"Nick," Monroe whispered as he rested his hand on Nick's shoulder. When Nick's eyes fluttered, he said, "I'm going to bed. Did you want to stay on the couch or come up with me?"
"Well, I'd rather sleep upstairs, but I really don't want to tempt fate with the steps," Nick said, as he half attempted to sit up, looked like he'd thought better of it and sank back down. "Can you turn the TV off though? I can't find the remote."
"I can, but last time you slept down here, you said it drowned out the clocks," Monroe said.
"Why don't you turn the clocks off too?" Nick mumbled, running his hand over his eyes. He was joking, or meant to be, but there was an edge to it. They clearly were really bothering him.
Monroe squeezed his shoulder, "I'm sorry, Nick, but even if I wanted to spend the next three hours unwinding my clocks, I'm pretty sure that would be just as likely to keep you up."
"It would take the long?" Nick asked. Then he waved his hand dismissively, "Forget I asked. Just leave the TV on. But can you change the channel at least? Whatever's on right now, it's really loud."
"I would imagine," Monroe said, looking over to the screen and quickly surmising that it was an action movie with more action than plot.
He started flipping channels, trying to find something that wouldn't be too noisy but also be less than likely to draw Nick in, as the poor guy really needed to get some actual rest.
"You don't like ballet, do you?" Monroe asked.
"I've never really watched any," Nick said.
"I'm taking that as a no. So, you can not watch this then," Monroe said, leaving a local broadcast of a production of i The Nutcracker /i on.
Nick blinked at the TV, "i The Nutcracker /i, really? Christmas was two weeks ago."
"It's probably a twelfth day of Christmas thing. And, hey, they don't usually record stuff like this. You ought to appreciate it. But since you aren't going to appreciate the surreal world little Clara finds herself in, appreciate that Tchaikovsky is probably the perfect thing to fall asleep to. And on that note," Monroe said as he started to lean down to kiss Nick goodnight.
Nick held his hand up to stop him, looking contemplative.
"Clara?" He mumbled drowsily, absently running his index finger along his abdomen. "I like Clara."
Monroe was initially struck by the profoundly inexplicable rightness he had been hoping would come with a name, despite the complete lack of method in its choosing. So, although he tried to really think it over instead of going with his gut reaction that it was 'the one,' he responded almost immediately. "So do I. I like Clara a lot actually."
Then, thinking back to studying the ballet quite some time ago, something else occurred to him, that convinced him he was right to go with his gut. "And, you know what, come to think of it, in the original story that the ballet's based on, the little girl is named Marie."
"Really? That's some coincidence, huh?" Nick said. "Strange that they would change the name, though. Why would they do that?"
"No idea. Maybe someone had a terrifying aunt," Monroe said. Nick swatted at Monroe's knee.
Monroe ducked his hand before saying, "You know, Nick, when you said you were going to try to leave work early for a name discussion, this wasn't really what I had in mind. I was kind of picturing us going out to dinner."
Nick laughed. Then he asked, "So watching i The Nutcracker /i wasn't a plan all along?"
Monroe chuckled as he successfully leaned down to kiss Nick. "If it was, it was the worst plan I ever had. Especially since I'm not even going to watch it."
"True," Nick mumbled, rolling into the couch.
"Rosalee's staying in the guest bedroom, so we'll both be upstairs, call us if you need anything," Monroe said. "And, I mean that literally, your phone's on the side table."
"Thanks. Goodnight, Monroe," Nick said, and Monroe headed upstairs.
After the day he'd had, Monroe had his own troubles falling asleep. His thoughts a jumble of tangled worries that he couldn't quite sort out. He stared at the ceiling, wondering if and when things were going to look up.
He currently had his sights on after their little girl was born. Even though she was bound to make their lives more difficult, he imagined she would also make them more fulfilling.
It would certainly help out Nick, who was going through far too much right now. Monroe wished there was something, anything that he could do to help Nick get through this. Sure, he was there, and he imagined that counted for something. But it just never felt like enough.
Powerless to do anything about this feeling, his weariness eventually overwhelmed his worries, and he began drifting off.
