Fic: Surrender (4/7)
Title: Surrender 4/7
Fandom: Grimm
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Nick/Monroe
Summary: Just when Nick's life is changing, Monroe is attacked by a Grimm, mixing up their lives further.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own words.
Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3
Chapter 4
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One of the other two victims was indeed a creature, though this one was one Nick hadn’t come across yet. Two days later, another creature was killed. Linking all the cases together was the only advance the investigation made, and he couldn’t even link them officially. This damn Grimm knew what she was doing too well, for apart from a smidgen of a shoe print (Converse, to make it worse, with so many of them running around everywhere) and the questionable witness testimony that an average sized person (couldn’t even verify if it was male or female) wearing a black hoodie (or dark blue, couldn’t be sure) had been spotted at some point near the third crime scene, they didn’t know a damn thing. Were all experienced Grimms this skilled at subterfuge? The creatures were all registered citizens. There were probably thousands of cold cases created by Grimms. Aunt Marie had kept herself so well concealed that not even Nick had suspected anything.
Out of sheer desperation, Nick asked Monroe if he had heard of Grimms having less than usual abilities, though he kept the “Can we turn into cats?” question to himself. He was most glad of it when Monroe narrowed his eyes at him as if Nick had been smoking some of the cocaine they confiscated last week.
“Oh, sure,” Monroe said in the same mocking deadpan voice he used to criticize every werewolf movie they came across on the TV. “I heard plenty about flying Grimms when I was a kid. Invisible Grimms. Grimms with glowing eyes who could see in the dark and grew wings. There was even one who could turn into smoke, creep into your ear, and make you go mad.”
Nick didn’t even bother trying to come up with a comeback. He just grabbed the half eaten bag of Sun Chips before going to the wisecrack-free kitchen to start making dinner.
“Hey,” Monroe called. “I was kidding. Give me back the chips.”
When Nick refused, Monroe came to sit at the dining table, gazing at him with puppy eyes. The one time Nick had referred to them as such, Monroe got in a huff and over spiced Nick’s portion of the soup, yet he had no problem using them with impunity, the bastard.
Nick kept on chipping carrots. Ninety seconds in, his hands were itching on the knife. A minute later, he gave Monroe back the chips.
He tried not to think about the fact that Juliette had been the one who started buying Sun Chips. Just as well that Monroe liked them so much. As he stuffed more of Juliette’s things into boxes, more of Monroe’s things rose up to take their place. Her coffee cup was replaced by his coffee cup. Her spot on the sofa became his spot. The space that opened up on the bookcase soon housed the dozen books he’d brought from Monroe’s house. Her journals of veterinary medicine became Monroe’s magazines on vegetarian fare and antique clocks. It felt like Monroe was moving in, not just staying for a month or two. He’d even peed around the yard. Nick didn’t mind. It was his territory for the moment. Monroe should have at it. Nick wouldn’t mind if it was more than temporary, either. Not a bit. But he could hardly ask the man now. In his injured state, anything would feel like taking advantage. If he investigated if Monroe might be interested in being anything more than friends, and Monroe was affronted by the notion, he would leave, and he was still vulnerable. He still had trouble breathing sometimes, his left arm was barely out of its sling, and the bitch who maimed him still out there. And where would he go? With his parents? Monroe wanted none of that, it was obvious. And even then, how would he get there? Monroe needed to stay here until he could defend himself. Meanwhile, Nick could pretend while Monroe taught him how to cook, while he grew more familiar with the taste of Monroe’s renowned coffee than the Maxwell House sitting in a tin in the back of the kitchen drawers, when Monroe fell asleep on the recliner and Nick on the couch, when Nick soothed his nightmares away by stroking his forehead, when he received a text from Monroe asking that he stop by the store to pick up more oatmeal because he’d accidentally spilled the whole container.
Always he tried and failed not to remember how so recently it had been Juliette texting him when she forgot to buy tomatoes, Juliette’s pot roast he was becoming familiar with, Juliette’s hand soothing away his own nightmares.
