing this chapter and making me feel better about my writing :D.

There are a couple of references to S1 and early S2, and a tiny reference to S4, but I wouldn't call it a spoiler. Some of the stuff I say about Monroe, his parents and Blutbaden in general is canon, and some is just my personal head canon.

So for me this is a bit of a "fix-it fic", since by now I've given up hope that we'll get to see Monroe's dark side really coming through in the actual series. Which is a pity I think, because, while I love Monroe being all funny and adorable, I think there could be much more depth to his character (and Silas Weir Mitchell would be awesome at acting it out). I want to see what Monroe would be like if he succumbed to the wolf inside him, and whether Nick would still stand by him when he's at his worst.

It took a few torturous moments before Nick could peel his gaze off those red-stained lips and let it slide up to meet Monroe's eyes. They were looking right at him, almost provocatively, as if challenging him to say it. The Grimm kept staring into that same spot, clenching and unclenching his fists, even as Monroe walked past him. He trusted his lover. Monroe was a good person. The best. He did not need to ask him where he'd been. What he'd done.

When he stepped into the kitchen the clockmaker was stood over the sink, washing his face. Nick's stomach tied itself in knots just looking at the hard curve of his shoulders. He wanted to come closer and put a hand on his back, as if to soak up some of the pain with his palm. He wanted to tell Monroe that he was here, that he loved him.. but the Blutbad just didn't seem to want to be touched, neither physically nor in any other way. The bump on his temple reminded Nick of that.

"Monroe.. I'm so incredibly sorry, I-.. this is horrible. I don't even know what to say."

There was no response, just the splashing of water as it spilled onto the floor. Either Monroe didn't know either, or he was still not ready to talk.

"Can - .. Can I do something, let me make you something to eat, or - "

"I ate."

The Blutbad leaned down, letting water run over his neck. Despite Nick's earlier determination not to ask questions, he couldn't help it. That chilly feeling in his guts was urging him on.

"What was it?"

He did his very best not to sound reproachful.

"Just a rabbit, Nick. No need to get out the pilliwinks."

Nick exhaled, feeling his shoulders relax a little. A rabbit. Okay. That was not too bad. It wouldn't be the first time Monroe lapsed, he reminded himself. There was that one time when Angelina visited Portland. Nick could not forget how incongruously annoyed he'd been to find out about her and Monroe's night in the woods.

Well, at least this time Monroe had a bloody good reason to slip.

"So, what.. you just ate it raw?"

Despite all the excuses that Nick's brain was trying to conjure up on Monroe's behalf he felt somewhat at sea. He didn't know anything more meaningful to say. The clockmaker shut off the tap and turned around, water dripping down his chin.

"No, Nick, I cooked it", he rolled his eyes. "In the oven. That was in the forest."

He grabbed the kitchen towel from its hook and started rubbing his face and hair.

"Okay", the detective attempted to match that inappropriate sarcasm. "Hope you had some ketchup on you." Monroe had always been a gallows humour kind of person. Yet Nick remembered how last time the Blutbad had hunted down a rabbit he'd felt awful about it the morning after. And now, he could not detect even a trace of remorse in his lover's eyes.

He watched in confusion as Monroe threw his towel into the sink and started stripping out of his wet, muddy clothes right where he stood, in the middle of the kitchen.

"What are you doing?"

"Going to the morgue."

The clockmaker disappeared up the stairs, leaving a trail of moist footsteps on the laminate, and Nick was left to his own devices, hands lifted in a vague halting gesture. He really needed Monroe to know that he didn't care about the stupid rabbit. That he only cared about him. But he decided not to run after Monroe this time.

He sighed, picking up the heap of dirty fabric that used to be some of Monroe's favourite clothes. Well, this was only fair. Usually it was the clockmaker complaining that he had to clean after Nick all the time, and that Nick had an infuriating habit of taking off and dropping his smelly socks in the most random places. That the only reason him, Monroe, wasn't actually infuriated was the fact that Nick was so imminently kissable. Sometimes, Monroe said things that seemed to be taken straight from the pages of a dime novel. And sometimes he said things that Nick wanted to write down and remember forever. But stuff always got in the way. Hands and lips and such.