He still wasn't quite asleep when his phone vibrated. And because he knew his life, he knew, without looking, it had to be Nick. He wasn't really ready for another crisis. But trying to keep a level head anyway, he ran his hand over his face as he pulled himself up, preparing to wake Rosalee up and drag Nick to the hospital if he had to. He still had Paul's number tucked in his wallet.
He rushed down the stairs only to find Nick sitting on the floor against the couch, with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and his eyes transfixed on the television.
As Monroe approached him, he didn't look up.
"Nick?" Monroe asked.
"Monroe?" Nick asked, sounding confused. Then he seemed to realize that Monroe thought something was wrong. "I'm sorry, Monroe. It was just a text. I didn't mean to wake you up."
"Well, you did," Monroe said, not in the least bit amused. However, he had to concede that he'd jumped to conclusions without actually checking what Nick's message had been. So, he picked up his phone and opened his text.
i I'll deny it in the morning or blame my concussion, but The Nutcracker, man...it's something else /i
Monroe raised his eyes at that before sitting down on the floor next to Nick. As he did, he noticed that there were tear tracks running along Nick's cheeks. He wasn't crying now, but he clearly had been before.
"You sure you're alright?" Monroe asked. Nick put a finger to his lips and pointed back at the television. The ballet, which had to have been going on for nearly three hours was almost over. Monroe figured since he was already up, he might as well watch the rest.
As it drew to a close, Nick, who's head was now lolling against Monroe's shoulder, whispered, "Clara started seeing things, and no one would believe her. But it was all real."
i Oh /i. Well, that explained Nick's sudden emotional attachment to the ballet.
"And you knew a clockmaker gave her the nutcracker doll to begin with, didn't you? Nick asked.
"Of course I did," Monroe said. It was one of the things that had made studying the ballet appealing. "But I didn't expect you to pay attention to any of this, and you really shouldn't have. You need to get some actual sleep."
When Nick didn't respond, Monroe realized that he had chosen to follow his advice in the least helpful way possible. "But, Dude, not on top of me. Come on, if you can make it through a three hour ballet, I think there's a chance you can handle the stairs."
Nick let Monroe help him up, and gradually, they made it up to their room.
The next morning, Monroe was sitting at his workbench, starting a new project, listening to the comforting sounds of Rosalee and Nick pushing chairs across the linoleum and clinking dishes against the sink.
"I'm heading for the Spice Shop. You're not going to work are you?" Rosalee asked.
"No. Hank told the Captain I wasn't allowed within in a hundred yards of the precinct until the day after tomorrow, at the earliest," Nick said ruefully. "The Captain agreed."
"That's probably for the best. You still look a little out of it," Rosalee said. "Maybe you can spend your time convincing Monroe it's time to take these decorations down."
Nick laughed. "Well, I probably should, but I feel bad because we both know that he won't be able to get away with all of this next year. It would be asking for trouble."
"And his clocks won't be?" Rosalee asked.
"I don't know what to say about that," Nick said. "I'm almost afraid to bring it up. Of course, I probably just did since he's probably listening to us."
"That's my cue to leave then, Rosalee said. "Good luck."
Monroe heard the door click shut behind Rosalee, and a minute later, Nick was leaning over him, chewing on an apple that was, at this point, mostly core.
"So...," Nick said. "What are you working on?"
"That is a secret and a surprise," Monroe said, wincing as Nick reached a sticky, apple covered hand towards his wood carving. Thankfully, he stopped just short of actually touching it. "And, yeah, I know. I need to take my clocks down. I'll put them in storage or something."
"Not all of them," Nick said, throwing his apple core into the garbage can. "And probably not for a couple of months. I don't think it'll be a problem until Clara learns how to crawl, maybe not until she learns how to walk."
"Okay, not all of them, just the ones that might get knocked over," Monroe said. He had always known it was going to come to this, after all. "Well, since you're here anyway, why don't you help me determine what needs to be taken out of the living room."
"You mean aside from the Christmas tree?" Nick asked, smirking.
He might have looked more put upon about that remark if the fact that Nick had referred to their daughter by name hadn't just caught up to him.
"So Clara then?" Monroe asked.
"I'm kind of set on it," Nick said, placing his hands on Monroe's shoulders. "So tell me now if you don't like it."
