"You really want me to abuse police resources to track down the Captain's lunch date?"
"Yes!" comes the chorus.
"...okay."
With a name and bank details, Nick can trace her. There's very little. There are some recent travel details, including a fast-tracked visa application (L1A) – executive transfer.
"Company's never come up in a case – oh, hold up..." he looks at the full name of the company, "Lascelles-Geisler-Cagnard. Huh. You sure she wasn't..."
"She didn't even twitch. And she was...kind of nice."
Nick scrolls down the company listing, half expecting to find some wesen version of Murder Inc.
"They own Rhodanthe Skincare, Geisler Botanicals, Maison Cagnard..." recognises that name himself, from extravagant gift buying, "Like 'Mistral' perfume Cagnard? Man, that stuff's really expensive... because it's magic?"
"No, I think it's just really expensive. Rhodanthe do some lovely face cream, too."
"Figures. Because if anyone needs to moisturise well, it's a hexenbiest," Monroe says. Rosalee hits his arm, "Ow, what?"
"So, his mother might have sent a spy to keep an eye on him?"
They've either got a very controlled hexenbiest, or an innocent woman. Or a not-so-innocent woman, of course. Nick looks furtively across to where Renard is back at his desk, stern-faced as he pores over paperwork, and wonders. 'Nice' doesn't seem like a quality he'd look for in a partner.
"Oh, I replaced your tea today."
"The one you bounced off my face?"
"Yes, thank you, I've said sorry."
He looks at the packet. That means she's been to the Spice Shop.
"You've met another wesen, then."
"Really?" She gets a slightly tight, worried expression, "I've been trying hard not to think about who might or might not be anything, I'm not sure there's any good outcome of that."
And now he feels a bit guilty.
"I'm sorry, there probably isn't. Ms Calvert is a good person, though."
He wonders how long she would have remained ignorant of the wesen world, if he hadn't (over) reacted – forever, as with most kehrseite, presumably. She's probably been working with a huge number of wesen all her career, and she certainly will be in Portland. She's been holding herself together so well, he almost forgets how new this all is. And now he's made it awkward.
Isabelle centres herself, and manages to smile at him. He's been patient with her questions, but there isn't a lot she can actually do about the wesen world – she can't normally see it, and she wouldn't even know about it if he hadn't gone creature feature on her. She's torn between curiosity and panic - how will she ever know who is wesen or not in future? - but she can't spend her whole life wondering if everyone she meets has another face, she will go mad. At least she knows what Sean is. She'll try not to cling to him too much, hopefully getting stuck into the new job role will help.
Neither of them voice it to the other, but both of them have worked out that her transfer had been arranged hot on the heels of his shooting, though to what purpose, neither of them know. Isabelle thinks it is as simple as Elizabeth finding issues in the local office when she was out in Portland looking after her son. Renard is far more suspicious. (He's right to be.) What worries him is whether Isabelle is aware of whatever plot his mother is weaving. If she was sent here to be kept safe from something. If there's a threat to her that he needs to know about. He's never had a contact in the company office, and now he's wondering if that is an oversight. He can't protect her without assets in place. The thought that being near him could also be dangerous for her occurs to him, but he tells himself that it is much better to have her close where he can keep an eye out and react swiftly. Wonders if perhaps he should introduce her to Burkhardt, enlist the Grimm, in case.
(Half of Renard's ancestry consists of vicious, power-mad and manipulative creatures, hiding in the shadows of the world and inclined to be possessive and murderous about the things and territory they consider theirs. The other half is...much the same, only with an added parahuman twist.)
He gets his chance sooner than he expects. Burkhardt on the phone, being a little cagey about the subject for discussion. He hesitates a moment, but decides that of all the people who could know about his home, this is ironically one of the safer individuals.
Nick has decided that it might be time to trust Renard with a head's up about Trubel's government stalkers. He might already know, and be being his usual secretive self about it, but he's also been out of the loop after being hospitalised. Since he's taking Trubel with him, this is not a conversation for the precinct. Renard seems reserved but resigned on the phone, gives out an address.
The house is pretty much what he expects, wealth that whispers rather than shouts, up in a very nice neighbourhood. Low and modern, and set back a little, electronic gates that swing open for the car. Renard himself opens the door to them, the merest flicker of his eyes at the sight of Trubel. Gestures them in.
Nick had respected the man as a capable senior officer for years, had to reassess what he knew of him in the last few, but he'd never really considered what he was like in his down time. Not the type to kick back with a beer and watch sports, really. He looks quite different, younger, in jeans and a collarless shirt.