Nick walked into the utility room and stood in front of the washing machine for a while, eyeing it up, as if he'd never seen such a thing before. He smiled weakly at the memories that outshone the present darkness for a brief moment. Then he went back into the kitchen and threw the ball of rags into the bin. He was inadvertently listening out for any sounds emerging from upstairs, expecting to hear the shower running. But instead Monroe came down only a minute later, wearing a random selection of fresh clothes yet still looking completely dishevelled, which Nick wasn't used to at all. What he was used to was making fun of his boyfriend for spending twice as much time in the bathroom as himself. At which point the clockmaker would usually pout and remark that Nick had it easy and wasn't blessed with hair that shared some properties with tumbleweed, and Nick would laugh, and Monroe would chase him around the room, and then they would have to wash and get dressed all over again. Those had been latenesses he could not quite explain to the captain.

Nick attempted a smile that he hoped wood look more encouraging than sympathetic.

"Come on, I'll drive you."

Monroe shrugged and stepped outside. Well, at least he was reasonable enough to admit he was in no condition to be behind the wheel.

Once they got into the car Nick reached across to fasten his passenger's seatbelt, as Monroe made no moves to do so himself. It broke his heart to see the clockmaker unresponsive like this, but Nick's own heart was hardly of concern right now. When he was done with the buckle he lightly placed a hand on Monroe's shoulder.

"Hey..", he gave it a gentle squeeze, ".. can I hug you?"

A strange question to ask your lover, yet it proved acutely relevant when Monroe shook his head and shrugged off the detective's hand.

"Alright."

Nick leaned back in his own seat, starting the engine, and as he navigated his Land Cruiser through the half-empty streets of a chilly mid-week afternoon he was raking his mind, trying to understand why Monroe was giving him the cold shoulder. Yes, they had been on edge yesterday, understandably, but they had not fallen out. There had not even been a hint of an argument. Not even when Monroe had turned the kitchen into an explosion of smoke. Nick could not for the life of him think of anything he might have done wrong. And he could not ask Monroe the question either. The clockmaker had enough on his plate. Nick waited until they were on the motorway before making another attempt.

"Please, Monroe, don't shut me out. You need to talk to me. I know exactly what - ..", he stopped himself from saying that he knew how Monroe felt, that would have been just some hackneyed phrase, and a lie. ".. I know it helps to talk. I've taken the rest of the week off, I know I can't make it better, but I'm here for you, whatever you need. You're not alone in this, okay?"

There was no response. Nick glanced across to his passenger, but all he got to see was a mess of damp curls. Monroe was looking out of the window and Nick was desperately trying to think of something else he could say to show that he cared when the Blutbad finally spoke, almost too quietly to be heard.

"It's my fault."

"Huh?"

Nick wasn't sure if he misheard, until Monroe repeated, a little louder.

"It's my fault."

Nick had not misheard.

"What? What are you saying, how can it be your fault? You weren't even there."

"Exactly."

There was a gut-wrenching, jarring noise. The Grimm flipped his head to the side to find that Monroe's claws were out and dragging across the window pane.

"Monroe, please -"

He gritted his teeth.

"It's really not your fault. It was an accident. You are not -"

"I moved away", Monroe interrupted him. There was a dry, hollow ring to his voice, not much easier on the ear than the sound his claws were producing. "It would never have happened if I hadn't moved so far away. My mother begged me not to leave the pack. And I still did. Because I was so arrogant. Because I thought I was different.."

Nick could only inspect the back of Monroe's head in astonishment – until they approached their exit and he needed to focus on the road for a while. The last thing they needed was getting into an accident themselves. How ironic would that be.

At a time like this, Nick was painfully aware how little he actually knew about his lover's past, the time before his reformation. He remembered Monroe grew up in New Hampshire, which was about as far from Oregon as you could possibly go. He also knew a range of random anecdotes from Monroe's childhood and teens. And that was it. They seemed to have a tacit agreement to keep it that way. Monroe rarely talked about the years before Portland and Nick rarely asked. It was dangerous ground, it could affect what they shared in the present. The less Nick was aware of, the better.

