I am the Bad Wolf

Nick saunters up the sidewalk to Monroe’s porch. He’s carrying his gym bag – cover for one of his many Grimm weapons. His eyes move over all the Halloween decorations carefully placed throughout Monroe’s yard. Whoa.

                “Did you bring it?” Monroe calls from the porch.

                “You do this every year?” Nick walks up next to Monroe.

                “Are you kidding me? Halloween for us, come on, is like bigger than Christmas. There’s a long wesen tradition of the All Hallows Eve midnight woge. Running through the woods, scaring the crap outta villagers…sometimes literally.” He chuckles.

                “And you continue this fair tradition in Portland?”

                “ No, no, no. I mean, I would…if I could find some villagers. But, ya know, no. I can only imagine the fun my relatives must’ve had, man, back in the good old days.” He pauses. “Anyway, let me see it.”

                Nick pulls the mace out of his bag and hands it to Monroe.

                “Oh baby. That’s the one. Beautiful. And just think of the history, man.”

                “All the skulls bashed in, bones broken, knees shattered.”

                “Hey, those who ignore the past, et cetera, et cetera. Now watch this.” Monroe attaches the mace to his skeleton contraption rigged up in front of the window. “Okay. Check this out.” The duo make their way into Monroe’s equally-decorated house. “Wait ‘til you see this!”

                Nick looks around. Monroe’s house reminds him of his childhood home in Rhinebeck. His parents loved to decorate for the holidays, especially Halloween. He turns his attention back to Monroe. “Whoa. Intense.”

                “Okay, come here. Come here, come here, come here. Okay, ready? Here it goes.” With the pull of a lever, the skeleton swings the mace, obliterating a defenseless pumpkin. “That’s pretty great, right?” He gives a hearty chuckle.

                “Unless you’re a pumpkin,” Nick jokes. “Promise me no one’s gonna get hurt.”

                Monroe sighs. “Fine. I promise.” He can sense something’s on Nick’s mind. “You okay, man?”

                “Huh?” Nick looks up. “Yeah. Fine.”

                “Liar,” Monroe says as he disappears into the kitchen. When he returns he hands Nick a beer. “You’re not on duty, right?”

                “Nah, it’s like…” He checks his watch. “…almost six.”

                “Oh, damn. Didn’t realize I’d been at it all day.” Monroe shrugs.

                “Fine.” Nick rolls his eyes. “At least feed me?”

                “Course. Pizza?”

                “I think you know me well enough to know that answer.”

                “Yeah, yeah. No mushrooms.”

                They poke around the house, finishing up the decorating, while they wait for their pizza. When it arrives they settle down in the living room with a few beers and a scary movie.

                “Halloween just really reminds me of my parents.” Nick pauses. “They went all out. Every year. We had the best house on the block.” He smiles. “They’d have given you a run for your money.”

                “Sorry, man.”

                Nick shrugs. “It’s no big deal.”

                “Is that why you don’t decorate?”

                “No. I’d love to decorate the house, but Juliette hates Halloween.”

                Monroe’s eyes grow wide.

                “I know, man.”

                They finish their pizza and the movie. Nick helps Monroe carry their plates and bottles to kitchen. Nick opens the fridge and scrunches up his face.

                “Uh, Monroe…what’s that?”

                “Oh, that’s dirt pie,” he answers, not skipping a beat.

                “Dirt pie?” Nick debates throwing in a dog joke, but decides against it.

                “Mhm. It’s basically chocolate cake, filled with chocolate pudding, topped with a bit of chocolate icing, with crumbled up chocolate graham crackers on top. The gummi worms give it the final little touch. It’s supposed to be a fun Halloween treat…well, so says Martha Stewart.”

                “Do I get to have a piece?”

                “Of course. Bring it here.”

                Once again, they settle down on the sofa, this time with cake and a new movie.

                “Oh man, Monroe. This is amazing!”

                “Thanks.”

                “You know, if you keep feeding me I’ll never leave.”

                “Yeah, kinda already found that out.”

                Nick just grins.

                “So, uh…how’re things at home?”

                Nick shrugs. “She still doesn’t remember me. She’s been talking about moving out.”

                “I’m sorry, man.”

                “Eh, don’t be.  I may have been the one to first mention it. We’re just not clicking like we did before. And sleeping on that sofa…dude, it fucking sucks.” He takes another bite of cake. “I told her she could stay in the house if she wanted, that I’d move out.”

                “Where would go?”

                “I don’t know, maybe a motel, maybe stay with Hank.”

                “Well, if you want, you can stay here. Door’s always open. Besides, you’re here all the time anyway.”

                Nick smiles. “Thanks, Monroe.”

XXX

                “Hey, Monroe, you believe in ghosts?”

                “Yeah, of course. Why?”

                “You know anything about La Llorona?”

                “The Weeping Woman? Yeah. Old Mexican legend.  Bit similar to the celtic banshee.”

                “Those kidnappings – the ones I told you about – I think La Llorona took them.”

                “What? You mean someone dressed up as La Llorona or…”

                “I’m not sure. There’s not a lot of solid evidence. But more and more it’s starting to look like a real ghost. I don’t know, though. I feel like I’m going crazy.”

                Monroe reaches out and squeezes Nick’s shoulder. To both their surprise, Nick leans into the touch.

                “Thought I was going crazy the first time I saw a wesen…but there was an entire world I just didn’t know about.” He turns to look at Monroe and their eyes lock. For the first time, Nick realizes that Monroe’s eyes are intense even when they aren’t red.

                “C’mon, let’s have some more pie.”

XXX

                Nick starts packing two weeks before Thanksgiving. Most of his stuff gets shoved into a storage unit, with the help of Hank and Monroe. The rest of his stuff – small, personal things – go with him to Monroe’s house. He’s all settled a few days before Thanksgiving, which he was actually kind of excited for.