"Clara then," Monroe agreed.
XXX
"Do you have any idea how much value that thing is going to have?" Anya asked, awkwardly waving one handcuffed hand past Nick's abdomen as her chin rested on the other.
Nick sensed as he continued questioning her that Hank was right. He was too close to this to be the one doing the interrogation. But he'd point blank refused to be on the other side of the plexi-glass when he could get the full story out of her. He wanted it, and more importantly, Monroe needed it.
Consequently, even though his blood was boiling beneath his skin, he was doing his utmost to sit calmly on the other side of the table. Then, although he was unsure whether they were more worried about him attacking her or vice versa, Hank and Renard had both insisted that he keep his chair a reasonable distance from the table.
They were also watching.
He didn't blame them, really. She'd been a difficult-to-track-down nuisance even before she'd interfered with his personal life. Then she'd hurt Monroe. That alone made him angry enough to want revenge, but then she'd come after him. Normally that wouldn't have been something particularly rage inducing. He was detective. It happened.
But right now, loathe as he was to admit it, he was more vulnerable than he'd ever been before. And while she could have injured him much more severely than she had, much more importantly, she could have done the same to Clara.
When Nick didn't reply, she continued, her eyes twinkling with mischief, "You don't, do you?"
"Do you have a point?" Nick asked, doing his best to sound utterly bored by her implication. She didn't need to know that trying not to wonder how much a half-Grimm, half-Blutbad child, dead or alive, would be worth to the non-wieder Wesen community was a matter that kept him up a night.
"Only that we wouldn't be doing this little dance if you did," Anya said. "I wouldn't have needed to interfere, and I certainly wouldn't be here."
"You're going to need to be more specific. You've interfered with a lot of things," Nick said.
"More than I think you realize, detective," Anya said coyly, her eyes flickering suggestively towards his abdomen. "Certain things lack the probability of being a coincidence? Don't you agree?"
"Well, I don't think it was a coincidence that we traced your phone back to Monroe's the day I found him tied to that fountain," Nick said. "I would say that neatly ties you to the crime."
"iA/i fountain? This fountain, does it have some special significance for you?" Anya asked.
"It is the first place I should have caught you," Nick said, trying his best to ignore her continued insinuation. There was a part of him that wanted to rise to the bait, but the more rational part of him said that would be foolish. Granted, that part of him was steadily waning.
"Had your thoughts clouded, then, detective? I believe that would have made your priorities simply slither away," Anya said, wriggling both hands, and consequently the cuffs, forward.
Watching her hands, something in Nick snapped.
Anger washed over him in violent waves as he let himself understand what she'd been implying.
The drug. The snake. The fountain.
It had all been her.
He was across the room with his hands around her neck before he had time to think.
His grip tightened, and he could feel her struggling to breathe beneath his hands.
Fortunately for Anya, the baby took this as an opportune time to kick and kick hard, knocking Nick back to the reality that he could not take revenge in the precinct's interrogation room, no matter how much he might like to. His grip on Anya had loosened entirely before Renard's found his shoulders.
He let Renard steer him out the door without a word.
"Nick," Renard said.
"You can't protect me from something like that. I know," Nick said, staring down at the tile.
"Nick, look at me," Renard said. Nick forced his gaze upwards. "Just promise me you aren't going to try to go back in there. I can't let you listen to Hank finishing this up if you can't."
Nick clenched his fists at his sides and looked back in the interrogation room where was Hank sitting down across from Anya.
"Yes, sir," Nick said, locking his eyes with Renard's. Then, as he let his focus return to the other side of the plexiglass, Renard's hands came to rest on his shoulders. He relaxed into the strong, steady hold, letting himself believe it would stop him from doing anything else rash.
Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on the way he looked at it, that hold held no power over Hank.
After Hank had asked Anya a few leading questions, her need to have her plan admired clearly won over any desire she'd ever held of leaving the precinct's holding cell again. She began spilling the entire story, speaking to her audience on both sides of the glass, making it clear her goal was to get under Nick and Renard's skin as much as Hank's.
And Nick had to admit, it was working. He had tried to escape from Renard's tight clasp as she revealed that kidnapping Monroe had been part of a larger plan to get inside their house to plant a bug so that she could spy on them.