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Juliette’s picking up day got postponed to Saturday, giving Nick more time to wrangle the stuff together. On Saturday morning, he stacked the boxes on the front yard so she wouldn’t have to go inside, although, if she wanted to, he couldn’t stop her, but with Monroe here and curious, it was best to avoid it. Monroe never asked why Juliette left, but he didn’t need to. The question burned in his eyes whenever Nick packed Juliette’s things, had been since the first time Nick told him in the hospital, but either he was too polite to ask or he didn’t want to bring up the subject. The other day, he had asked how Nick was holding up. Just those words. Nick didn’t remember what he had replied. Probably ‘fine’ or something like that, lying with the truth, for Juliette’s leaving couldn’t compare to almost losing Monroe. Silence returned after his answer, accompanied only by the crinkling of paper as he rolled up Juliette’s Van Gogh poster. Sometime later, Monroe asked,
“You’re not going to try to get her back?”
Nick slipped the poster roll in a hard tube.
“She wouldn’t take me anyway,” is all he said, hoping Monroe didn’t press the issue. He didn’t, though from the corner of his eye, Nick could see his mouth open, lips poised on the verge of speech, his brows furrowed, but he didn’t ask.
Monroe was taking a nap when Juliette arrived. That made Nick breathe easier. Juliette was surprised at seeing all the boxes waiting for her, saying she’d expected to have to do some packing, but at least she wouldn’t have to see Monroe.
“It’s not like that,” Nick said, careful not to speak any louder than necessary, for blutbad hearing was spectacular. “We’re not together. He’s just staying here until he gets better.”
Juliette had heard about the attack, which at least saved him that explanation.
“I don’t care,” she said. “Even if you wanted to get back together, I wouldn’t care. And the fact that you haven’t tried makes it obvious that you prefer having him in there than me.”
Nick didn’t object. He just helped her load the boxes on the truck she’d borrowed from her brother and watched her drive away, hoping Monroe hadn’t woken up to hear any of that.
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Monroe awoke to her smell tickling his nose, a faint murmur, but it was enough to trigger a light rumbling in his chest. He shook his head, steadying himself, his claws catching on the fibers of the easy chair as they retracted into his fingers, but human form couldn’t keep him from recognizing a rival. Her presence itched under his skin like a nasty rash, urging him to chase and bite and rip.
No!
She was just picking up her things. A little while longer and she would be gone and Nick would be back in the house with him, for Monroe could smell him out there, too, standing right next to her, too close, too close, but he was just seeing her off. It wasn’t like that dinner here Nick had invited him to because “Juliette keeps complaining that I spend all this time with you and yet she doesn’t know you”, where they were all cuddly and coupley and in love and Monroe wanted to drown himself in his onion soup, realizing for the first time how much the idea of Nick touching someone else made his insides boil. But he had no right to stake a claim on Nick, so he kept his envy muzzled. Now that he’d noticed he might have one, it wasn’t so easy, even though he saw that Nick was just helping Juliette pack the car. Monroe hid himself behind the curtains, ears alert, but they didn’t say much. He might have heard more if the windows were open, like they’d been before he fell asleep, what with the temperature rising to 68° today. Now the room was stifling, but Nick probably wanted his privacy, so Monroe told himself to shut up, but he couldn’t keep the fangs out of his mouth the entire time Nick was with Juliette.
Only when she drove away did he finally regain his human face.
But it wasn’t just with her that his control was slipping, though that had been the worst he’d felt while conscious. The dreams didn’t take pity on him for even one night, all of them filled with blood that tasted too delicious on his tongue. He pretended with Nick that those were nightmares, too, hoping the man wouldn’t be able to tell. But sometimes the blood became his own when the Grimm appeared, paralyzing his body so he couldn’t fight the pain, and it hurt so much. Maybe he shouldn’t have been such a smartass when Nick asked him if some Grimms had special powers, for damn if it didn’t feel like this one was poisoning his dreams. Soon, he’d start believing his own tall tale of a Grimm turning into mist and making you mad.
At least (hopefully, pleasepleaseplease), it looked like the Grimm might have skipped town, for there had been no new creature deaths reported at the station, but that might just mean that now the Grimm was hiding the bodies, too. But why would she do that when a bloody body served as such a grisly warning to all creatures to scurry into their hidey holes and whimper? Nick took it as a good sign. As least it made Monroe safer, he said, which was true, though Nick was frustrated at not being able to catch her and make her pay for hurting Monroe, though it wouldn’t be in the time honored way of bloodthirsty Grimms.
As there was no guarantee that the Grimm had left, neither man felt too comfortable about Monroe leaving the house alone, but he had been stuck inside for over three weeks, not counting the week at the hospital, and every instinct was screaming, Out! His chest was mostly healed. No more waking up in the middle of the night with tears squeezing out of his eyes because the nightmares wracked his ribs, or leaning against the railing while going upstairs. The healed tissue still felt a little tight, pinching him a bit as he moved, but it wasn’t a big deal, yet Nick still wouldn’t let him do anything that a ninety year old man couldn’t do.