                Nick and Hank are sitting on the sofa, beer in hand, football on the television. Monroe and Rosalee are bouncing around the kitchen, browning and seasoning, roasting and baking. Nick wanders into the kitchen and checks out all of the food.

                “Mmm…smells good!”

                “Thanks, Nick!” Rosalee smiles.

                Monroe starts carving the turkey and no sooner does he pull the knife away does Nick try to steal a piece. Monroe smacks his hand away and Rosalee giggles.

                “Dude, it’ll be on the table in a few minutes.”

                Nick rolls his eyes.

                “Can you get the wine out and open it?” Rosalee asks, as she covers the rolls.

                “Sure.”

                “And don’t you even think about putting your grimy hands anywhere near that pumpkin pie!”

                Nick sighs, feeling defeated. He grabs the wine, opens it, and sets it on the table. He walks back into the kitchen to offer some help to Rosalee as she carries some of the dishes out. When Monroe’s not looking, she sneaks a piece of turkey to Nick and they both giggle.

XXX

                                Monroe finds he actually likes having Nick around. Nick likes being there too. He had almost forgotten what it was like to come home to someone who knows you, remembers you. He likes coming home to a nice hot dinner too. He likes that Monroe knows his favorite meals and foods without it being written on the top of some recipe card. He’s still getting used to sleeping alone, though. But now, at least, he gets to sleep in a bed. Monroe thought it might be hard to have Nick in his house, thought his routine would get ruined. But it’s be remarkably easy to fit Nick into his life. He doesn’t even mind that his house – his territory – smells like his new house mate.

                “I was thinking about going apartment hunting this weekend.”

                “Oh?” Monroe tries not to sound disappointed.

                “Yeah, there were a few decent places in the paper. Figure you wanna get me outta here.”

                “It’s no problem, really. Besides, Christmas is coming. Do you really want to move over the holidays?”

                “I guess you’ve got a point.”

                “Just wait until after the new year.”

XXX

                Christmas comes and Nick’s happy he stayed. Especially when he gets to see the way Monroe’s face lights up when he pulls the antique toy train from its wrappings. Monroe actually hugs Nick in thanks. Then Monroe slides a box over to Nick; both of them have their lips curled into eager smiles.

                “It’s not much, but I hope you like it.”

                Nick tears off the paper and pulls off the lid. There are two large, leather-bound journals in the box. Nick pulls the top one out and flips through the pages. It bears a striking resemblance to his tome on blutbaden, except it’s written in English. He takes a closer look and realizes that it’s Monroe’s handwriting.

                “Monroe…”

                “I’ve been at it for a while. I go out to the trailer here and there, while you’re at work. I started before you even moved in.”

                Nick doesn’t say anything; he’s a bit in shock.

                “Thought it might makes things easier when you’re looking for something specific, ya know, since you can actually read it. I’ve only finished the blutbaden and jägerbar tomes. I’ll do the others, if you want.”

                “Y-yeah, of course. Monroe…this is…perfect.” His fingers trace the spine of the book. “Thank you.” He sets the book back in the box and turns to Monroe. “Not just for this, but for everything. You’re always helping me out, you’ve given me a place to stay. I don’t think I’ll ever really be able to thank you.”

XXX

                They talk about having a little get-together for New Year’s Eve, but ultimately decide against it. They stay in, just the two of them, with a kitchen full of snacks and a fridge full of beer. Finally, they start counting down.

                “Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one…happy New Year!”

                Nick throws his arms around Monroe and pulls him into a big hug. It lasts a few seconds longer than it probably should. Nick pulls away first, but only enough to look up at Monroe. His hearts starts beating faster as he leans up on his toes, standing eye-to-eye with Monroe. They both lean until their lips meet in a long-overdue kiss.

                Nick smiles. “Happy New Year, Monroe.”

Monroe likes going to clock conventions. They’re a way for him to get out, be social, while still keeping the wolf tucked away. Well, he used to like conventions, when there was nothing at home to miss.

            The motel room is small, dingy, familiar. He stays in the same room at the same motel every time he’s in Seattle. The place is wesen friendly, as the owner is a fuchsbau. The walls are still the same dull blue, carpet still a dirty grey color. He’s pretty sure it may have once been white. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear he slept on these exact sheets last time. Oh well, he thinks, it’s cheap and only for a few days.

            He sits alone in bed, watching the news on a tiny television set that might be as old as he is. He’s wearing a worn pair of pajama bottoms and his favorite sweatshirt. His phone vibrates and he grabs it from the nightstand; his lips curl into a smile when he reads Nick’s name on the screen.

Text: when r u coming home?

Text: Friday.

Text: oh

Text: Why? Grimm trouble?

Text: no

Text: You miss me, don’t you?

Text: yea

Text: *eye roll*

Text: no really
Text: I miss you

Text: Miss having someone to make you dinner.

Text: miss my best bud!

Monroe’s lips curl into an involuntary smile. He frequently catches himself smiling because of Nick in one way or another. He’s not really sure why. Nick drinks his beer and eats his food. He makes stupid jokes and drags him into dangerous situations. Nick is a cop and a Grimm and far too clingy. Why on Earth should Monroe miss him? Because maybe Monroe kind of likes Nick. A lot.

Text: Miss you, too, man!

Text: u dont mean that

Text: Yes, I do.
Text: It’s weird not having a beer with you before dinner.
Text: Ya know, my grandfather is rolling in his grave right now – the thought of me liking spending time with a Grimm!

Monroe waits for a smart-ass reply from Nick, but never gets one. He sighs and scrolls through his phone, reading all his old texts; he always saves ones from Nick. The texts go all the way back to when Nick had the case with the ziegevolk. He closes out of the messages and pulls up the keypad, dialing the number for the cab company. He cancels Friday’s cab and reserves one for Thursday morning instead. He finally gets a “good night” text from Nick and he replies with a simple “good night” back. He sets his phone back on the nightstand, pulls the covers up, and lets himself drift to sleep, lips still curled in a smile.