But it also meant he didn't know the right thing to say in this awful, awful situation, and in the end he had no choice but to resort to platitudes.

"I'm sure your parents wouldn't have wanted you to think like that and blame yourself, Monroe." Nick was hoping these simple words would transport the genuine emotion he felt. "I'm sure they wanted you to be happy here in Port-"

"What do you know about my parents!", the Blutbad snarled. The sudden change in volume was so drastic and unexpected Nick jumped in his seat, clenching the steering wheel.

"Whoa, hey, I'm just -"

"Well, I'll tell you one thing they definitely wouldn't've wanted!"

Monroe cut him off once again, in a completely uncharacteristic manner.

"Me fucking you and being a Grimm's lapdog! That's what."

Nick's lips parted for a gasp, but there was no air to breathe in. The unprovoked rage in the Blutbad's voice had incinerated all the oxygen around him. On an impulse, Nick pushed the brake and they stopped dead in the middle of the road. Thankfully there was no one behind them. The detective turned around to stare at his passenger in utter shock. He'd never even heard Monroe use this kind of language before. Outside of bed, that is. In bed, it was pretty hot, and now it burned him too, in an entirely different way. Things were serious between them. The 'we bought a house together' kind of serious. He could not believe Monroe had said those words.

"So that's what it's all about", Nick muttered. "That's why you're being like this with me."

He was so hurt he almost made a snarky remark how him being a Grimm had never bothered Monroe before, while his parents were actually in a condition to care, that is, a little more alive. And that the Blutbad's romantic choices were hardly the only reason he'd been a bit of a disappointment to his family. Then Nick gave himself a mental slap for even thinking that. Monroe was obviously distraught and had no idea what he was saying. Nick knew how much they both meant to each other, he had to hold on to that.

A car turned into the road a couple of yards behind them and the Grimm forced himself to drive the last couple of minutes to the hospital where the morgue was located.

"No, they wouldn't have liked that", he finally agreed, as calmly as he could. "And still, you wanted to tell them. My mother wouldn't approve either. We knew that from the start. We decided we're okay with that, because we wanted to be together. Nothing has changed.. has it?"

He parked in front of their destination and was about to undo his belt when Monroe stopped him.

"I'm going on my own."

A second later the passenger door was slammed shut with far more force than necessary and Nick leaned back into the headrest, rubbing his eyelids. He was not unhappy to stay behind, being in dire need of a break. The detective was at a loss – and that didn't happen to him very often, neither in his professional nor his private life. He peeked at the radio screen as he switched on a music channel. It was one o'clock.

Yesterday at one o'clock Monroe was getting on his nerves asking him to taste the meat dishes he was preparing every fifteen minutes or so. But Nick didn't mind too much. He was still feeling all warm inside, both in the literal and the metaphorical senses. They had not quite managed to eat lunch on their lunch break, it happened sometimes. And yesterday they had both needed the reassurance. This difficult get-together was all Monroe's idea. Nick would have been happy to simply stay away while Monroe's parents visited, maybe ask Rosalee to put him up. Well, not exactly happy. A week was a long time not to see each other. But prepared, if it helped to avoid all the potential drama. However, Monroe said no, he didn't want to keep lying. He didn't feel like gathering all of Nick's possessions from around the house and hide them in the attic for a week. He was bound to miss something. Nor did he feel like sleeping on his own. Or answering endless questions as to when he would finally find himself a partner, and wasn't it about time, at his age? Monroe did an impersonation of his mother's concerned voice and Nick thought it was hilarious, despite having no idea what his mother actually sounded like. He knew they would be alright.

And now.. he wasn't sure about anything at all.

He was lost in thought when Monroe came back, sooner than expected. Nick instantly switched off the music and looked over to his lover. He was surprised by what he found on Monroe's face. Or, to be precise, by what he did not find there. He wouldn't say that the clockmaker was prone to tears, but it certainly didn't take too much to get him all emotional. Monroe would even cry at the end of Casablanca. But now the Blutbad's eyes were dry and his usually so lively features were just a mask. Seeing him like this made Nick forget the way Monroe had spoken to him earlier.