After much heated discussion, filled with clever arguments from Monroe, whining of “But what if you hurt yourself?” from Nick , and a “If I go off killing people, it’s on you”, Nick finally relented and agreed to bring over Monroe’s Pilates machine next week. Technically, Monroe could just go over his own self and use it there, but… It was just… Although why would the Grimm be staking out a house that had been empty for a month? It was a waste of energy, really. Why go through all that effort for one reformed blutbad? His hesitation was bordering on the paranoid, except that the last time he’d been in his home he’d been on the floor gasping around a collapsed lung while struggling not to bleed out and only five minutes earlier, he’d thought he was perfectly safe. No. Best wait until Nick was with him. What were a few more days, anyway?
However, he refused to sit sill, so he decided to climb up and down the staircase and take nice walks around the neighborhood while getting some blessed fresh, summer air until his heels hurt, which happened embarrassingly quickly, but he had been sequestered to a chair for weeks, after all. He just had to get his muscles to relearn what proper movement felt like. He took to walking in the early afternoons after the sun was at its maximum glare overhead, yet before it peered at your eye line, taking advantage of the cool breeze breaking through the nascent heat. He divided his time between the quiet, neighborhood streets and a park two blocks away, which wasn’t as big as the one in front of his house, but it was still woodsy, which soothed his lupine senses. The walks weren’t terribly exciting, just stretching his legs, breathing in air filled with grass and fir instead of stale stuffiness, relishing the freedom of not being trapped within four walls with a roof encasing his head. They refreshed him so much that after the first one, Nick commented on well better he looked, making Monroe want to sidle up close to him and show him exactly how much better he felt, but it was still too soon. Nick hadn’t given him any more signs. Just a little longer, like with the Pilates. Just one more hint that he was over Juliette and ready to move on into Monroe’s eager arms.
He wondered if the brilliant smile Nick had given him last night when he complimented Monroe’s soup might have been a hint as he strolled down the street about half a mile from the house. It was later than his usual walking time, but he had gotten a little too immersed in fixing an antique clock earlier and lost track of time. The commission was a month and a half old, but getting shot tended to excuse you from most things. Unfortunately, the delay meant that yellow school busses were making their rounds, children chattering up and down the street, wearing all sorts of colors, none of them the bright blood red that most got his heart pumping, hankering for a taste, but some of them came close. He bit down at the urge, refusing to lose control, even if no one could see it, yet only last night he’d dreamt of that little girl, Sara Jenkins, no way to forget her name, but it was no more than a rearranged memory, even if it felt too much like un portent right now.
Fisting his hands in his jean pockets, he set a course for the park. It was only one block away, versus three for the house, a three minute walk, two if he hurried. He’d just pace it out through the trees until the children were in their homes.
Red flashed before him. He growled, teeth sharpening, talons tearing through fabric, as his eyes fixed on the red shirt crossing in front of him and the girl inside it, young, maybe ten years old, heart so plump and scrumptious and she smelled so good, better than any stupid vegetable soup ever could. How had he subsisted on such pathetic human fare so many years? He needed warm, raw flesh, the blood still juicy and alive and screaming as he bit throw into her bones. His steps began to haunt hers, following close, but not close enough for her to notice. Don’t let the prey startle before time. Her friend left, leaving her alone on the sidewalk, leaving her all to him.
“Kristie!”
“Yeah?” the girl replied, breaking him out of his predatory trance. He stumbled back, crashing into someone behind him. Barely mumbling an apology, his legs, the first part of his body to regain its senses, propelled him forward, and he crossed the street without even looking, lucky there wasn’t a car coming. Three boys ran down that side of the road, wearing blue and black and orange, not even close, but he wanted to eat them, too. He jerked his head to the down, looking only at the sidewalk until the last house fence ended and the park began, then he pushed through the first layer of bushes and dove into the trees, burying himself well and good. His legs started a frenetic pace as he buried his face in his hands, forcing his fangs back into his skull even as the darkest part of him kept keening for what he had denied himself so many years. He collapsed against a tree, his breath raw in his throat, every muscle in his body trembling. He’d sworn to himself he wouldn’t be this demented creature again. Not again. Never again.
