Hotel California: 2/?
Title: Hotel California
Chapter Title: Jam Session
Fandom: Grimm
Pairing: Nick/Monroe
Wordcount: 4500 for this chapter, 7500 total
Fic Summary: When Nick hears word of another potential Ziegevolk, he and Monroe must go undercover as a couple at a cozy bed and breakfast to investigate. But what they discover during a long weekend spent there, however, neither could ever have predicted.
Chapter Summary: While learning the fine art of jam-making from their enigmatic hostess, Nick and Monroe meet their fellow guests - both nasty and nice - and discover that the surprises the weekend has in store for them are only just beginning.
Two hours later, Nick was curled up on the chaise longue in the adjoining room, his nose buried in Monroe's dossier in an attempt to commit anniversaries and favorite colors to memory, when the sound of raised voices began filtering through the wall. Monroe's head snapped up from the leather-bound volume of The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes he had taken from the bookshelf and been poring over since they'd checked in.
"Do you hear that?" Nick whispered, abandoning his seat and inclining his head toward the wall separating their room from the one next door.
"Oh, do you mean can I use my wolf senses, honed over the course of centuries for hunting, to hear the woman next door who has managed to be so inordinately loud that even you noticed her?" Monroe asked, an above average amount of sarcasm embedded in his voice. "Is that what you mean?"
"You know, Monroe, sometimes a simple 'yes' is more than enough," Nick said with as much dignity as he could muster.
Whatever Monroe might have been planning on saying next was drowned out by a shrill female voice calling out distinctly, "You tell that witch at the front desk that this is simply not acceptable, or I swear to God, Henry..."
"Yes, dear," Monroe murmured, glancing at Nick.
"What?" Nick exclaimed, wondering vaguely if Monroe had decided they should continue their cover even with no one else present. Not unreasonable, he rationalized, considering the man had been invested enough to compile a small novel on their fake relationship.
"The husband," Monroe interjected impatiently. "He's talking softly enough even I can barely hear - he just mumbled 'Yes, dear'."
"Oh, right," Nick mumbled with a little laugh.
Monroe cocked his head to the side curiously. "Wait, what did you think I meant?"
"Nothing," Nick said with a bright flash of smile, adding quickly, "Hey, listen, she's yelling again."
Monroe turned his attention back to the wall, seemingly with slight reluctance.
"Where did you even find this place anyway?” the female voice continued, at an even louder volume than before. “I give you one job Henry, just one job - pick a place to stay. And you manage to find one with rat-infested rooms, a broken thermostat, and a landlady who hates me!"
Monroe leaned away from the wall at this point and announced, "That's it - I'm out. Any more of this and I’m going to have a hard time keeping the wolf from going over there to do some huffing and puffing.”
“Come on, aren’t you the least bit curious about what happens next?” Nick asked, trying to keep the note of pleading from his voice.
“I’m in the middle of enough soaps at the moment, thank you very much,” Monroe replied, replacing the book on the shelf. “Even if they did cancel All My Children before I found out what happened with Luke and Noah!”
Nick was prevented from sending Monroe an appropriately mocking retort by the soft rapping on the door. Indeed, it was so faint that he was about to ask Monroe if he’d heard it, too, before remembering what had happened the last time he’d tried that and thinking the better of it.
His decision was validated when the blutbad swung off the bed, depositing his book on the bookshelf as he went, and pressed himself against the wall beside the door. “What?” he asked, seeing Nick’s quizzical look, “I may not buy that the sweet, little old lady downstairs is a pheromone-exuding sex machine, but that doesn’t mean I’m taking any stupid chances.”
“Who’s there?” he barked at the door.
The reply from the hallway was much too quiet for Nick to hear, but it apparently appeased Monroe enough that he swung open the door.
On the other side of it, Nick was surprised to see a small man in a faded, grey suit, tugging nervously at his tie as he mumbled, “I d-don’t mean to bother...but my w-wife was wondering if either of you two fine gentlemen knew how to work a th-thermostat.”
Nick had to stop himself from letting out a small noise of recognition when he realized this could only be the henpecked husband from next door. “I could take a look,” he volunteered affably, swinging off the couch and into the sight line of their visitor. "My dad was a mechanic - I used to love thinking on things with him."
"Oh, thank you," the little man said, heaving a sigh of relief.
"Hey, I didn't know that, about your dad," Monroe muttered with interest as Nick slipped past him to follow the little man next door.
"Well, well," Nick replied, throwing him back a smirk, "Looks like your dossier isn't quite complete, after all."
Monroe raised a hand in warning, probably intending to commence an immediate rebuttal, but was interrupted by the sudden opening of the wooden door marked "Nest Suite." A skeletally thin woman with a beaked nose and blazing, black eyes glared at them from the door frame.
"Finally," she exclaimed in the same shrill tone they had overheard through the wall only minutes before. "While you were whiling away the hours having a nice, little chat with the neighbors, I've nearly frozen to death in this icebox!"
"Sorry, dear," the little man, whose name, Nick remembered, seemed to be Henry, mumbled, ducking his head and scuttling past his wife into the room.
"And you two," she said, whirling on Nick and Monroe, "if you're going to help, help! Don't just stand there lolly gagging!"