---x---

Nick has an especially long day at work; all of his leads turn into dead ends. The captain gives him the rest of the day off, along with tomorrow; he’s more than aware of how much Nick needs a little time off.

Normally, when Nick has a rough day and needs to clear his head, he goes over to Monroe’s house and they share a beer or two. Lately, he and Monroe have been playing a lot of card games. Nick’s not really sure why, but it helps. Monroe helps.

He’s pulling up in front of the empty house before he even remembers that Monroe is at that convention in Seattle. He shrugs and decides to just stay; he’s already there, so why not? He lets himself in with his key and sheds his boots and coat by the door before heading into the kitchen for a beer.

He finds himself aimlessly wandering around the house. He notices all the little trinkets sitting around, sharing space with countless clocks. He wonders how he’s missed them all the other times he’s been here. His fingers move over the spines of the books on Monroe’s shelves.

He starts to sway back and forth, matching the ticking of the clocks; he finds it soothing. He plops down on the sofa and notices one of Monroe’s flannels lying over the back of the sofa. For some reason he pulls it on over his t-shirt. He smiles; it’s like a perpetual Monroe hug. It smells just like Monroe and that comforts Nick even more. Nick’s never actually hugged him, but he’d really like to. He wants to wrap his arms around Monroe’s waist, wants to rest his head on Monroe’s shoulder.

He sighs, wrapping his arms around himself. Usually he and Monroe would be sharing a few beers and talking about what to eat for dinner – leftovers or take out. Nick remembers the leftover Chinese foods in the fridge and goes to help himself. Eating alone on the sofa is weird. He should be picking off Monroe’s plate – trading some veggie lo mein for an egg roll. Nick didn’t realize how integral Monroe has become to his life. He washes his dishes, dries them, and sets them back in the cabinet. He finds himself poking around the fridge again.

After another beer he’s wandering upstairs. He pokes his head into Monroe’s room; it’s remarkably tidy. Nick walks in and looks around, taking in every little detail. He sits on the edge of the bed, bouncing a few times. Wow, he thinks, soft. He sits there for a bit, not really doing much of anything. He wiggles, shuffling his body up the bed, and lays down. Really comfy, he thinks. His eyes fall shut and he wonders what sleeping next to Monroe would be like. Probably warm, cozy. He’s a cuddler, definitely the big spoon.

Eventually, Nick finds himself drifting asleep. He knows he should get up, go home, sleep in his own bed. But he can’t move, doesn’t want to; he needs the comfort of Monroe. He didn’t realize he’d miss his best friend so much; he doesn’t know what to do without Monroe. It was only Wednesday night and Monroe wouldn’t be back until late Friday afternoon. It’s going to be a long two days.

---x---

            Monroe’s up and ready by six o’clock and sitting in the diner across the street eating a doughnut by six-thirty. By seven he’s sitting in the back of a cab, on his way home. He spends part of the ride sleeping and part of it reading. He’s finishing the last page of his novel as the cab turns down his street. Monroe checks his watch; it’s ten-fifteen. He’s a little surprised to see Nick’s car parked out front. Surprised, but happy.

            Walking inside, he expects to see Nick on the sofa or in the kitchen, but both are empty. He sets his bags down, kicks off his shoes, and follows his nose. As he climbs the stairs, he realizes Nick’s scent is coming from his bedroom. Weird. He actually starts to fear for the worst, his brain splitting into a million different directions. He’s relieved when he sees Nick sleeping, his chest rising and falling.

Nick wakes up at about the same time Monroe crosses the threshold into the room. Their eyes lock in an awkward stare. Nick doesn’t move; he’s frozen. Monroe opens his mouth, as if to speak, but says nothing. After a few too many seconds of painful awkwardness, Monroe breaks the silence.

            “You’re…you’re in my bed. And that’s…you’re wearing my flannel.”

            Nick just nods and pulls the covers up to his nose, hiding much like a child would.

            “Umm…why?” Monroe’s voice is soft. There’s no anger, just overwhelming curiosity.

            Nick shrugs, letting go of the blanket. “I missed you.”

            “Oh.” Monroe’s not really sure what to think.

            “I’m sorry. It must smell like me everywhere. I’ll go.”

            As Nick goes to push off the covers, Monroe steps towards him. “No.” He sits on the edge of the bed, looking at Nick. “I like when everything smells like you.” His voice is almost a whisper, as if speaking too loudly would wake him up and this would all be a dream.

            “Really?” Nick sits up and leans towards Monroe.

            He nods, fighting the urge to crawl into bed, curling his body around Nick, and snuggling him for the rest of the day.

Nick smiles, but then scrunches up his face. “I thought you weren’t coming to home until Friday.”

“I missed you.”

            Nick practically throws himself at Monroe, wrapping his arms around him, and pulling him in an almost-too-tight hug. They lay there, haphazardly, on the bed for a while, snuggled close. Nick nuzzles Monroe’s beard, finally noticing how Monroe smells like the woods – pine and rain – with just a hint of cinnamon. Nick already knows what he smells like: leather, gunpowder, and coffee, with a hint of aloe vera. Monroe had told him once, a few months ago.

            “I missed you.” Nick’s voice is soft. He plays with the hem of Monroe’s shirt. “I didn’t really know what to do without you.”

            “Can I ask you something?”

            Nick nods. “Of course.”

            “Why’d you come over?”

            “I had a rough day at work. I wanted to see you. You’re the first one I go to when I have a bad day. I forgot you were away; didn’t remember until I was already pulling up.”

            “So you stayed?”

            “Yeah.” It comes out as almost a whisper.