Pain flared in his right shoulder. He ducked behind the tree he’d been leaning against, the wolf roaring to the surface at the new threat, but he couldn’t smell anyone, just heard the crackling of a foot some yards behind him. The Grimm. The bitch had covered herself in wolfsbane. That’s why he could never smell her. She probably had never stopped tracking him, not if she found him here now. Keeping as still as he could, he listened for the tiniest sound. Leaves scurried to his left, but his nose told him it was a squirrel. The Grimm was waiting for him to move. How long could she stay that way, gun cocked, legs still, mindful that someone might see her? Drawing his phone out of his pocket, he texted Nick, thankful that he’d already put it on silent.
Hammel woods grimm here west side
Soon, the reply came:
I on way dont fight her run
That was the plan. Though it would help if he could smell her Did she bathe in wolfsbane? Never mind Grimm, he couldn’t even smell human. He crouched down, concealing himself in the leafy undergrowth. This would be easier on four legs. His shoulder hurt, but the bullet had only grazed the fleshy part near his neck. It didn’t seem to have hit an important blood vessel, else the bleeding would be worse, so it wouldn’t impair his motions. But if he did reach the edge of the park, how would a wolf look running down the street? And it wasn’t like he could morph right back into human form and keep going, because he would be slightly naked and then he might still get shot by an overprotective parent. But he couldn’t just stay here waiting for Nick. He would take too long.
A branch crackled somewhere in front of him, but he couldn’t smell what caused it. She would reach him soon enough. Dropping down to his elbows, he scurried along the ground, careful to stay on the grassiest patches, feeling like a slug, only slower. He dragged along a yard, then another, until suddenly there were no more bushes in front of him, only grass, short, non-concealing grass. Monroe heard her closer to now, but as he had slid to the right, she had kept pressing forward, so soon he would have her behind him. She might still be intent on the tree he had been hiding behind. If he rushed from where he lied to the next tree, she might not see him.
He braced his feet against the ground, readying himself to pounce forward. She shifted a step closer, her figure visible from the corner of his eye. Come on. One more. Just step behind that tree. Just a little bit.
His breath was starting to burn in his chest.
She disappeared behind the tree.
Now. He scurried forward, ducking behind the tree, then the next, until a shot zoomed past his ear, embedding itself in the tree in front of him. Another bullet sailed past him, blocking his advance both to the right and to the front, the closet directions to the street. Shit. She knew where he wanted to go. No bullets to his left. Was she playing with him? If he ran that way, would she shoot him right there, or would she give him a head start before chasing him down again? She might have known he was dragging himself along the undergrowth the whole time. And the flesh wound. Why didn’t she aim lower, hit another squishy organ? But what was a good hunt without a hearty chase?
He sagged against the trunk, the gnarled wood digging at his vertebrae. She was coming closer. He thought he could smell her now, a faint wisp of human and enemy and killer. If he moved now, he might die. But if he stayed here, he would certainly die. Even if he charged her, she would shoot something vital before he got to her.
He ran. A shot rang behind him, clipping at his heels, but it wasn’t even trying. He rushed deeper into the forest, the Grimm at his heels.
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It occurred to Nick as he stomped on the accelerator, hustling through traffic with the aid of his siren, that going after a killer without backup was a stupid idea, but it wouldn’t be the first time, especially not when his Grimm duties were involved, and though the killer he was after now was human, she was still a Grimm and there was every chance that Monroe hadn’t followed his plea to run and decided to fight back. He might not even have a choice. Things could get messy in lethal ways very quickly. If he went alone and explained to her, Grimm to Grimm, why Monroe didn’t deserve to die, she might listen. If he went with half a dozen cops flanking him, she might not be so understanding, maybe even go after Nick for breaking some ancient Grimm rule he had never heard of. Why couldn’t Aunt Marie have left him some more info about Grimms? A manual or a leaflet or even a “do this, not this” list? Anything would have helped. If only he’d gotten to the hospital sooner.
No. This was not the time for recriminations. Hammel Woods was only a mile away and he would get there in time. He would save Monroe like he couldn’t save his aunt.
Parking the car at the northern lot, he ran into the woods, calling Monroe on the cell. No answer. His heart clenched. No no no. Don’t think like that. Maybe he’d lost his phone or he was too busy running or the battery ran out, but then it wouldn’t ring, it would go to voicemail.
A canine yowl reached his ears.
Monroe.