Nick suddenly understood Henry's compulsion to mutter, 'Yes, dear' at this point in the proceedings - anything to disperse the concentrated power of those eyes burning a hole in the back of his head.
As he and Monroe followed the terrifying woman into the room, Nick was unable to contain his startled gasp. He had been assuming that the kind of woman who verbally abused her husband in such a way was naturally the kind of woman who would have complaints about even the nicest room, but faced with the reality of it, Nick saw that it was every bit as bad as she had claimed. The faded wallpaper was peeling off the wall; a huge sewer rat scurried continually between two gaping holes in the wall; and the temperature of the room was, indeed, bordering on freezing.
"Don't dawdle, young man, get over here and look at this thermostat," the woman said, her talon-sharp nails digging hard into the sleeve of Nick's leather jacket as she dragged him forcibly toward the corner of the room.
Nick let out an instinctive grimace of pain, and, hearing a sudden growling sound from over his shoulder, was startled to look back and find Monroe, eyes narrowed, baring his teeth at the woman. Knowing that a fight would blow their cover wide open, Nick gave Monroe a quick 'down boy' gesture with his hands and a look that was equal parts insistent and grateful; indeed, not for the first time, he felt very glad Monroe was there to have his back.
He then turned his attention to the ancient thermostat hanging on the wall and, after examining it for a few seconds, announced, "I'm sorry, there's nothing I can do."
"Nonsense," the woman proclaimed, eyes flashing, "You barely looked. How can you be sure?"
In response, Nick placed a hand on the thermostat and pulled just enough so it came off in his hand. "Because it's not actually attached to anything. Looks like it was put here to make you think you had control over an uncontrollable situation."
"Henry!" the woman screeched. "Henry!"
"Yes, Dorothy dearest?" he asked timidly.
"You go downstairs to the front desk and tell that, that woman that this is simply not acceptable, and that we will be checking out immediately!"
"Oh, I do hope there isn't any problem with the room," came a soft, concerned voice from the doorway.
One look at the proprietress was strangely effective in halting the woman in the middle of her diatribe, and she said stiffly, "It is a quite cold in here, Mrs. Sims."
"Is it?" the woman asked, the pleasantness of her expression undercut by the sharpness in her eyes and the firmness of her tone, adding, "I've certainly never gotten any complaints before," as if that concluded the matter once and for all. "I just came upstairs to invite all of you to our famous jam-making workshop. The other couples are already downstairs, and it wouldn't do to be late."
Dorothy stared at the landlady for a few seconds before pushing roughly past Nick and heading into the hallway, seemingly forced to cede to a will stronger than even her own. Henry, of course, followed suit, and Nick and Monroe took up the rear, followed at length by their hostess.
"Geez," Monroe muttered, shaking his head as he watched Dorothy and Henry bicker their way down the stairs, "Promise me we won't be like that in fifteen years."
"You and I could never be like that," Nick said softly, before adding a quick, "Er...assuming we were really together, obviously."
"Well, obviously," Monroe said, the hint of a smile playing around the corners of his lips as they headed down the stairs.
Upon reaching the ground floor, they were soon ushered into a spacious room, furnished only by five long, wooden tables upon which were perched wicker baskets containing fruits of all sorts. Already standing in position at two of these tables were two other couples, bringing the total count of the party to four pairs of guests and Mrs. Sims.
“Now, everyone to your tables, please,” Mrs. Sims said primly, tying an apron around her neck and taking her place at the head table.
Nick and Monroe exchanged a look before deciding on the table at the far left of the room; Nick was pleased the other vacancy was on the far right, putting them as far away from Henry and Dorothy as was possible in such an intimate setting.
“All right, we will start by peeling the fruit,” Mrs. Sims announced, casting her eye over the room to make sure everyone was paying attention. “Ready...begin!”
Nick picked up an peach, then realized he didn’t have the first idea how to peel it. He glanced helplessly at Monroe, who rolled his eyes, snatched up the peach and a small, silver object which looked suspiciously like an instrument of torture and began skimming the skin off like he had been doing it for years.
“Honestly, don’t they teach you anything worthwhile at the police academy?” Monroe asked exasperatedly, though he was having a hard time keeping the grin from his face.
“I tell you what, I'll send them an email," Nick said, picking up another peach, "Dear Portland PD, just so you know, while you were wasting my time with trivialities like shooting lessons and criminal profiling, you should have been instructing me in the terribly crucial art of fruit peeling. Hugs and kisses, Nick."
"Why detective, there might just be hope for your sarcasm muscle yet,” Monroe proclaimed, grinning, before he caught a glimpse of the mangled lump of peach in Nick’s hand and groaned. “Okay, that's it - I am cannot just stand by and watch you maim more innocent pieces of fruit," he declared, returning his peeler to the table with a decisive clatter.
As Monroe shifted to stand directly behind Nick and began to slide his hands down Nick’s arms, Nick quickly whispered, "Monroe! What are you doing?"
They were standing close enough that Nick could actually feel Monroe's sigh of annoyance, although he was forced to merely imagine the inevitable, accompanying eye roll, as Monroe deadpanned, "I'm making my move. What can I say, Nick, jam making just gets my motor running."