The house might be modern, but a lot of the décor has that Old World class that Nick is coming to associate with the Captain, heavy frames on mirrors and paintings, and rich, dark colours. The whole back living room wall is glass, looks down over the hillside, distant lights of the city. 'Mountaintop lair' is certainly a choice for the man. There's the remnants of a meal on the dining table, half-cleared. Not an intimate dinner, no linen and candles, but homecooking, not takeout, and two place settings. And a woman stacking the plates away.
"Sean, do...oh, hello."
Too casual and comfortable to be a mere overnight guest, barefoot, her dark hair pinned in a loose bun. Attractive, could be anywhere between thirty and forty. And a British accent. Renard makes polite introductions.
"One of my detectives, Nick Burkhardt, and his...apprentice, Ms Rubel."
The woman holds out her hand, with a friendly smile,
"I'm Isabelle."
Nick catches up his jaw, and shakes politely. Those wide hazel-green eyes look straight at him, not flinching. She's not reacting like a wesen.
Isabelle nearly recoils when the terrifyingly intense girl stares into her face for a long, unblinking moment, gives Sean a sideways glance. He's looking very stern and superior, and very slightly amused.
"Please could you put some coffee on for us?"
She gives him a narrow look, but company manners hold.
"If you'll get the beans down for me..."
Renard is already following her, taking the last of the flatware with him. It's all disconcertingly domestic, and Nick sinks back into the very luxurious couch and stares a bit.
"I think she's human," Trubel says quietly to Nick, round-eyed with surprise.
"Yeah, I think so, too."
Grimm hearing means that both of them can hear the quiet conversation in the kitchen, and it's illuminating.
"Remind me again, why I'm acting as your housemaid?"
"Because you don't want to embarrass me in front of a subordinate? And I'm still recuperating from being shot."
"Oh, guilt and snark. Nice," She takes the coffee pot away from him, "Go and sit down, I'll make your wretched coffee."
Renard comes back to find Burkhardt and his unexpected protégée staring at him, gives his most quelling look.
"Nice place you have here," Nick breaks the ice.
"Much better security than my old apartment," Renard's jaw tightens, "Nobody knows to link this house to me, as yet, so I would regard it as a confidence, please."
"Sir." Cuts a gaze towards the kitchen, question all over his face. Renard sighs.
"She's under my protection." The way he says it, Nick knows that he does not mean as a policeman. "She works for my mother."
"She's another hexenbiest?"
"No, she's human, I mean she literally works for my mother's company. A perfectly normal office job."
Isabelle has come back into the room just in time for the last bit. She puts the tray down, looks between them all.
"Is this one of your...things?" She waves a hand in front of her own face, "And do I need to go and pretend to be an ignorant peasant somewhere?"
"There's no pretend about it." But the side of his mouth is twitching at her dark look. He points a long finger between them, "Grimm, Grimm junior. And yes, he is one of my detectives."
"How long have you known about the wesen world?" Trubel blurts.
"About...a week?"
Nick blinks at her. Isabelle looks at Renard. He gestures, resigned.
"You might as well."
"Ok, short story version. I transferred here for work, and they provided me with somewhere to live, so I was in the kitchen when Sean arrived home. He thought I was wesen, and did the thing, I am not and had a little freak out, which was fun for us both."
Nick has seen Renard in full angry woge, and he's impressed that Isabelle is standing there and sounding dryly humorous, instead of rocking in a corner. Trubel, thinking much the same, frowns between them.
"How come you haven't, y'know, totally flipped out?"
"Well, I was already terrified of him at that point, so I think I'd kind of hit my critical level. I mean, he's built like a bloody Terminator anyway, having that charging out of the dark at me was quite enough."
"In my defence, I wasn't expecting to find anyone else in the house."
"I know, but it was still a little - intense. But apart from the whole surprise monster thing, he's not too bad to live with."
(He should be offended that she called him a monster, but the tone is...affectionate?)
"I'd like to say the same, but some of your music is horrible."
"Rude. Now, if you are discussing work things, I'm going to take my tea up to my office and lurk. Nice to have met you, though, good-night."
They watch her go, and then both Grimms swivel round and stare at Renard. He sips his coffee, and gazes blandly back.
"You had something you wanted to tell me about?"
Nick can't tell if he knows already (he is never going to play poker with the man) but he does seem to be taking it very seriously. And he thanks Trubel quite sincerely for saving his life, which makes her a bit gruff and flustered. She scuttles out to the car, and Renard turns to Nick. He looks almost hesitant for a moment, then his chin goes up.
"Nick...I might ask Isabelle if she'd like to meet Rosalee and Monroe." A lot of his other associates are less – polite. A nice friendly fuchsbau would be a much better introduction.
Nick nods slowly.
"Yeah. Maybe I could ask Juliette or Hank, too. Someone else who's been there."
"Thank you." He sighs, "Isabelle is an innocent in all of this, I need her to know there are people she can trust."