Gun drawn, he ran.
Chapter 5
Fandom: Grimm
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Nick/Monroe
Summary: Just when Nick's life is changing, Monroe is attacked by a Grimm, mixing up their lives further.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own words.
Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3
Chapter 4
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One of the other two victims was indeed a creature, though this one was one Nick hadn’t come across yet. Two days later, another creature was killed. Linking all the cases together was the only advance the investigation made, and he couldn’t even link them officially. This damn Grimm knew what she was doing too well, for apart from a smidgen of a shoe print (Converse, to make it worse, with so many of them running around everywhere) and the questionable witness testimony that an average sized person (couldn’t even verify if it was male or female) wearing a black hoodie (or dark blue, couldn’t be sure) had been spotted at some point near the third crime scene, they didn’t know a damn thing. Were all experienced Grimms this skilled at subterfuge? The creatures were all registered citizens. There were probably thousands of cold cases created by Grimms. Aunt Marie had kept herself so well concealed that not even Nick had suspected anything.
Out of sheer desperation, Nick asked Monroe if he had heard of Grimms having less than usual abilities, though he kept the “Can we turn into cats?” question to himself. He was most glad of it when Monroe narrowed his eyes at him as if Nick had been smoking some of the cocaine they confiscated last week.
“Oh, sure,” Monroe said in the same mocking deadpan voice he used to criticize every werewolf movie they came across on the TV. “I heard plenty about flying Grimms when I was a kid. Invisible Grimms. Grimms with glowing eyes who could see in the dark and grew wings. There was even one who could turn into smoke, creep into your ear, and make you go mad.”
Nick didn’t even bother trying to come up with a comeback. He just grabbed the half eaten bag of Sun Chips before going to the wisecrack-free kitchen to start making dinner.
“Hey,” Monroe called. “I was kidding. Give me back the chips.”
When Nick refused, Monroe came to sit at the dining table, gazing at him with puppy eyes. The one time Nick had referred to them as such, Monroe got in a huff and over spiced Nick’s portion of the soup, yet he had no problem using them with impunity, the bastard.
Nick kept on chipping carrots. Ninety seconds in, his hands were itching on the knife. A minute later, he gave Monroe back the chips.
He tried not to think about the fact that Juliette had been the one who started buying Sun Chips. Just as well that Monroe liked them so much. As he stuffed more of Juliette’s things into boxes, more of Monroe’s things rose up to take their place. Her coffee cup was replaced by his coffee cup. Her spot on the sofa became his spot. The space that opened up on the bookcase soon housed the dozen books he’d brought from Monroe’s house. Her journals of veterinary medicine became Monroe’s magazines on vegetarian fare and antique clocks. It felt like Monroe was moving in, not just staying for a month or two. He’d even peed around the yard. Nick didn’t mind. It was his territory for the moment. Monroe should have at it. Nick wouldn’t mind if it was more than temporary, either. Not a bit. But he could hardly ask the man now. In his injured state, anything would feel like taking advantage. If he investigated if Monroe might be interested in being anything more than friends, and Monroe was affronted by the notion, he would leave, and he was still vulnerable. He still had trouble breathing sometimes, his left arm was barely out of its sling, and the bitch who maimed him still out there. And where would he go? With his parents? Monroe wanted none of that, it was obvious. And even then, how would he get there? Monroe needed to stay here until he could defend himself. Meanwhile, Nick could pretend while Monroe taught him how to cook, while he grew more familiar with the taste of Monroe’s renowned coffee than the Maxwell House sitting in a tin in the back of the kitchen drawers, when Monroe fell asleep on the recliner and Nick on the couch, when Nick soothed his nightmares away by stroking his forehead, when he received a text from Monroe asking that he stop by the store to pick up more oatmeal because he’d accidentally spilled the whole container.
Always he tried and failed not to remember how so recently it had been Juliette texting him when she forgot to buy tomatoes, Juliette’s pot roast he was becoming familiar with, Juliette’s hand soothing away his own nightmares.