            “I’m glad you did.” Monroe dips his head down, kissing Nick’s neck. He runs a light hand over Nick’s flannelled chest. “It looks good on you.”

            Nick chews on his bottom lip, looking up at Monroe with puppy-dog eyes. His voice is low, “you know you’re not getting it back, right?”

            “I better not.” Monroe’s lips finally meet Nick’s and he smiles into their kiss. They kiss until they’re out of breath. Their cheeks are flushed, lips are swollen, and they’re breathing just a little heavier.

Rating: Explicit
Pairing: Nick/Monroe
Words: 3624
Tags: Sexual Content

A/N: I don't own Grimm or make any money from this.

-----

  “Ok. Here is my spare set of keys.” Monroe went through the use of each key for the third time. “I put the lights on a timer. Stop in once or twice and just check on things.” He sighed and furrowed his brow. “I think that’s about it.”

                “I’ve got it, Monroe. Your house will be fine. Just go and have a good time at your clock party.”

                “It’s a clock convention, Nick.”

                “Yeah, yeah. Just go.”

                He walked out with a huff. I followed him out, shutting and locking the door behind me. I shooed him into the car and tossed his bag in the trunk for him. I waved as he drove down the street standing there until I couldn’t see his taillights anymore.

                I went home, kicked off my boots, and poured myself a drink. I plopped into the recliner looked around at the empty space, the bare walls. Juliette had taken a lot of our stuff when she left. In all fairness, most of it was hers or she picked it out. There were personal touches here and there – mostly souvenirs from day trips of antiquing with Monroe. He even picked out a nice mantel clock for me. I’d been in a rut after the break up but I bounced back quickly. Monroe had been determined to make me feel better and he succeeded. He may not always seem like it, but he’s a great friend to lean on.

XXX

“Burkhardt, I need you to go downtown and have another chat with our witness. I think she knows a lot more than she’s letting on.”

“Yes, Captain.”

XXX

                “Mr. Johnson, I need you to put down the gun. You don’t need to do this.”

                I had my gun aimed for the shot; so did he. Jennifer Smith – our key witness and an eisbiber I’d met through Bud – was standing next to me. She was the next target. A skalengeck – Eric Johnson – was killing all the wesen who were low on the food chain. He’d said that it was his duty to rid the wesen world of “low life scum.”

                He pulled the trigger and I pulled mine. In a matter of seconds he was down, taking his last breath. I holstered my gun and dropped to my knees. I pulled off my jacket and pressed it to the wound on Jennifer’s chest. I pressed as hard as I could, but she just kept bleeding.

                “Come on, Jen, stay with me. Help is coming.” I could hear the ambulance sirens.

She locked eyes with me and her lips curled into a small smile. “Thank…you…” She closed her eyes and one last breath slipped out.

“No, no, no! Come on. No!”

The paramedics had to pry me from her; I couldn’t let go. She was one of the sweetest people I had ever met. She always “forgot” to charge me for my doughnut at the bakery. She didn’t deserve to die like that. Had I gotten there a minute sooner…

XXX

I stood in the locker room shower, scrubbing the blood off my skin. No matter how hard I scrubbed I could still feel it – it was guilt more than blood. I should have saved her. Maybe if I was more of a grimm than a cop, I could have.

XXX

                “Burkhardt.”

                “Yes, Captain?”

                “Why don’t you take a few days off – clear your head.”

                “But, sir…”

“I’ll see you Monday, Nick.”

XXX

                I sat in my car, outside my house. I looked at it – big and dark. That wasn’t what I wanted, or needed, right now. I put the car back into drive and made my way over to the one place that had brought me a great deal of comfort over the last few months. I pulled up in front of Monroe’s house, in my usual spot, and walked up to the door. Then I remembered that he wouldn’t be home until tomorrow night. I had already made sure things were in order, so there wasn’t much to be done. I sighed and went inside anyway. I kicked off my boots and poked around. I helped myself to a beer and walked around aimlessly.

                Monroe had a lot of stuff in his house: clocks and trinkets and personal items. I made a mental note to ask him about some of the stuff when he got back. I browsed his book shelf – a lot of classics. Then his dvd collection – again, a lot of classics. It was weird – the comfort that Monroe’s house brought me, even when it was empty. He had a record player, so I turned on some music. He had mostly classical, which I actually kind of liked – though I wouldn’t admit it to him.

                I got a chill so I grabbed the blanket that laid over the back of the sofa and wrapped it around myself. I laid down on the sofa and curled up. There was no way that I was going to sleep alone in my big empty house tonight. The sounds of the cello record lulled me to sleep.

                I woke up, but not where I fell asleep. I was in the guest room instead of on the sofa. I rolled over and stretched, looking around. There were sounds of movement coming from down the hall so I got up to explore. Monroe was in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, cracking eggs into a frying pan. I stood back for a minute just watching him. He must’ve known I was there; he stopped what he was doing and turned around.

                “Hey.”

                “Hey.” I walked into the kitchen. “You’re home early.”

                “Yeah, we cut it short – a bunch of people didn’t show up.”

                “Oh.”

                “You sleep here all week?”

                I shook my head. “Just last night.”

                He nodded and flipped around the contents of the frying pan. He poured two mugs of coffee and sat them on the table. Soon he was setting plates on the table and flipping an omelet onto each one. He sat down across from me and sipped his coffee.

                “You want to talk?”

                “You remember Jen? She’s Bud’s friend.”

                “The one that always gives you a free doughnut, yeah.”

                “She was involved in a case. A skalengeck was killing wesen he deemed “unwothy.” I was too late. He shot her. I tried to save her. I tried so hard...but I couldn’t save her.”

                “Nick, you can’t save everyone.” There was a softness in Monroe’s voice I’d never heard before.

                “I know.”