"Are you alright?"

There was a slight nod. Nick bit his lip. He'd seen his fair share of traffic deaths, he knew how horrific that was. Whether Monroe wanted to or not, he simply couldn't help reaching across to press his face into the Blutbad's shoulder, whispering a disorderly array of meaningful words. This time Monroe did not push him away. In fact, he did not move at all. Nick wasn't sure if that was progress or not. But feeling Monroe's heartbeat reassured him a little. He carefully leaned away and turned the key in the ignition.

"I'll drive us home, okay? Then we can talk.."

At least he had a pretty good understanding of all the formalities that were involved. At least he could help with the all the practical stuff.

"No."

Nick flicked his passenger a nervous glance.

"Where you wanna go?"

"To the precinct."

"Huh?"

"I want to see the motherfucker who did this", the Blutbad growled.

Another term that Nick was not aware was part of Monroe's vocabulary.

"I'm sorry.. he's not there anymore."

"Where is he?"

Nick could feel the rubbery material of the steering wheel give in underneath his fingertips. This wasn't going to be easy.

"He was released on bail this morn-"

"What?!"

The Grimm pulled his head as far in between his shoulders as it would go, as if to protect his eardrums.

"I'm really sorry, 'Roe", he bit his lip even harder, hoping to stay on the right side of the line between patient and patronising. "They had no choice, there's no risk of repeat offence here, his whole family's in Portland, he's got three kids, so they took his license, and now we just need to wait for the trial." He paused, running out of breath. "He can't leave town, he won't get away. I promise you that. Okay?"

"How do you know it was an accident?" Monroe snapped back, very obviously not okay. "Were you there? Have you even spoken to the bastard? How'd you know he's not a Bauernschwein? How'd you know he didn't murder them?"

"Uh", Nick frowned. "Even so, how would he have known your parents were Blutbaden?"

"Well, what do I know, Nick? Am I the cop? Is that my job? I don't know! Maybe they woged in the car and he saw them! Maybe when they rented the car someone saw them and called their mate, or -"

Nick was listening to this continuing outpour with mounting consternation. Monroe was normally an admirably grounded individual. Not one to spin conspiracy theories. At some point, the detective had to stop him. He just couldn't take it anymore.

"Look. You can read the report yourself when we get home. I printed it out for you. This guy was crying and shaking all through the interrogation. He's a complete mess. He's gonna need counselling now. There was no purpose behind this, Monroe, it was an accident, a tragic, tragic .."

"Alright."

Nick exhaled. Finally, Monroe was going to see some reason, finally -

"Get me his address then."

The Blutbad was about as far from reason as a wolf was from eating a carrot. Nick missed his turning, too busy staring at his newly crazed lover.

"Are you nuts?!"

"Get me his address!"

"Monroe!" Nick whipped his head back around to face the road, he almost forgot he was driving, though by now he had no idea where. "I can't do that!"

"Stop fucking with me, Nick!" Monroe barked. "Of course you can!"

The raw timbre of his voice was telling the detective he was in full woge.

"But I won't!" Nick yelled back, finally losing his poise. "Are you out of your fucking mind? What'd you want with that! You wanna kill him, is that it? Is that the kind of thing we're doing now?!"

There were a few moments of silence as they were both catching their breath. Nick was staring at the road in front of him. They really needed to make a U-turn, but he just didn't have the headspace to try and figure out how to best get to the motorway from here.

"You had your revenge." Monroe spoke again, calmer, his tone bleak like the random streets they were driving through. "The guys responsible for your father's accident, they're dead. All four of them."

Nick was thinking he almost preferred the shouting. Deep down, he had feared the Blutbad would say something like that.

"It wasn't me who killed them, Monroe. You know that."

"Yeah. 'Cause someone else got there first."

"Those were completely different circumstances, my father was actually -"

"Of course", Monroe gave a bitter chuckle, "this time, it's just a couple of Wesen who died. You should be pleased, being a Grimm.."