"Adalind, my misguided little sister, had the right idea," Anya said. "Babies, disgusting little rugrats that they are, are worth something. She simply went about it all wrong. You never do something yourself that can be done by someone else. And if it works against them, even better. So, when your partner started interfering with my harmless little museum heist, I decided he could be part of an even more lucrative chemistry lesson. Lucky for me his little wolf goes with him almost everywhere. Luring the two of them to that fountain was almost child's play."
Renard's grip automatically tightened on Nick. He whispered low and warning, "Don't let her get to you more than she already has."
"Don't let her get to you either," Nick said back as Renard's nails dug into his shoulders. Renard nodded.
"Of course, your partner wasn't doing his part. All he had to do was keep healthy so that little runt would too. She'll be worth more that way, you know."
Hank glared at her. "You're talking about selling a child. I wouldn't be comfortable with that no matter whose child it was going to be. But it so happens that it's my partner's. Just see what happens if you keep acting like you can put a price on her."
Anya smiled devilishly at Hank, and Renard's grip on Nick loosened.
"He hasn't done anything," Nick said, carefully leaving out i yet /i. He'd be lying if he said he didn't want Hank to do something.
Renard placed one hand on the doorknob and left the other on Nick's back. "Hank's grip on control when he takes things personally isn't all that much better than yours."
Since he'd just assaulted her himself, Nick thought it best he didn't say anything else.
After a slight hesitation, Renard pulled his hand away from Nick and strode purposefully into the interrogation room. "So, you knocked my detective unconscious in order to make sure he received medical attention?"
Anya's wide eyes suggested she hadn't been expecting such a blunt accusation.
"Well, even if you didn't, we now officially have a confession from you on conspiracy to rob a museum, kidnapping, and involvement in human trafficking," Renard said, harshly pulling Anya off her chair. "Hank, take Nick back to his desk. I'm taking her back to holding."
"Hey, man, are you okay?" Hank said as he stepped outside.
"I...I'm not sure," Nick said. He knew he was still angry, but not angry enough to try to follow Renard. He wanted to be glad that that Anya had, seemingly, sealed her own fate; however, past experience told him that with the Schade women, it was best not to assume anything. That left him wary of what could be coming.
"Well, like the Captain said, we ought to go back to our desks. Come on," Hank said, clapping his hand on Nick's shoulder. Nick followed him, ready to collapse over his desk.
However, the fact that Monroe was sitting in his chair made that significantly more challenging.
"Hey, I didn't want to stick my nose in the interrogation or anything. But I wanted to know how it went. And I brought lunch," Monroe said, gesturing to a bag from a local Chinese take-out. Then he dropped his voice, "And your medicine."
"All of it?" Nick asked. He could have sworn he'd taken it, but he'd been stressing out about interrogating Anya so much that he really couldn't remember.
"Just the Fluoxetine. You forgot to put it in the pill container," Monroe whispered. "I'm sure it will go great with your Lo Mein."
"Yeah, sure. Hey, do you mind if we go outside to eat?" Nick asked. He wanted and needed to tell Monroe everything that had just transpired, but he didn't want to do it in the middle of the precinct.
"Uh, yeah. It's the middle of January. It's snowing. And..." Monroe trailed off as his gaze fell to Nick's abdomen.
"Nick, go home," Hank said. Nick started to protest, and Hank put his hand up. "I don't want to hear anything you have to say. You two need to talk about what just happened, and you can't do it here. And you need to be at your house when someone shows up to sweep for bugs. So get out of here."
Once they were in the car, Monroe turned to Nick, "I'm sorry we keep kicking you out of work. At least you aren't hurt this time."
"It's probably just as well. Hank and Renard haven't made good on their threat to give me all of the precinct's backed up paperwork just yet, but there was a pile of paper I swear I've never seen before on my desk this morning," Nick said. "It's going to be a miserably long, and boring month."
"Well now that you've said that, you'd better hope so," Monroe said. "That's like the ultimate jinx."
"I'm a man that is pregnant with a child that is going to be half Blutbad and half Grimm. I think that's the ultimate jinx," Nick said.