Nick remained frozen, strangely unsure that Monroe was kidding.
Monroe waited a couple beats before letting out a snort and exclaiming, "I'm showing you how to peel a peach properly! Geez, you Grimms are a paranoid lot."
Nick felt his face flush in embarrassment as he muttered, "I knew that..."
"Sure you did," Monroe replied, sounding amused and unconvinced. "Okay, first things first - pick up the peeler."
Nick did so, noting a bit huffily, "I'm not a complete incompetent, you know."
"That remains to be seen," Monroe retorted. "All right, place the blade of the peeler at the top of the peach, then swipe it down in a with a gentle, but firm touch. Like this,” He placed a hand over Nick’s and guided it downwards.
Nick was surprised at how warm Monroe's hand felt over his. That was probably a blutbad thing, he supposed, or at least he hoped so - frankly, he didn’t want to consider the alternative too closely.
They peeled six more peaches that way, and though Nick became more proficient each time, Monroe showed no signs of moving. That was all right with Nick; the more they could do to keep up their cover, the better, he reasoned.
A few minutes later, Nick was too busy laughing at a truly grotesque baking story Monroe had been telling him to notice the attractive brunette in jeans and a sweater until she was standing in front of their table.
“I’m so sorry to intrude,” she said with a little smile, “but my husband seems to have developed a knack for breaking peelers. Could we borrow one of yours?”
“Of course,” Nick said swiftly, instinctively extricating himself from Monroe before handing her their spare. “This one all right?”
“Perfect, thank you,” she said, sounding relieved. “I’m Annie, by the way, and the Great Peeler Slayer over there is David.” Her slightly bashful-looking husband sent them a cheery wave from the adjacent table.
“I’m Nick, and this is Monroe,” Nick said, before adding a quick, “My partner.”
“So tell me, how long have you two been together?” Annie asked curiously, returning to rejoin her husband at their table.
“Two years,” Monroe said, grabbing Nick’s hand and sending him a surprisingly affectionate smile, “This weekend’s actually our anniversary.”
“Well, congratulations!” Annie said with a smile, “That is just wonderful. Wow, two years. I have to say, I would have pegged you two for a new couple.”
“Oh, why?” Nick asked casually, trying to mask his worry that they’d been compromised.
“Oh, it's nothing bad,” Annie reassured him. “Just that you two have that great new couple chemistry - you remember, when every little thing is novel and exciting, and you get that tingling feeling just from being near each other. Quite frankly, I’m a little jealous.”
Nick was saved from having to think of an appropriate response by Mrs. Sims announcing that it was time to start crushing the fruit.
"Now this is more my speed," David said eagerly, throwing the plums he had been clumsily peeling into a large mixing bowl.
Monroe, meanwhile, began carefully mashing the peaches with a small, wooden hammer. Upon seeing the affronted look on Nick's face, he maintained, "That's right, I'm not even trusting you to do this right."
"Come on, honey, we'll leave them to defeat the fruit on our behalf," Annie said reassuringly, threading her arm through Nick's. She lowered her voice as she added, "Mrs. Sims always keeps a bottle of Merlot under the welcome desk for her extra special guests."
"So you and David have been here before?" Nick asked with interest as Annie led him into the lobby.
"Oh, yes, we come here every year," she said, fetching the bottle and two glasses from under the desk. "Matter of fact, this is where we met, six years ago."
"Now that's a story I'd love to hear," Nick coaxed, gratefully accepting a glass of wine from Annie and taking a seat next to her on the lobby sofa.
"It was the strangest thing," Annie remembered, "I'd been driving home from a conference in Carmel when a sudden rainstorm swept my car off the road. My battery was dead, my phone had no service, and I was soaked to the skin by the time I saw this place rising up out of the rain, a shining beacon to this weary traveler.
"I stumbled into the lobby and, to my surprise, there was already a man standing at the welcome desk, looking as wet and lost as I was. Turns out my fellow refugee had been on his way to spend the weekend with a friend in Salinas when the weather and his outdated GPS had combined forces to get him so hopelessly lost that he'd run out of gas a few blocks over."
"Let me guess," Nick interjected, "He was an enemy to fruit peelers the world over."
"Got it in one," Annie said with a cheeky grin. "Anyway, the two of us got to chatting, and ended up having such a good time that we barely registered that it took the proprietress a good half an hour to attend to us. Well, as fate would have it, she only had one room available - I believe you’re staying in it, as a matter of fact, the Castle Suite.”
Nick felt a strange prickling sensation at the back of his neck, like there was something he should be seeing, but wasn’t. He quickly shook it off and motioned for Annie to keep going.
“Well, we did the ‘you take it’, ‘oh no, you’ dance for awhile, but since the landlady assured us the room was more than spacious, we finally decided to be grown-ups about it and share.”
“That wasn’t awkward?” Nick asked, amazed.
“It probably should have been,” Annie admitted, “But somehow, with all the strange occurrences that had already taken place, this just felt like one more. David, of course, insisted upon taking the couch, and it looked plushy enough that I didn’t feel too guilty letting him.”
“It is a surprisingly comfortable piece of furniture,” Nick agreed, recalling the the pleasantness of the time he had spent curled up on it a few hours previously.