                We finished breakfast in silence. I did more of pushing food around my plate than actually eating. He disappeared for a minute and returned with some clothes. He handed them to me and shooed me off down the hall. I showered, letting the warm water soothe the aches and pains that had surfaced overnight. I got out and dried off. His towels smelled like him; it was comforting. I sat on the edge up the tub, wrapped up in the towel. A knock on the door pulled me out of the thoughts.

                “You ok in there?”

                “Yeah. Fine.”

                I tugged on the clothes Monroe gave me – jeans and boxers I’d forgotten I left here and one of his shirts. The shirt was a little big, but it felt good, like I was wrapped in a never ending Monroe hug. I stepped out of the bathroom and almost ran into the attic steps. Monroe had one of those attics with the pull-down stairs that hide above the hallway ceiling.

                “Come on.” He tugged on my shirt, pulling me up a step.

                I followed him up into the attic and back a few feet. We sat down next to an unmarked cardboard box. He took a deep breath before unfolding the flaps of the box. I watched him, hands shuffling through the contents, brow furrowed, jaw clenched. He pulled out a few photographs, a pressed flower, a copy of The Complete Works of Edgar Allan Poe, and a lilac-colored sweater. The photos were of a couple – early twenties. The guy looked a lot like Monroe.

                “Her name was Erica.” He holds the sweater, stroking it with his thumb. “She was the love of my life. I had every intention of proposing to her.” He paused for a while before continuing. “She worked at the corner store to help pay for school. I would go and pick her up every night and drive her home. One night I was running late – Hap and I were running through the park doing our usual stupid shit. I got there and some guy was at the counter; he was giving her a hard time. Next thing I know, he’s pointing a gun at her. I don’t remember much after that. I know I ran inside, tackled him. He shot her before I could get to him. She died that night in the hospital.”

                “What happened to the guy?”

                “He was found guilty, sent to jail. I knew some people back then…one morning the guards found him in his cell, ripped apart.”

                “I’m sorry.”

                “So am I.”

                We sat up in the attic for a while, in silence. I thought about Juliette and how glad I was that she just left. I don’t know what I would have done if she would have died at the hands of a wesen. Losing a friend is one thing, but losing Juliette probably would’ve killed me.

It was early afternoon when we finally came down. We sat around for a while, watching dull daytime television, before deciding to go out. We went down town and mulled around a few antique shops and a used book shop. We stopped in a coffee shop for lunch before driving even further out of Portland. Neither of us had any kind of destination in mind, we just drove. Before I knew it, it was six o’clock and we were just outside Seattle – I hadn’t even remembered crossing over into Washington. I did doze off for a little while. We stopped in a few more shops before heading into a diner for dinner.

“Would I sound crazy if I said I wasn’t sure I wanted to go back?”

“Not in the slightest,” he answered.

“Do you ever feel stuck?”

“Only every day.”

“Sometimes it’s hard trying to balance cop life and grimm life. I keep thinking that maybe if I was more of a grimm I could have saved Jen. Ya know?”

“Yeah. I think it’s admirable, though – you being more of a cop. You’re a good guy, Nick, everyone sees it.”

“Before she died…she thanked me.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know.”

And that was that. We didn’t ever talked about Jen, or Erica, again. After dinner we started back for Portland, arriving at Monroe’s house sometime after ten. I didn’t bother going home, just crashed in his guest room. In the morning I did finally go home. I made a few calls – one of which was to a realtor. I decided to put my house on the market – I needed to move on, let go.

XXX

The house sold in mid-October. I bought an apartment that was a five minute walk from Monroe’s house and a ten minute drive to work. The things I had filled the small space well, giving it a cozier feel than that big house ever had – even before Juliette left. Monroe, of course, helped me fill any empty space with antiques and books and even a few clocks.

Things got better; it got easier balancing both of my lives. Monroe was obviously a wealth of support. As time went on, Monroe and I became even better friends. He became a lot more willing to tag along to hunt wesen with me. He got me to start eating a little more veggie-friendly. He even played his cello for me – after a lot of begging, that is.

XXX

                We were sitting on the sofa watching The Shawshank Redemption and demolishing a veggie-lovers pizza and a six-pack of Guinness. Maybe it was the beer getting to me, but I could have sworn that we kept getting closer to each other. By the time Tim Robbin’s character was crawling out of the sewer pipe, our shoulders were touching. I could feel my heart starting to race. When I turned my head to look at him, he did the same. Our faces were close, maybe a few inches apart at most. There was a part of me that wanted to close the gap, but the other part wanted to run away. I did the latter. I grabbed the plates and ran into the kitchen, immediately regretting my decision.

                Monroe and I had been spending a lot of time together, and I really enjoyed it. I was starting to think that maybe some feelings had surfaced. I just kept finding myself wanting to spend more and more time with him, wanting to go out to dinner with him, wanting to take him antiquing. I wanted him.

                When I went back into the living room, I sat on the other end of the sofa, keeping my distance. The movie was still playing, but I more or less just stared the screen rather than actually watching. I leaned over, laying my head on the arm of the sofa, and pulled my feet up on the sofa. I curled up, arms folded across my chest, and stayed like that until the credits started to roll.

                “Hey, uh, I’m gonna go. Got a gig pretty early tomorrow. I’ll text you or something.” Monroe got up and headed towards the door.

                “Oh, ok. Yeah, text me.” I was barely up to see him out when he was shutting the door.

                As I watched the door shut, my heart whined. I wanted to reach out for him, grab him, pull him close, and never let go. I turned off the television and the lights and wandered to my bedroom. I dug through my drawers until I found that shirt of Monroe’s that I was still borrowing. Well, actually I was keeping it. I was pretty sure he had forgotten I had it. It didn’t smell like him anymore, but that was ok. I stripped down to my boxers and pulled on his shirt. It still felt good, like a big, perpetual Monroe hug. I crawled into bed, curled up, and started counting sheep. I wondered, for a moment, about the possibility that I might sleep better if I had someone to share this too-big bed with. The last sheep I remember was 28 (which is Monroe’s birthday).