"What?! That's not at all what -"

"You said you would help me, whatever I need!"

"Yes, but -"

"I thought you love me."

"Oh for God's sake!" Nick burst out. "Of course I love you, that's exactly why I don't feel like visiting you in jail for the rest of our lives! You don't even know what you're saying right now, you're not yourself! Please, please, can we just go home and -"

"Stop the car."

"Huh?"

They had just turned into a broader and busier road. There was nowhere to park.

"I can't bear listening to your self-righteous crap any longer!"

"Wha-"

"Stop the goddamn car!"

Monroe was already ripping off his seatbelt and the detective managed to slow down just in time as his passenger jumped out of the rolling vehicle, causing a whole symphony of honking and beeping as he carelessly walked across the road. Nick frantically pulled at his own belt but there was a bus approaching the stop where he halted and he had no choice but to drive on. When he finally managed to find a place to park, a little further down the road, the traffic was flowing as usual and Monroe was nowhere to be seen.

"Fuck!" Nick whacked the steering wheel in exasperation, startling a couple of young girls walking by. "Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck!"

He slammed his forehead against it for good measure. Just what he needed. A manic Blutbad running around Portland. A Blutbad who happened to be his boyfriend, his perfectly well-mannered, thoughtful, unflappable pacifist of a boyfriend. Surely that wasn't him in the car just now. Surely, someone had exchanged his Monroe for some kind of Verfuchter Zwillingsbruder. Nick could not even begin to process all of this. His head was bursting at the seams he never knew were there.

He leaned back, dialling Rosalee's number. The Fuchsbau told him to come round even before he was done with the greeting. He must have sounded like a right mess.

Rosalee closed up the shop when Nick arrived, and then they both went to the back and she made him a cup of tea and some sandwiches, which he was grateful for. Monroe might have dined on a rabbit last night, but Nick was positively starving.

He told Rosalee everything. As much as that was possible, considering he had no idea what was going on. Nick had seen grief before, almost on a daily basis, but this was just.. something else.

"I don't get it", he shook his head, one of many times. "This is crazy. Is he resenting me for being a Grimm now? Where is that even coming from?"

Of course, everyone knew that Blutbaden and Grimms were supposed to be mortal enemies. But Monroe wasn't that kind of Blutbad. And Nick wasn't that kind of Grimm. Though he was aware that some of Monroe's ancestors had been killed by some of his ancestors, and Monroe did like to tease him with his their head-chopping habits at times, but it was always light-hearted. When Monroe once remarked that they were 'like the Romeo and Juliet of the Wesen world' they both laughed. They didn't care about labels, they didn't care what the reapers or anybody else had to say on the subject of their relationship. And when they were lying in bed two nights ago Monroe said he didn't care if his parents would hate him for it. Because Nick was all that he cared about. That's what Monroe had said. And now..

".. I don't know what to do", the detective muttered. "Shouldn't this be a time for us to stick together? But it's not, it's like he doesn't even want to know me anymore. How can a thing like that even happen? I mean, twenty-four hours ago, everything was great, well, as great as waiting to meet the in-laws can get, I guess, but we were fine. And..", Nick paused for a moment, "I know this is a horrible thing to say, but Monroe wasn't even that close to his 'rents, you know? He only saw them, what, once a year? They seemed to argue most of the time.. nothing makes sense to me, Rosalee."

He glanced at her, hoping to find answers in the Fuchsbau's eyes. She'd been watching him with that concerned, sympathetic and at times alarmed expression while he was talking. And now she finally spoke, calmly and gently.

"You know, Nick, out of all the Wesen I know or heard about, Blutbaden family ties are naturally the strongest. Don't underestimate that."

"No, of course not! That's not what I meant to say.."

"It's very rare for a Blutbad to move so far away from home and keep a distance from his own kind, to live outside the pack.. it's a big deal."

But we're Monroe's pack!, Nick wanted to exclaim, but held back. He knew that wasn't what Rosalee was talking about.

"I know", he simply said.