“As I was changing into my pajamas in the bathroom, I remember suddenly thinking, ‘This is crazy. I’m actually spending the night in a hotel room with a man I’ve never met. What the hell is wrong with me?’ I decided I should leave, just grab my clothes, make my apologies, and try to find somewhere else to stay for the night.”
“Why didn’t you?” Nick asked, thinking it was undoubtedly what he would have done.
“Well, I was all set to, but then I opened the bathroom door, and the strangest thing happened,” she recalled. “I turned to David, intending to say I was sorry, but this was all too strange, but then he gave me this smile and...I don’t know, it just wasn’t strange anymore. And I realized it didn’t feel like sharing a room with a stranger, because he wasn’t a stranger. For some reason I couldn’t name, I felt like I’d known him forever.”
Upon seeing the skeptical look on Nick’s face, she laughed and said, “Oh, I know it sounds like a stupid, romantic cliche, honey, but didn’t you feel anything like that with Monroe? Love at first sight?”
Nick’s mind instantly leaped back to his first impression of Monroe...when he had accused him of kidnapping a missing girl. “Not exactly first sight, no,” he replied, shaking his head.
“Well, then, I suppose you’ll just have to take my word for it,” she said with a smile, patting his hand. “Anyway, to make a long story short - too late, I know - we got into bed, him on the couch and me in that gorgeous four-poster....but instead of drifting off to sleep, we got to talking again. And we just kept talking, and talking, and in no time at all it was morning and though neither of us had managed to get a single hour of shut-eye, I felt more refreshed than I had in weeks.”
“Wow,” Nick said enviously, swiftly quashing the urge to place his chin in his hands like a starstruck, preteen girl.
“And the rest, as they say, is history,” Annie finished happily. “David and I stayed here for the rest of what turned out to be a truly magical weekend, and we’ve been together ever since. But we make sure to come back and visit once a year - it’s a very special place, the Enchanted Rose, you know.”
“I’m starting to get that impression,” Nick said, the prickling sensation he had felt earlier returning with a vengeance.
“Oh my goodness,” Annie said, glancing at her watch, “It’s been nearly half an hour - Mrs. Sims will never forgive us if we miss her special boiling process. Come on!” She quickly returned the wine and the glasses to their spot beneath the welcome counter and began to lead Nick back toward the reception.
“There’s just one thing I don’t understand,” Nick said thoughtfully as they walked along the corridor.
“What’s that, then?” Annie asked curiously.
“Why didn’t you request the Castle Suite again for your visit? It obviously has special meaning to you and David.”
Annie frowned a little as she said slowly, “You know, I have no idea. The thought honestly never entered my head. Whenever we’ve made reservations, Mrs. Sims has always given us the “Chalet Suite,” and it never occurred to me to request anything. That didn’t strike me as odd before, but -”
Annie was interrupted in her musings by a loud crash, followed by a deafening screech from the nearby reception room. Nick’s police instincts kicked in automatically, and he dashed in front of her to see what the commotion was about.
His gaze immediately went to Monroe, who he was amused to see had donned a “Kiss the Jam-Maker” apron, but seemed otherwise the same as when he had left him, before panning to the source of the commotion.
On the other side of the room, the unpleasant woman from the room next door, covered in a red, goo-like substance was shooting icy daggers at her husband, who was holding an empty pot in his trembling fingers and looking thoroughly terrified.
“I-I’m s-so s-sorry, d-dear,” he stammered out.
“You’re sorry?!” she shouted, anger coming off her in waves and filling the room.
Nick’s world then seemed to slow as a flurry of things happened at once. The woman lunged for her husband, while he watched in horror as her razor-like fingernails transformed into talons, her pointed nose into an actual beak, and the fringe of her white shawl into downy feathers. The little man stumbled backward, desperately holding the empty pot above him like a shield. Nick lunged forward, hand reaching instinctively for his concealed sidearm.
Before he could draw it, however, a commanding voice bellowed, “STOP!” in such a way that every person in the room, including the jam-covered bird of prey, froze in place. Mrs. Sims took a moment to smooth her apron before adding in her normal, pleasant tone, “There shall be no violence under my roof. Now, Mrs. Vogel, if you’ll accompany me upstairs, I’m sure we can do something about your dress.”
Mrs. Vogel immediately shifted back to her formerly human shape and obediently exited the room, passing in front of Mrs. Sims’ outstretched arm, although not before shooting another frightening glance at her husband.
“Now,” Mrs. Sims said, addressing the remaining members of the party, “I don’t want any of you to let this spoil your jam-making experience. Annie, dear, you’re a veteran of the workshop - I trust you can take over?”
“Sure thing, Mrs. Sims!” Annie said cheerfully. Though she still appeared a bit disquieted by the confrontation they had all just witnessed, it was not enough to stop her from immediately announcing, “All right, everyone - five minute break, then we’re going to put the jam on to boil.”
She then turned her attention to a still shaking Henry and added gently, “Henry, honey, I think we have a spare pot of the raspberry somewhere around here - why don’t I find it for you?”, receiving a small, very grateful nod for her trouble.