XXX

                I stood at Monroe’s door, a six-pack of Guinness in one hand, and a bag of veggie-friendly Thai food in the other. I was attempting to knock when the door opened and Monroe greeted me with a smile – which was nicer than his usual snark. He grabbed the bag of food and walked into the kitchen. I ditched my boots and coat at the door before following him. We ate in the living room, so we could watch the Star Warsmarathon that was on – we were both pretty big nerds. Somehow we ended up shoulder-to-shoulder on the sofa again, but this time I wasn’t going to run away. Being so close to Monroe made me feel all warm and fuzzy. I know that it’s totally cliché, but it’s the truth.

                The credits began rolling and Monroe stood up. He went to step away, but I grabbed his sleeve. He looked down at me, brow furrowed.

                “Monroe, can we talk?”

                His expression softened and he sat back down. “About…?”

                “Us.”

                “Us?”

                “Yeah. It’s just that…” I paused; I hadn’t really thought about how this conversation was going to go. “I want there to be an ‘us.’”

                “Um…ok…” His face was all scrunched up.

                I sighed; he obviously wasn’t getting the point. I leaned in and pressed our lips together. It was weird and his beard was kind of itchy, but it was nice. He kissed back, somewhat. I pulled away, already knowing my cheeks had turned crimson.

                “Oh…us.”

                “Oh no. You don’t feel the same. Shit! I’ve ruined everything. Oh god, I am so sorry Monroe. I’m just…I’m gonna go.” I got up, practically jumping off the sofa, but I was pulled back.

                Monroe had grabbed my sleeve – just as I’d done to him – and pulled me back, practically in his lap. One hand reached up, cupping my jaw, and gently pulled my face back to his. Our lips met again and I could feel him smile into the kiss. He kept one hand on my jaw and the other he wrapped around my waist, pulling me as close as I could get. I could feel my body relax; I breathed a sigh of relief.

My hands fumbled with his shirt, trying to undo all the buttons of his flannel. It felt like a lifetime had passed by the time his flannel was thrown to the side. The rest of our clothes were shed much faster and soon it was all skin on skin.

“M-Monroe…bed?”

He nodded and we quickly made our way down the hall, falling into bed, bodies never parting. Our lips met again, hungry and passionate. Our tongues danced – a battle for control that I quickly lost. This aggressive Monroe was a turn on. He knew all the right buttons to push and knew exactly what I wanted and needed. He nipped at my skin, paying special attention to my neck and collar bones. It felt so good; I knew all coherent thought was about to leave me. His skin was tacky with sweat as I ran my hands over all the skin I could reach. I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him closer.

Our bodies moved together, every thrust driving me crazy. I moaned his name and I heard him growl. Fuck. I could feel my body tremble. More, more, more. Our eyes met, he stared down at me; a ring of red around blown pupils. Monroe nuzzled the crook of my neck, his beard tickling in the best way. His teeth – all of a sudden much sharper – grazed my skin. I fisted my hands in the sheets and tried to bite back my moans. Then I felt it – he bit me. His teeth sunk into the delicate skin of the crook of my neck. He was marking me, claiming me. It actually made my heart flutter.

He ran his hands over my chest, stomach; one hand wrapped around my cock. Fuck! Oh fuck! My hands moved from the sheets to Monroe, grabbing at him, just wanting to touch, to feel. With every thrust I was getting closer and closer. I heard a growl rumble in his chest and when Monroe howled I let go. I cried out his name; orgasm hitting me like a freight train. I clung to him, never wanting to let go. We laid in bed, panting, tangled up in each other. I stole one last kiss before laying my head on his chest and letting myself drift off into sleep.

XXX

                I woke up with Monroe’s arms wrapped around me, which is a pretty great way to wake up. I lifted my head just enough to see the time; it was only six thirty. Soft snored slipped past Monroe’s lips; he looked so peaceful when he was trying to sleep. For a while I just watched him, his chest rising and falling. I definitely wouldn’t be opposed to waking up like this every morning. I laid my head back on his chest and let myself fall back asleep.

When I woke again, I was alone in bed. The smell of pancakes quickly hit me and I followed it out of the room and down the hall. I grabbed my boxers from the living room, slipped them on, then walked into the kitchen. Monroe was standing over the stove, clad only in pajama pants.

                I leaned against the counter. “Morning.”

                “Morning.” He smiled and flipped a few pancakes on a plate and handed it to me.

                I sat down at the table, slathered some butter and syrup on my pancakes, and did my best to avoid the awkward morning-after conversation. I knew it was coming and to be honest, I was petrified. It might actually break my heart if he wanted us to be some kind of one-time thing. He hadn’t said anything after I told him I wanted there to be an us, just kissed me.

                “We should talk about last night.” I couldn’t read him like I usually could – it made me nervous.

                “Yeah, I-I um…” Of course I was at a loss for words.

                “I never really gave you a reply after you told me how you felt.” He paused, sipping his coffee – no doubt stalling. “I really like you, Nick, more than I ever thought I would…or could…”

                “But...?”

                “No buts. I like you and I want to be with you. I should’ve told you last night but I just got so caught up in the moment.”

                I smiled and knew a blush was taking over my cheeks. “So…”

                He let out a small chuckle. “So…”

                “Does that make us boyfriends or something?”

                “Or something…”

                “Hey!”

                He just laughed.

                “Let’s go out tonight, Monroe. Just you and me. Maybe dinner and a movie.”

                He nodded. “Or…we could stay in. I could cook you a delicious meal, open a nice bottle wine, we could watch a good movie – something better than those ho-hum blockbusters the cinema’s showing this week – and uh…maybe recreate part of last night.” He smirked.