But truth was, he didn't know. They never talked about these things. Nick didn't give much thought to what exactly it meant for Monroe to be a Wieder Blutbad. The day they met, Monroe told him it meant he was good and didn't kill, and that was all that Nick needed to know, really. His life was complex enough as it was, thank you very much. Most of the time, he didn't consciously think of his boyfriend as being a different species. Unless, of course, he needed a Blutbad's nose or a Blutbad's claws – or a Blutbad's hungry eyes devouring his naked body. Then it could come in handy.

"I know", Nick sighed, "but Monroe always seems so centred and at peace with himself.. doesn't he? Isn't there some really strange irony in this? While his parents were alive he tried to be as different from them as he could. And now they're dead he's suddenly channelling his inner Blutbad – or should I say arsehole", he grumbled under his breath, "I didn't even know Monroe had an inner arsehole.. our Monroe! It's like someone's just switched out his personality, all the things he said to me, and running off like that, he almost got himself killed, it's just.."

"There's no excuse for it Nick", Rosalee agreed, "but.. I think I can understand."

"Yeah?"

"Well.. when your parents are alive it's not such a great deal to get out of line, I guess, because there's always a chance you can make it up to them one day, somehow, or maybe make them understand.. but now, Monroe will have to live with their disapproval for the rest of his life, knowing he isn't quite what they'd expected. It's not an easy thing to do.."

"So what", Nick frowned, "you're saying he's in some kind of identity crisis?"

"Sounds like it. He must be feeling quite uprooted. He doesn't have any close relatives left, not even a sibling, which is really unusual for us canid Wesen. I mean, he did have his twin sister, but she died at birth, so -"

"What?" Nick mumbled. "Monroe was a twin?"

"You didn't know that?"

"No."

He looked away, embarrassed. How did he not know such a basic fact about his own boyfriend?

"Well, don't worry about it", Rosalee reassured him, "when Wesen meet there's always family talk, you know?"

It hardly surprised him. There had always been a certain level of understanding between Monroe and Rosalee that, being a human, he was excluded from. But Nick was not the jealous type. He was glad Rosalee was such a good friend, to both of them. She was kind and wise and always one to sympathise first and criticise later, if at all. Yet every single word struck a nerve with him, and the next thing she said stung him even deeper.

"It's understandable he's dwelling on his heritage. And by now, he's probably resigned himself to the idea he'll never have children, so he'll be the last in his bloodline."

Nick wasn't even sure how that made him feel, let alone what to say to that.

"What should I do, Rosalee?" He drew a hand across his forehead. "How can I help? I mean, I can't just let Monroe go off and kill someone, as some kind of crazy-ass atonement!"

"No, of course not", Rosalee was quick to agree, looking increasingly anxious. "I want to talk to him."

"I think you should – but first I need to find him!"

At a moment's notice, Nick jumped from his chair with renewed urgency and grabbed his jacket, driven by the expression on Rosalee's face.

"I really shouldn't be sitting around here, I have to go look.."

Monroe had a couple of favourite spots around Portland that Nick knew of. First he would check out that little glade in Macleay Park. Monroe insisted that all the trees there had faces. He'd given them all a name.

"Look, thanks for the tea, I'll call you as soon as I -"

Coincidentally, he was at this exact moment interrupted by his phone. He pulled it out. He was so eager to answer he almost hung up by mistake.

"Monroe.."

"Where are you?", a familiar voice hissed down the line. Actually, it didn't feel very familiar at all. The Blutbad had some nerve, asking him that! But Nick was so happy about the call he hardly cared.

"At the Spice Shop.. are you back?"

There was a moment of almost complete silence. Nick thought he could detect a low grumble. But he wasn't sure.

"Yes."

The detective exhaled in relief.

"Want me to come home?"

"Yes."

"Okay. I'll bring Rosalee along, she -"

"No!"

Nick flinched, holding the phone a little further away from his ear.

"Listen, Monroe, you should talk to Rosalee, it.."

There was nothing but a beeping noise in response. Nick gave a sigh that came from the very bottom of his stomach.

"He said he doesn't.."

"I know", the Fuchsbau stopped him, softly. "That was loud enough. Maybe I should come anyway."