Nick, meanwhile, was startled to feel a strong hand on his shoulder. He jumped and whirled around to face his assailant, to find out it was only Monroe, looking at him with concern.
“Monroe,” he said with a relieved, little laugh, before adding in confusion, “Wait...how did I get over here?”
“You don’t remember throwing yourself in front of me like a wild man the second Norma Bates over there started whaling on her husband?” Monroe asked incredulously.
“I mean, I remember thinking that I needed to move fast, that someone was going to get hurt but I didn’t intend to...” Nick began, trailing off as he found himself more than a little disturbed that his body had apparently acted of its own accord.
“If I didn’t know better,” Monroe said with a sly grin, picking up their pot containing the sugar and mashed peaches, “I’d say you were protecting me.”
Nick opened his mouth to object, but found himself embarrassingly unable to come up with a convincing rebuttal to Monroe's. “Even if I was,” he said instead, “who’s to say it wasn’t just for the cover? I am supposed to be your devoted boyfriend, you know.”
“So you are,” Monroe agreed, still grinning, as he pivoted to place the pot on the burner behind them. “So you are, indeed.”
“Anyway,” Nick said hurriedly, trying to change the subject, “The only reason I didn’t notice what I was doing is that I was too busy watching Mrs. Vogel turn into a terrifying bird monster.”
“Really?” Monroe asked excitedly, lowering his voice as he asked, “Any idea what she is?”
“I don’t know,” Nick said, shaking his head, “But we aren’t leaving this bed and breakfast until we find out.”
“Well, well, here’s the big hero,” Annie said as she deposited a pot containing a sticky, purple substance on the burner next to theirs. “I saw you dash across the room in three seconds flat just in case that crazy Mrs. Vogel decided to come after your boyfriend.”
“Oh, it was nothing,” Nick muttered, hoping she would drop it.
“It was not nothing,” Annie scolded gently, “It was heroic. Monroe, you’re very lucky to have him.”
“And don’t I know it,” Monroe declared, wrapping an arm around Nick’s shoulders.
“In fact,” Annie said mischievously, “I’d say heroism of that scale merits a thank-you kiss.”
Nick had begun to say, “Annie, that’s really not necessary,” at the precise moment that Monroe had shrugged and pressed his lips to Nick’s, so all he actually got out was, “Annie, that’s -” before shock and the logistics of kissing prevented him from speaking further.
Though it seemed to Nick to go on far longer, in reality the kiss lasted only a few seconds before Monroe pulled back, murmured “My hero,” as he sent a wicked grin Nick’s way, and started calmly discussing with Annie when he should add the pectin to get the jam to set properly.
Nick was glad that the other two were occupied enough not to notice him dropping roughly onto the nearest stool, his head reeling.
It was not the first time he had kissed a man - and judging by his technique, it definitely wasn’t the first time Monroe had either - but it being the first time he had kissed Monroe was more than enough to have him questioning even his most basic assumptions about their relationship.
As he got up to help Monroe with the jam, Nick thought ruefully to himself that between Monroe being a secretly great kisser and Dorothy Vogel being a secret bird creature, he was now estimating his chances at leaving the Enchanted Rose Inn the same way he had entered it at a generous slim to none.
Chapter Title: Jam Session
Fandom: Grimm
Pairing: Nick/Monroe
Wordcount: 4500 for this chapter, 7500 total
Fic Summary: When Nick hears word of another potential Ziegevolk, he and Monroe must go undercover as a couple at a cozy bed and breakfast to investigate. But what they discover during a long weekend spent there, however, neither could ever have predicted.
Chapter Summary: While learning the fine art of jam-making from their enigmatic hostess, Nick and Monroe meet their fellow guests - both nasty and nice - and discover that the surprises the weekend has in store for them are only just beginning.
Two hours later, Nick was curled up on the chaise longue in the adjoining room, his nose buried in Monroe's dossier in an attempt to commit anniversaries and favorite colors to memory, when the sound of raised voices began filtering through the wall. Monroe's head snapped up from the leather-bound volume of The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes he had taken from the bookshelf and been poring over since they'd checked in.
"Do you hear that?" Nick whispered, abandoning his seat and inclining his head toward the wall separating their room from the one next door.
"Oh, do you mean can I use my wolf senses, honed over the course of centuries for hunting, to hear the woman next door who has managed to be so inordinately loud that even you noticed her?" Monroe asked, an above average amount of sarcasm embedded in his voice. "Is that what you mean?"
"You know, Monroe, sometimes a simple 'yes' is more than enough," Nick said with as much dignity as he could muster.
Whatever Monroe might have been planning on saying next was drowned out by a shrill female voice calling out distinctly, "You tell that witch at the front desk that this is simply not acceptable, or I swear to God, Henry..."
"Yes, dear," Monroe murmured, glancing at Nick.
"What?" Nick exclaimed, wondering vaguely if Monroe had decided they should continue their cover even with no one else present. Not unreasonable, he rationalized, considering the man had been invested enough to compile a small novel on their fake relationship.
"The husband," Monroe interjected impatiently. "He's talking softly enough even I can barely hear - he just mumbled 'Yes, dear'."
"Oh, right," Nick mumbled with a little laugh.
Monroe cocked his head to the side curiously. "Wait, what did you think I meant?"