                “Yeah, I think your idea sounds much better.” 

                The sheets were damp and sticky against my skin. I felt the barely-there touch of my lover. His usually white-hot body felt ice-cold. I grumbled as I sat up in bed, rubbing at my eyes. I tried to recall last night’s events with no such luck. My head throbbed and my muscles ached.

I turned on the lamp and my heart sank. The sheets were soiled with blood – thick and crimson. Nick was still, his chest barely rising or falling. I turned his body towards me and gasped. His eyes were shut, lips tinted blue. There were scratches and gashes over his chest and abdomen and there was a gnarly bite at the junction of his neck and shoulder. Oh no. I listened closely; he was barely breathing. I gently shook him and called his name. His eyes opened weakly; he caught my gaze. The musky scent of fear quickly filled the room; it was almost too much.

“You…you did this to me…” His eyes turned glossy and his cheeks became tear-soaked. Then, as his eyes closed, his breathing halted.

No! No, Nick! No! I cupped his face with both my hands; he was so cold. I ducked my head down, pressing my forehead to his. I couldn’t stop the tears that began flowing. I slammed my eyes shut and everything went black.

When I opened my eyes I was laying back down, a warm body nestled against my side. I sighed. It was just another nightmare. Nick wiggled around a bit, trying to get closer. I lifted the sheet – which was blood free – and looked over his body. He was unmarred, save for a love marks. I pressed a kiss to his temple and lay back down.

“’Ro, what’re you doing? It’s…three in the morning.” He nuzzled my jaw.

“N-nothing.” I laid there, staring at the ceiling. “Just, uh, can’t sleep.”

 I rode down the path deep into the woods that sat on the edge of town. I saw the little shack I was searching for and hopped off my horse. I looped Maggie’s reins around a slender tree next to the deputy’s horse, Sugar. I approached the house cautiously; word was there were a few skalengecks inside brewing moonshine. When I got to the door I poked my head in; deputy already had them cuffed and ready to go. I holstered my weapon and walked inside.

                “Deputy Griffin.” I nodded.

                “Sheriff Burkhardt.”

                “What do we have here?”

                “Couple guys brewin’ some moonshine.”

                I shook my head at the two men. “Thought you two would know better – that’s three strikes. Let’s take ‘em in, Deputy.”

                We rode back into town to the sheriff’s station and locked away our two outlaws. We decided to let them sit there while we figured out what we’d do with them. Hank and I walked down to the saloon to grab a couple ales. There was a cute little blonde – who Hank eyed-up every time we came in – working the counter.

                “Hey there, Deputy Griffin.” She smiled at him.

                “I told you Miss Adalind, you can call me Hank.”

                She blushed and fetched us both an ale. There was something about her that hit a nerve, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I drank my ale and focused on the music coming from the other side of the saloon. There was a man playing the cello – he was there most nights. I don’t know much about music, but I reckon he’s pretty good. He was also a handyman around town. Name was…Monroe. He’d come in a time or two to fix the cell doors. Someone sat down next to me – it was the town vet.

                “Hey there, Sheriff Burkhardt.”

                “Hello, Miss Juliette. You mind comin’ by tomorrow afternoon and takin’ a look at Maggie’s back hoof? Think she stepped on something today.”

                “Not a problem.” She smiled.

                Word was she fancied me a bit. She was nice enough and beautiful, too, but she just didn’t do it for me. My attention went back to the cello player. He looked up and smiled at me. I felt my cheeks heat up. I cleared my throat and excused myself – said I was calling it an early night.

                I strolled down to my house and welcomed the silence. It was a small place – no need for anything bigger. I kicked off my boots and hung my hat on a hook. I stripped off the rest of my clothes and let them rest in a heap on the floor of the bedroom. I pulled on some cotton pants and an undershirt. I poured myself a glass of whiskey and settled in for the night. I was half asleep when there was a knock on the door.

                “Good evening, Sheriff. Hope you don’t mind me stoppin’ by.”

                It was the cello player from the saloon.

                “Um, no, not at all…Mr. Monroe, was it?”

                “Just Monroe, sir.”

                “Sir was my father, please call me Nick.” I extended a hand to him; he gave it a firm shake. “Drink?”

                “Thank you.”

                I handed him a glass of whiskey and poured myself another. I invited him to sit down. We were a bit close on the small sofa. I didn’t mind, though. I could smell him – musk, wood, smoke, and just a hint of cinnamon. I finally got a closer look at him, too. He had this ruggedly handsome thing going on. Bright chocolate-colored eyes looked back at me. I wondered what his beard would feel like against my skin. Stop – the sheriff can be fancying the handyman.

                “If you, uh, don’t mind me asking, Monroe, why’d you come over here? Don’t you have a wife to get home to?”

                “No, sir…uh, Nick. I just…wanted to know how those cell doors are holdin’ up.”

                “They’re holdin’ up just fine. Think our roof might need some fixin,’ though.”

                He nodded. “I can come by day after tomorrow.”

                “Great. Are you playin’ tomorrow night?”

                “Sure am.”

                “Can I ask you something?”

                “Course.”

                “Saloon pay you well?”

                “Enough to keep some food on the table.”

                “Good.”

                “Night, sheriff.”

                I watched him walk out the door. That was weird…but not unwelcome. I made a note to talk to the saloon owner – Mr. Renard – about giving Monroe a little raise. He was much too good to be getting paid enough.

I crawled into my big empty bed and laid there thinking about how nice it’d be to share the space with someone…perhaps a tall, flannel-clad, cello-playing handyman. Yeah, that’d be real nice. Someone to keep warm with on those cold December nights that were coming up. Someone to come home to. Monroe crept his way into my dreams all night long.