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Juliette’s picking up day got postponed to Saturday, giving Nick more time to wrangle the stuff together. On Saturday morning, he stacked the boxes on the front yard so she wouldn’t have to go inside, although, if she wanted to, he couldn’t stop her, but with Monroe here and curious, it was best to avoid it. Monroe never asked why Juliette left, but he didn’t need to. The question burned in his eyes whenever Nick packed Juliette’s things, had been since the first time Nick told him in the hospital, but either he was too polite to ask or he didn’t want to bring up the subject. The other day, he had asked how Nick was holding up. Just those words. Nick didn’t remember what he had replied. Probably ‘fine’ or something like that, lying with the truth, for Juliette’s leaving couldn’t compare to almost losing Monroe. Silence returned after his answer, accompanied only by the crinkling of paper as he rolled up Juliette’s Van Gogh poster. Sometime later, Monroe asked,
“You’re not going to try to get her back?”
Nick slipped the poster roll in a hard tube.
“She wouldn’t take me anyway,” is all he said, hoping Monroe didn’t press the issue. He didn’t, though from the corner of his eye, Nick could see his mouth open, lips poised on the verge of speech, his brows furrowed, but he didn’t ask.
Monroe was taking a nap when Juliette arrived. That made Nick breathe easier. Juliette was surprised at seeing all the boxes waiting for her, saying she’d expected to have to do some packing, but at least she wouldn’t have to see Monroe.
“It’s not like that,” Nick said, careful not to speak any louder than necessary, for blutbad hearing was spectacular. “We’re not together. He’s just staying here until he gets better.”
Juliette had heard about the attack, which at least saved him that explanation.
“I don’t care,” she said. “Even if you wanted to get back together, I wouldn’t care. And the fact that you haven’t tried makes it obvious that you prefer having him in there than me.”
Nick didn’t object. He just helped her load the boxes on the truck she’d borrowed from her brother and watched her drive away, hoping Monroe hadn’t woken up to hear any of that.
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Monroe awoke to her smell tickling his nose, a faint murmur, but it was enough to trigger a light rumbling in his chest. He shook his head, steadying himself, his claws catching on the fibers of the easy chair as they retracted into his fingers, but human form couldn’t keep him from recognizing a rival. Her presence itched under his skin like a nasty rash, urging him to chase and bite and rip.
No!
She was just picking up her things. A little while longer and she would be gone and Nick would be back in the house with him, for Monroe could smell him out there, too, standing right next to her, too close, too close, but he was just seeing her off. It wasn’t like that dinner here Nick had invited him to because “Juliette keeps complaining that I spend all this time with you and yet she doesn’t know you”, where they were all cuddly and coupley and in love and Monroe wanted to drown himself in his onion soup, realizing for the first time how much the idea of Nick touching someone else made his insides boil. But he had no right to stake a claim on Nick, so he kept his envy muzzled. Now that he’d noticed he might have one, it wasn’t so easy, even though he saw that Nick was just helping Juliette pack the car. Monroe hid himself behind the curtains, ears alert, but they didn’t say much. He might have heard more if the windows were open, like they’d been before he fell asleep, what with the temperature rising to 68° today. Now the room was stifling, but Nick probably wanted his privacy, so Monroe told himself to shut up, but he couldn’t keep the fangs out of his mouth the entire time Nick was with Juliette.
Only when she drove away did he finally regain his human face.
But it wasn’t just with her that his control was slipping, though that had been the worst he’d felt while conscious. The dreams didn’t take pity on him for even one night, all of them filled with blood that tasted too delicious on his tongue. He pretended with Nick that those were nightmares, too, hoping the man wouldn’t be able to tell. But sometimes the blood became his own when the Grimm appeared, paralyzing his body so he couldn’t fight the pain, and it hurt so much. Maybe he shouldn’t have been such a smartass when Nick asked him if some Grimms had special powers, for damn if it didn’t feel like this one was poisoning his dreams. Soon, he’d start believing his own tall tale of a Grimm turning into mist and making you mad.
At least (hopefully, pleasepleaseplease), it looked like the Grimm might have skipped town, for there had been no new creature deaths reported at the station, but that might just mean that now the Grimm was hiding the bodies, too. But why would she do that when a bloody body served as such a grisly warning to all creatures to scurry into their hidey holes and whimper? Nick took it as a good sign. As least it made Monroe safer, he said, which was true, though Nick was frustrated at not being able to catch her and make her pay for hurting Monroe, though it wouldn’t be in the time honored way of bloodthirsty Grimms.
As there was no guarantee that the Grimm had left, neither man felt too comfortable about Monroe leaving the house alone, but he had been stuck inside for over three weeks, not counting the week at the hospital, and every instinct was screaming, Out! His chest was mostly healed. No more waking up in the middle of the night with tears squeezing out of his eyes because the nightmares wracked his ribs, or leaning against the railing while going upstairs. The healed tissue still felt a little tight, pinching him a bit as he moved, but it wasn’t a big deal, yet Nick still wouldn’t let him do anything that a ninety year old man couldn’t do.