"Nothing," Nick said with a bright flash of smile, adding quickly, "Hey, listen, she's yelling again."
Monroe turned his attention back to the wall, seemingly with slight reluctance.
"Where did you even find this place anyway?” the female voice continued, at an even louder volume than before. “I give you one job Henry, just one job - pick a place to stay. And you manage to find one with rat-infested rooms, a broken thermostat, and a landlady who hates me!"
Monroe leaned away from the wall at this point and announced, "That's it - I'm out. Any more of this and I’m going to have a hard time keeping the wolf from going over there to do some huffing and puffing.”
“Come on, aren’t you the least bit curious about what happens next?” Nick asked, trying to keep the note of pleading from his voice.
“I’m in the middle of enough soaps at the moment, thank you very much,” Monroe replied, replacing the book on the shelf. “Even if they did cancel All My Children before I found out what happened with Luke and Noah!”
Nick was prevented from sending Monroe an appropriately mocking retort by the soft rapping on the door. Indeed, it was so faint that he was about to ask Monroe if he’d heard it, too, before remembering what had happened the last time he’d tried that and thinking the better of it.
His decision was validated when the blutbad swung off the bed, depositing his book on the bookshelf as he went, and pressed himself against the wall beside the door. “What?” he asked, seeing Nick’s quizzical look, “I may not buy that the sweet, little old lady downstairs is a pheromone-exuding sex machine, but that doesn’t mean I’m taking any stupid chances.”
“Who’s there?” he barked at the door.
The reply from the hallway was much too quiet for Nick to hear, but it apparently appeased Monroe enough that he swung open the door.
On the other side of it, Nick was surprised to see a small man in a faded, grey suit, tugging nervously at his tie as he mumbled, “I d-don’t mean to bother...but my w-wife was wondering if either of you two fine gentlemen knew how to work a th-thermostat.”
Nick had to stop himself from letting out a small noise of recognition when he realized this could only be the henpecked husband from next door. “I could take a look,” he volunteered affably, swinging off the couch and into the sight line of their visitor. "My dad was a mechanic - I used to love thinking on things with him."
"Oh, thank you," the little man said, heaving a sigh of relief.
"Hey, I didn't know that, about your dad," Monroe muttered with interest as Nick slipped past him to follow the little man next door.
"Well, well," Nick replied, throwing him back a smirk, "Looks like your dossier isn't quite complete, after all."
Monroe raised a hand in warning, probably intending to commence an immediate rebuttal, but was interrupted by the sudden opening of the wooden door marked "Nest Suite." A skeletally thin woman with a beaked nose and blazing, black eyes glared at them from the door frame.
"Finally," she exclaimed in the same shrill tone they had overheard through the wall only minutes before. "While you were whiling away the hours having a nice, little chat with the neighbors, I've nearly frozen to death in this icebox!"
"Sorry, dear," the little man, whose name, Nick remembered, seemed to be Henry, mumbled, ducking his head and scuttling past his wife into the room.
"And you two," she said, whirling on Nick and Monroe, "if you're going to help, help! Don't just stand there lolly gagging!"
Nick suddenly understood Henry's compulsion to mutter, 'Yes, dear' at this point in the proceedings - anything to disperse the concentrated power of those eyes burning a hole in the back of his head.
As he and Monroe followed the terrifying woman into the room, Nick was unable to contain his startled gasp. He had been assuming that the kind of woman who verbally abused her husband in such a way was naturally the kind of woman who would have complaints about even the nicest room, but faced with the reality of it, Nick saw that it was every bit as bad as she had claimed. The faded wallpaper was peeling off the wall; a huge sewer rat scurried continually between two gaping holes in the wall; and the temperature of the room was, indeed, bordering on freezing.
"Don't dawdle, young man, get over here and look at this thermostat," the woman said, her talon-sharp nails digging hard into the sleeve of Nick's leather jacket as she dragged him forcibly toward the corner of the room.
Nick let out an instinctive grimace of pain, and, hearing a sudden growling sound from over his shoulder, was startled to look back and find Monroe, eyes narrowed, baring his teeth at the woman. Knowing that a fight would blow their cover wide open, Nick gave Monroe a quick 'down boy' gesture with his hands and a look that was equal parts insistent and grateful; indeed, not for the first time, he felt very glad Monroe was there to have his back.
He then turned his attention to the ancient thermostat hanging on the wall and, after examining it for a few seconds, announced, "I'm sorry, there's nothing I can do."
"Nonsense," the woman proclaimed, eyes flashing, "You barely looked. How can you be sure?"
In response, Nick placed a hand on the thermostat and pulled just enough so it came off in his hand. "Because it's not actually attached to anything. Looks like it was put here to make you think you had control over an uncontrollable situation."
"Henry!" the woman screeched. "Henry!"
"Yes, Dorothy dearest?" he asked timidly.
"You go downstairs to the front desk and tell that, that woman that this is simply not acceptable, and that we will be checking out immediately!"
"Oh, I do hope there isn't any problem with the room," came a soft, concerned voice from the doorway.
One look at the proprietress was strangely effective in halting the woman in the middle of her diatribe, and she said stiffly, "It is a quite cold in here, Mrs. Sims."