It's an odd dynamic, the man's still very much a superior issuing a decree. The police Captain can issue orders to the detective, of course, but how prince and Grimm relate to each other, they still need to find a balance. The original Grimms may have been the trusted servants of the Royals, but Nick is nobody's servant, and he grew up as a regular American, he doesn't do monarchy. They are both men who understand protecting the innocent, though.
It is still very strange. Nick tries to explain it to Juliette later.
"...so, we're sitting there and she's all 'yeah, then he turned into a monster', like it was just...Tuesday for her."
"And she's living with him?"
"Apparently."
"That's..."
"Yeah."
The Captain is a delicate issue for them both, given past events. Nick considers some of those past events, and wonders.
"I wonder how much else he's told her?"
"It's amazing what secrets you can keep, even living together," Juliette reminds him, sharply, and turns over. Nick bites back a curse.
Things still aren't quite right with them. Whatever Juliette said, the weird and uncomfortable fact was that Nick had slept with Adalind Schade, knew the shape and feel of her. (Had a horrible uncomfortable flashback to taking her powers in that assault-fight.) Had slept with her twice, really, and had not known the difference in behaviour from his girlfriend of the last three years. Every time he touches her, they both have a moment thinking about it.
Juliette is angry, too – has never quite settled back after losing her memories, having her feelings stirred up by Sean Renard, from having the world change on her, to seeing that glimpse of a normal life again, and then knowing it was a mirage. Always knowing it was a mirage, really, because Nick had embraced being a Grimm, was sullen and resentful at losing it, moves away from her piece by piece into a world where she cannot follow, try as she might. Perhaps it is because she's a scientist, essentially, that this world of inexplicable creatures and potions is something she is trying to deal with rationally, and it defies logic. Or perhaps it is as simple as because she'd thought she was dealing quite well with being a cop's girlfriend, all the things he couldn't share about his job, the spectre of violence, until it came into their home. Perhaps the fact that she hadn't accepted that first proposal was a crack they should have heeded.
(The pregnancy test sits hidden and unused as yet, she isn't ready to face even the idea of making choices.)
Renard stands at the darkened window, and worries about unaccountable shadowy government agencies in his city. Chavez might be FBI, but so had Steward been. Wesen society can run oddly counter across the human world – witness the Seven Houses.
The Royals are a strange thing. They have standing in the human world, money and power and influence, but their kingdoms are no longer as they were, they are anachronisms and figureheads to most. In the wesen world, their lines of authority run without regard to modern borders or governments. Really, they'd risen up from the fragmentation of Imperial Rome, enriched themselves in various wars and crusades and then settled down to bully central Europe under the banner of the Holy Roman Empire, until that little Corsican bastard had really upset things. Though 1618 had been a bad year. And 1789. And 1848 was a nightmare...
Isabelle has come down with her empty cup, and is clearing the coffee things away.
"Leave that, I really don't want you acting as my housemaid."
"Washing up a few cups is no bother, the rest's in the dishwasher. Liesl is coming in tomorrow, anyway."
(Liesl is the cleaner, a nice discreet woman from a trusted agency. Isabelle had been very relieved to meet her – the house is lovely, but she was not looking forward to managing it and a full-time job – as well as unsurprised, she did not see Sean as a man who scrubbed his own toilets, frankly.)
She should maybe start to think about looking for somewhere to rent, rather than taking up his space. But the thought leaves a slightly hollow panicky feeling. She rather likes having someone else in the house, especially with the extra layer of weirdness to her world now. Even if he's the cause of it.
"So, that's a Grimm. She was a bit, er, focussed, but he seemed pleasant enough."
"He was a policeman long before he was a Grimm. It seems to have made a difference." If he'd shown any sign of turning towards being an Endezeichen Grimm, Renard would have put him down hard and fast.
"Can't be easy, having a family legacy of bloodthirsty killers, though."
"He seems to be coping fairly well," He thinks of his own family legacy. Decides not to tell her that he's probably killed more people than Nick.
How much could, should, he tell her, about who and what he is? Would it be safer to let her go? Let her continue her normal life, without him in it? Rubs his chest a bit as there's a twinge.
"Bullet holes bothering you?"
She's always been concerned about him, even when he'd frightened her half to death, touched him without fear or disgust.
(Normal women don't poke a half-zauberbiest in the face, and then cheerfully set up home with him.)
He makes a decision.
"There are...some more people you could meet, if you wanted to," he says, carefully, "Wesen, and a couple of other kehrseite, humans, who know."
She goes still, thinks about it. He's inviting her further into his world. Looks at that hard, handsome face, with the hint of tension around those sea-green eyes. This is a big step. Ignoring it won't make it go away, and curiosity is always going to win.
"Yes," she says, "I think I'd like that."
Isabelle is a woman who looks before she leaps, but a lot of the time, she leaps anyway.