After much heated discussion, filled with clever arguments from Monroe, whining of “But what if you hurt yourself?” from Nick , and a “If I go off killing people, it’s on you”, Nick finally relented and agreed to bring over Monroe’s Pilates machine next week. Technically, Monroe could just go over his own self and use it there, but… It was just… Although why would the Grimm be staking out a house that had been empty for a month? It was a waste of energy, really. Why go through all that effort for one reformed blutbad? His hesitation was bordering on the paranoid, except that the last time he’d been in his home he’d been on the floor gasping around a collapsed lung while struggling not to bleed out and only five minutes earlier, he’d thought he was perfectly safe. No. Best wait until Nick was with him. What were a few more days, anyway?
However, he refused to sit sill, so he decided to climb up and down the staircase and take nice walks around the neighborhood while getting some blessed fresh, summer air until his heels hurt, which happened embarrassingly quickly, but he had been sequestered to a chair for weeks, after all. He just had to get his muscles to relearn what proper movement felt like. He took to walking in the early afternoons after the sun was at its maximum glare overhead, yet before it peered at your eye line, taking advantage of the cool breeze breaking through the nascent heat. He divided his time between the quiet, neighborhood streets and a park two blocks away, which wasn’t as big as the one in front of his house, but it was still woodsy, which soothed his lupine senses. The walks weren’t terribly exciting, just stretching his legs, breathing in air filled with grass and fir instead of stale stuffiness, relishing the freedom of not being trapped within four walls with a roof encasing his head. They refreshed him so much that after the first one, Nick commented on well better he looked, making Monroe want to sidle up close to him and show him exactly how much better he felt, but it was still too soon. Nick hadn’t given him any more signs. Just a little longer, like with the Pilates. Just one more hint that he was over Juliette and ready to move on into Monroe’s eager arms.
He wondered if the brilliant smile Nick had given him last night when he complimented Monroe’s soup might have been a hint as he strolled down the street about half a mile from the house. It was later than his usual walking time, but he had gotten a little too immersed in fixing an antique clock earlier and lost track of time. The commission was a month and a half old, but getting shot tended to excuse you from most things. Unfortunately, the delay meant that yellow school busses were making their rounds, children chattering up and down the street, wearing all sorts of colors, none of them the bright blood red that most got his heart pumping, hankering for a taste, but some of them came close. He bit down at the urge, refusing to lose control, even if no one could see it, yet only last night he’d dreamt of that little girl, Sara Jenkins, no way to forget her name, but it was no more than a rearranged memory, even if it felt too much like un portent right now.
Fisting his hands in his jean pockets, he set a course for the park. It was only one block away, versus three for the house, a three minute walk, two if he hurried. He’d just pace it out through the trees until the children were in their homes.
Red flashed before him. He growled, teeth sharpening, talons tearing through fabric, as his eyes fixed on the red shirt crossing in front of him and the girl inside it, young, maybe ten years old, heart so plump and scrumptious and she smelled so good, better than any stupid vegetable soup ever could. How had he subsisted on such pathetic human fare so many years? He needed warm, raw flesh, the blood still juicy and alive and screaming as he bit throw into her bones. His steps began to haunt hers, following close, but not close enough for her to notice. Don’t let the prey startle before time. Her friend left, leaving her alone on the sidewalk, leaving her all to him.
“Kristie!”
“Yeah?” the girl replied, breaking him out of his predatory trance. He stumbled back, crashing into someone behind him. Barely mumbling an apology, his legs, the first part of his body to regain its senses, propelled him forward, and he crossed the street without even looking, lucky there wasn’t a car coming. Three boys ran down that side of the road, wearing blue and black and orange, not even close, but he wanted to eat them, too. He jerked his head to the down, looking only at the sidewalk until the last house fence ended and the park began, then he pushed through the first layer of bushes and dove into the trees, burying himself well and good. His legs started a frenetic pace as he buried his face in his hands, forcing his fangs back into his skull even as the darkest part of him kept keening for what he had denied himself so many years. He collapsed against a tree, his breath raw in his throat, every muscle in his body trembling. He’d sworn to himself he wouldn’t be this demented creature again. Not again. Never again.