"Is it?" the woman asked, the pleasantness of her expression undercut by the sharpness in her eyes and the firmness of her tone, adding, "I've certainly never gotten any complaints before," as if that concluded the matter once and for all. "I just came upstairs to invite all of you to our famous jam-making workshop. The other couples are already downstairs, and it wouldn't do to be late."
Dorothy stared at the landlady for a few seconds before pushing roughly past Nick and heading into the hallway, seemingly forced to cede to a will stronger than even her own. Henry, of course, followed suit, and Nick and Monroe took up the rear, followed at length by their hostess.
"Geez," Monroe muttered, shaking his head as he watched Dorothy and Henry bicker their way down the stairs, "Promise me we won't be like that in fifteen years."
"You and I could never be like that," Nick said softly, before adding a quick, "Er...assuming we were really together, obviously."
"Well, obviously," Monroe said, the hint of a smile playing around the corners of his lips as they headed down the stairs.
Upon reaching the ground floor, they were soon ushered into a spacious room, furnished only by five long, wooden tables upon which were perched wicker baskets containing fruits of all sorts. Already standing in position at two of these tables were two other couples, bringing the total count of the party to four pairs of guests and Mrs. Sims.
“Now, everyone to your tables, please,” Mrs. Sims said primly, tying an apron around her neck and taking her place at the head table.
Nick and Monroe exchanged a look before deciding on the table at the far left of the room; Nick was pleased the other vacancy was on the far right, putting them as far away from Henry and Dorothy as was possible in such an intimate setting.
“All right, we will start by peeling the fruit,” Mrs. Sims announced, casting her eye over the room to make sure everyone was paying attention. “Ready...begin!”
Nick picked up an peach, then realized he didn’t have the first idea how to peel it. He glanced helplessly at Monroe, who rolled his eyes, snatched up the peach and a small, silver object which looked suspiciously like an instrument of torture and began skimming the skin off like he had been doing it for years.
“Honestly, don’t they teach you anything worthwhile at the police academy?” Monroe asked exasperatedly, though he was having a hard time keeping the grin from his face.
“I tell you what, I'll send them an email," Nick said, picking up another peach, "Dear Portland PD, just so you know, while you were wasting my time with trivialities like shooting lessons and criminal profiling, you should have been instructing me in the terribly crucial art of fruit peeling. Hugs and kisses, Nick."
"Why detective, there might just be hope for your sarcasm muscle yet,” Monroe proclaimed, grinning, before he caught a glimpse of the mangled lump of peach in Nick’s hand and groaned. “Okay, that's it - I am cannot just stand by and watch you maim more innocent pieces of fruit," he declared, returning his peeler to the table with a decisive clatter.
As Monroe shifted to stand directly behind Nick and began to slide his hands down Nick’s arms, Nick quickly whispered, "Monroe! What are you doing?"
They were standing close enough that Nick could actually feel Monroe's sigh of annoyance, although he was forced to merely imagine the inevitable, accompanying eye roll, as Monroe deadpanned, "I'm making my move. What can I say, Nick, jam making just gets my motor running."
Nick remained frozen, strangely unsure that Monroe was kidding.
Monroe waited a couple beats before letting out a snort and exclaiming, "I'm showing you how to peel a peach properly! Geez, you Grimms are a paranoid lot."
Nick felt his face flush in embarrassment as he muttered, "I knew that..."
"Sure you did," Monroe replied, sounding amused and unconvinced. "Okay, first things first - pick up the peeler."
Nick did so, noting a bit huffily, "I'm not a complete incompetent, you know."
"That remains to be seen," Monroe retorted. "All right, place the blade of the peeler at the top of the peach, then swipe it down in a with a gentle, but firm touch. Like this,” He placed a hand over Nick’s and guided it downwards.
Nick was surprised at how warm Monroe's hand felt over his. That was probably a blutbad thing, he supposed, or at least he hoped so - frankly, he didn’t want to consider the alternative too closely.
They peeled six more peaches that way, and though Nick became more proficient each time, Monroe showed no signs of moving. That was all right with Nick; the more they could do to keep up their cover, the better, he reasoned.
A few minutes later, Nick was too busy laughing at a truly grotesque baking story Monroe had been telling him to notice the attractive brunette in jeans and a sweater until she was standing in front of their table.
“I’m so sorry to intrude,” she said with a little smile, “but my husband seems to have developed a knack for breaking peelers. Could we borrow one of yours?”
“Of course,” Nick said swiftly, instinctively extricating himself from Monroe before handing her their spare. “This one all right?”
“Perfect, thank you,” she said, sounding relieved. “I’m Annie, by the way, and the Great Peeler Slayer over there is David.” Her slightly bashful-looking husband sent them a cheery wave from the adjacent table.
“I’m Nick, and this is Monroe,” Nick said, before adding a quick, “My partner.”
“So tell me, how long have you two been together?” Annie asked curiously, returning to rejoin her husband at their table.
“Two years,” Monroe said, grabbing Nick’s hand and sending him a surprisingly affectionate smile, “This weekend’s actually our anniversary.”
“Well, congratulations!” Annie said with a smile, “That is just wonderful. Wow, two years. I have to say, I would have pegged you two for a new couple.”