"No", Nick shook his head, "let me see how he is first, then I'll call you."

He had no idea why Monroe didn't want to see Rosalee, they were so close. But, finally, his boyfriend actually wanted him there, and he would not do anything to jeopardise that.

Rosalee followed him to the front door, stopping him just as he was about to step out.

"Nick, this..", her brows were knitted together in a deep frown, ".. it reminds me of.. something, but I'm not sure what yet.. I will look into it, I promise. I'll be here whenever you need me. You or Monroe. I just hope he'll be okay."

Nick studied her face. There was something she wasn't telling him, but as much as he wanted to ask her about it, he also wanted to be with Monroe as soon as he could. That had to take priority over anything else.

On his drive back home, Nick was being eaten up by worry and hurt and guilt to the point that he had to wonder if there would be anything left of him. He would usually talk to Monroe whenever he had a problem. And now Monroe was the problem. Nick hated not to know what to expect. He quite enjoyed the fact that, normally, his private life was the exact opposite of work – pleasant and well-ordered. It did not take too long for Monroe's routines to rub off. Monroe was the one fixed parameter in Nick's day-to-day existence, the pillar he could lean on. The clockmaker took such good care of him. He cooked him dinner and translated his books, washed his clothes and tracked bad guys for him, and made him come in ways that let him forget his name. Nick was relying on all of that quite significantly. But there had never been anything forced about it, they both enjoyed this kind of dynamic. Monroe was not a lap dog. If anything, he was a lap wolf, maybe..

Nick almost jumped a traffic light. It was bright red, like the Blutbad's mouth this morning. Now that it was his turn to take care of his lover, he had no idea how. Monroe had always been admirably self-sufficient. Maybe Nick had indeed been spoilt in this relationship. Maybe he didn't take enough interest in Monroe as a person, as opposed to his partner. It never even occurred to him to wonder how Monroe felt on the topic of kids. And other topics, too. There had never been an opportunity. The clockmaker was always joking around or entertaining him with random factoids he got from God knows where. They also talked about Nick's cases a lot.

The detective parked in the driveway, and as he was walking up to their house he promised himself they would get through this, somehow, and then he would learn to be a better -

The moment he stepped onto the porch the door was flung wide open, he was being violently pulled inside, dragged through the hallway by his collar, and before he could even get a grasp on what was happening there was a dull pain in his back as he was being hurled against one of the kitchen counters.

"Ow!" Nick straightened up, instinctively adapting a defensive stance. "The hell, Monroe?"

"What did you see Rosalee for?"

The Blutbad was glowering at him, wild-eyed. Nick could not ignore the movement in his face, like bugs crawling under his skin. For the first time since the day they met he was actually a little scared of Monroe.

"What do you think?" He snapped, pulling at his shirt to get it back into shape. He was sick to death of fighting, he'd really hoped they would make up. "I spoke to her, about you! Do you have any idea how -"

"Are you fucking her?"

Nick's hands froze right where they were, tugging at his collar.

He wasn't just speechless. He was dumbfounded to the point he could almost feel his brain shutting down and refusing to be any part of this. It threw him right back to the very beginning of their relationship, that one single time they needed to have a serious conversation and Monroe admitted, a little sheepishly, that Blutbaden were jealous and possessive by nature and it wasn't an easy thing to switch off. Yet he did manage to get himself under control pretty quickly, since Nick made it clear that if he didn't there would be no one left for him to be possessive of. But even back then, it wasn't nearly as bad, as ridiculous. Rosalee was their friend!

"Are you insane?" Nick bit out in what was more of a gasp than an orderly array of syllables. "Have you gone completely, completely.."

He still failed to find the right words that would convey his meaning strongly enough. And then, a moment later, he didn't need to worry about words any longer.

Monroe had crossed the short distance between them and punched him in the face.

A/N 2: So yup, Monroe is going crazy. Please review :) reviews are the writer's chocolate cake!

P.S.: There WILL be a more specific explanation for Monroe's behaviour at a later point. I'm sorry if this story is a bit of a slow burner.