XXX

                I got to the saloon early – wanted to make sure I got a nice seat to watch Monroe play from. He was chatting some guy; I could just make out what they were saying.

                “Why’s he wear so much red?”

                “I don’t know, Hap. Maybe he likes it.”

                “Well, I heard his clothes are stained with the blood of the outlaws he’s killed.”

                I had to stifle a laugh. Oh lordy, that friend of his wasn’t too bright. Good guy though – never had him in the station. I turned my head just enough to see them. A petite brunette walked up to them.

                “Hey there, Butch, Sundance.” She nodded to them.

                Monroe frowned, but the other man – Hap – smiled.

                “Hello, Miss Rosalee.”

                She smiled at Hap and walked over near where I was sitting. I turned my attention to my ale.

                “Sheriff Burkhardt,” she greeted me.

                “Ma’am.”

                “Rosalee Calvert. In town visiting some old friends.” She nodded to where the two men sat.

                “Nice to meet ya.” I tipped my hat.

                “I saw you eyeing-up Monroe.”

                “What?” I could feel that damned blush heading to my cheeks again.

                “Don’t worry: I won’t tell anyone. You should say something to him, though.” Her voice was soft, quiet.

                “Sheriff can’t be chasing the handyman around.”

                “It’s not a chase if he wants to be caught.” She flashed a smug smile. “Night, Sheriff.”

                I watched her leave the saloon. When I looked back to Monroe, our eyes met and he quickly turned away. I sighed. That woman was friends with him, so she had to be right. But what if she isn’t? Maybe I’ll say something after he they’re through playing for the evening.

XXX

                He was walking down the road when I caught up to him. He was kicking a stone along the way, looking less than thrilled.

                “Hey, Monroe, wait up!”

                He stopped and turned around. I saw why he seemed down – there was a bruise starting to darken around his eye.

                “What happened to you?”

                “Don’t worry about it, Sheriff.”

                I stepped closer, putting a hand on his shoulder. He pulled away, turned, and started walking. I frowned and followed him.

                “Monroe, seriously. What happened?”

                “There was a fight – a really quick one – behind the saloon.” He kept walking as he talked. “Guy came up, hit me, and that was that.”

                “Why’d he do it?”

                He just shrugged.

                I stepped in front of him and he stopped. “I know what you are.”

                He furrowed his brow. “Um…”

                “You’re a blutbad.”

                He looked at me, wide-eyed and mouth agape.

                “I’m a Grimm.”

                “A sheriff and a Grimm? That legal?”

                I rolled my eyes. “Don’t worry. I ain’t gonna kill ya. I like you.”

                “Oh.”

                “You like to come over for a drink?”

                “Uh, sure.”

XXX

                “You want some ice or somethin’ for that eye?”

                “Nah, it’s not as bad as it looks.”

                “You seem real nice, can’t imagine why anyone would wanna hit you.” I poured whiskey into two glasses and handed one to him.

                He shrugged. “Just some fuchsbau that don’t like what I am.”

                “There some fuchsbau-blutbad rivaly I don’t know about? Kinda new to the Grimm thing.”

                “Not exactly.”

                I raised a questioning eye brow but he didn’t go on; I didn’t push it any further. “You play cards?”

                “From time to time.”

                “Wanna play a game of poker?”

                “Stakes?”

                “If I win…I get a private show. If you win…what do you want?”

                “Um…drinks are on you tomorrow night.”

                “Deal.”

XXX

                “Aces beat Jacks.”

                “You win. Let me get my cello.”

                He stood up and stepped towards the door where his cello case sat. I got up and grabbed his arm, pulling him back.

                “That’s not the, uh, kind of private show I wanted.”

                I stood up on my toes – he was a good five or so inches taller – and pressed my lips to his. I pulled away and looked up at him, hoping I didn’t make a mistake.

                “That’s why he hit me.”

                I thought for a second. Oh.

                “Well that’s the first and last time. The sheriff won’t have that petty hoopla in his town.”

                He smiled and then leaned to capture my lips. I fisted my hands in flannel shirt and pulled him closer. Our bodies were pressed together; my arms wrapped around his neck, his worked their way around my waist. I took a step back, pulling him towards the bedroom; he got the idea. I bent a little and picked me up; I wrapped my legs around his waist. We pulled away just long enough to shed our clothes and then we were back on each other. He pushed me back on to the bed. I could see the hunger in his eyes – they flashed red. We wrestled for control; I eventually gave in and let him pin me. He laid between my legs, our hips pressed firmly against each other. His fingers were wrapped around my wrists which laid on either side of my head.

                His lips moved over my jaw and down my neck. He nipped at my collar bones and I couldn’t quite stifle my moans. ­I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him closer. He loosened his grip on my wrists and I moved my hands to his chest, caressing bare skin.

                “So you’re a handyman and a cello player…what else can those hands do?”

                “I’ll show you.”

                He moved his hand down my body and wrapped his fingers around my very hard dick. The touch of his hand made me tremble. He sped up the pace of his strokes and my body writhed under his. He nipped at the sensitive spot right below my jaw and it drove me wild. There was enough coherent thought left in my mind to reach my hand down and return the favor. He moaned, though it was more of a growl. His mouth found mine and our tongues began to dance.

                I moaned his name as I came, my hips bucking up towards him. I kept my hand going as fast as I could, though the strokes became sporadic. He sank his teeth into my shoulder as he came. Oh god, it felt so good. He rolled off of me and I used the corner of the bed sheet to clean off my hand and stomach. I tucked myself to his side and threw an arm over his chest.

                We just laid in bed for a while, stealing kisses. I ran my fingers over his chest, drawing small circles and random patterns. It was nice, lying in bed with someone – I hadn’t realized how lonely I’d gotten. Apparently being with the sheriff wasn’t very appealing.

                “Guess I should’ve asked for a private show sooner.”