Pain flared in his right shoulder. He ducked behind the tree he’d been leaning against, the wolf roaring to the surface at the new threat, but he couldn’t smell anyone, just heard the crackling of a foot some yards behind him. The Grimm. The bitch had covered herself in wolfsbane. That’s why he could never smell her. She probably had never stopped tracking him, not if she found him here now. Keeping as still as he could, he listened for the tiniest sound. Leaves scurried to his left, but his nose told him it was a squirrel. The Grimm was waiting for him to move. How long could she stay that way, gun cocked, legs still, mindful that someone might see her? Drawing his phone out of his pocket, he texted Nick, thankful that he’d already put it on silent.
Hammel woods grimm here west side
Soon, the reply came:
I on way dont fight her run
That was the plan. Though it would help if he could smell her Did she bathe in wolfsbane? Never mind Grimm, he couldn’t even smell human. He crouched down, concealing himself in the leafy undergrowth. This would be easier on four legs. His shoulder hurt, but the bullet had only grazed the fleshy part near his neck. It didn’t seem to have hit an important blood vessel, else the bleeding would be worse, so it wouldn’t impair his motions. But if he did reach the edge of the park, how would a wolf look running down the street? And it wasn’t like he could morph right back into human form and keep going, because he would be slightly naked and then he might still get shot by an overprotective parent. But he couldn’t just stay here waiting for Nick. He would take too long.
A branch crackled somewhere in front of him, but he couldn’t smell what caused it. She would reach him soon enough. Dropping down to his elbows, he scurried along the ground, careful to stay on the grassiest patches, feeling like a slug, only slower. He dragged along a yard, then another, until suddenly there were no more bushes in front of him, only grass, short, non-concealing grass. Monroe heard her closer to now, but as he had slid to the right, she had kept pressing forward, so soon he would have her behind him. She might still be intent on the tree he had been hiding behind. If he rushed from where he lied to the next tree, she might not see him.
He braced his feet against the ground, readying himself to pounce forward. She shifted a step closer, her figure visible from the corner of his eye. Come on. One more. Just step behind that tree. Just a little bit.
His breath was starting to burn in his chest.
She disappeared behind the tree.
Now. He scurried forward, ducking behind the tree, then the next, until a shot zoomed past his ear, embedding itself in the tree in front of him. Another bullet sailed past him, blocking his advance both to the right and to the front, the closet directions to the street. Shit. She knew where he wanted to go. No bullets to his left. Was she playing with him? If he ran that way, would she shoot him right there, or would she give him a head start before chasing him down again? She might have known he was dragging himself along the undergrowth the whole time. And the flesh wound. Why didn’t she aim lower, hit another squishy organ? But what was a good hunt without a hearty chase?
He sagged against the trunk, the gnarled wood digging at his vertebrae. She was coming closer. He thought he could smell her now, a faint wisp of human and enemy and killer. If he moved now, he might die. But if he stayed here, he would certainly die. Even if he charged her, she would shoot something vital before he got to her.
He ran. A shot rang behind him, clipping at his heels, but it wasn’t even trying. He rushed deeper into the forest, the Grimm at his heels.
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It occurred to Nick as he stomped on the accelerator, hustling through traffic with the aid of his siren, that going after a killer without backup was a stupid idea, but it wouldn’t be the first time, especially not when his Grimm duties were involved, and though the killer he was after now was human, she was still a Grimm and there was every chance that Monroe hadn’t followed his plea to run and decided to fight back. He might not even have a choice. Things could get messy in lethal ways very quickly. If he went alone and explained to her, Grimm to Grimm, why Monroe didn’t deserve to die, she might listen. If he went with half a dozen cops flanking him, she might not be so understanding, maybe even go after Nick for breaking some ancient Grimm rule he had never heard of. Why couldn’t Aunt Marie have left him some more info about Grimms? A manual or a leaflet or even a “do this, not this” list? Anything would have helped. If only he’d gotten to the hospital sooner.
No. This was not the time for recriminations. Hammel Woods was only a mile away and he would get there in time. He would save Monroe like he couldn’t save his aunt.
Parking the car at the northern lot, he ran into the woods, calling Monroe on the cell. No answer. His heart clenched. No no no. Don’t think like that. Maybe he’d lost his phone or he was too busy running or the battery ran out, but then it wouldn’t ring, it would go to voicemail.
A canine yowl reached his ears.
Monroe.
Gun drawn, he ran.
Chapter 5