“Oh, why?” Nick asked casually, trying to mask his worry that they’d been compromised.
“Oh, it's nothing bad,” Annie reassured him. “Just that you two have that great new couple chemistry - you remember, when every little thing is novel and exciting, and you get that tingling feeling just from being near each other. Quite frankly, I’m a little jealous.”
Nick was saved from having to think of an appropriate response by Mrs. Sims announcing that it was time to start crushing the fruit.
"Now this is more my speed," David said eagerly, throwing the plums he had been clumsily peeling into a large mixing bowl.
Monroe, meanwhile, began carefully mashing the peaches with a small, wooden hammer. Upon seeing the affronted look on Nick's face, he maintained, "That's right, I'm not even trusting you to do this right."
"Come on, honey, we'll leave them to defeat the fruit on our behalf," Annie said reassuringly, threading her arm through Nick's. She lowered her voice as she added, "Mrs. Sims always keeps a bottle of Merlot under the welcome desk for her extra special guests."
"So you and David have been here before?" Nick asked with interest as Annie led him into the lobby.
"Oh, yes, we come here every year," she said, fetching the bottle and two glasses from under the desk. "Matter of fact, this is where we met, six years ago."
"Now that's a story I'd love to hear," Nick coaxed, gratefully accepting a glass of wine from Annie and taking a seat next to her on the lobby sofa.
"It was the strangest thing," Annie remembered, "I'd been driving home from a conference in Carmel when a sudden rainstorm swept my car off the road. My battery was dead, my phone had no service, and I was soaked to the skin by the time I saw this place rising up out of the rain, a shining beacon to this weary traveler.
"I stumbled into the lobby and, to my surprise, there was already a man standing at the welcome desk, looking as wet and lost as I was. Turns out my fellow refugee had been on his way to spend the weekend with a friend in Salinas when the weather and his outdated GPS had combined forces to get him so hopelessly lost that he'd run out of gas a few blocks over."
"Let me guess," Nick interjected, "He was an enemy to fruit peelers the world over."
"Got it in one," Annie said with a cheeky grin. "Anyway, the two of us got to chatting, and ended up having such a good time that we barely registered that it took the proprietress a good half an hour to attend to us. Well, as fate would have it, she only had one room available - I believe you’re staying in it, as a matter of fact, the Castle Suite.”
Nick felt a strange prickling sensation at the back of his neck, like there was something he should be seeing, but wasn’t. He quickly shook it off and motioned for Annie to keep going.
“Well, we did the ‘you take it’, ‘oh no, you’ dance for awhile, but since the landlady assured us the room was more than spacious, we finally decided to be grown-ups about it and share.”
“That wasn’t awkward?” Nick asked, amazed.
“It probably should have been,” Annie admitted, “But somehow, with all the strange occurrences that had already taken place, this just felt like one more. David, of course, insisted upon taking the couch, and it looked plushy enough that I didn’t feel too guilty letting him.”
“It is a surprisingly comfortable piece of furniture,” Nick agreed, recalling the the pleasantness of the time he had spent curled up on it a few hours previously.
“As I was changing into my pajamas in the bathroom, I remember suddenly thinking, ‘This is crazy. I’m actually spending the night in a hotel room with a man I’ve never met. What the hell is wrong with me?’ I decided I should leave, just grab my clothes, make my apologies, and try to find somewhere else to stay for the night.”
“Why didn’t you?” Nick asked, thinking it was undoubtedly what he would have done.
“Well, I was all set to, but then I opened the bathroom door, and the strangest thing happened,” she recalled. “I turned to David, intending to say I was sorry, but this was all too strange, but then he gave me this smile and...I don’t know, it just wasn’t strange anymore. And I realized it didn’t feel like sharing a room with a stranger, because he wasn’t a stranger. For some reason I couldn’t name, I felt like I’d known him forever.”
Upon seeing the skeptical look on Nick’s face, she laughed and said, “Oh, I know it sounds like a stupid, romantic cliche, honey, but didn’t you feel anything like that with Monroe? Love at first sight?”
Nick’s mind instantly leaped back to his first impression of Monroe...when he had accused him of kidnapping a missing girl. “Not exactly first sight, no,” he replied, shaking his head.
“Well, then, I suppose you’ll just have to take my word for it,” she said with a smile, patting his hand. “Anyway, to make a long story short - too late, I know - we got into bed, him on the couch and me in that gorgeous four-poster....but instead of drifting off to sleep, we got to talking again. And we just kept talking, and talking, and in no time at all it was morning and though neither of us had managed to get a single hour of shut-eye, I felt more refreshed than I had in weeks.”
“Wow,” Nick said enviously, swiftly quashing the urge to place his chin in his hands like a starstruck, preteen girl.
“And the rest, as they say, is history,” Annie finished happily. “David and I stayed here for the rest of what turned out to be a truly magical weekend, and we’ve been together ever since. But we make sure to come back and visit once a year - it’s a very special place, the Enchanted Rose, you know.”
“I’m starting to get that impression,” Nick said, the prickling sensation he had felt earlier returning with a vengeance.
“Oh my goodness,” Annie said, glancing at her watch, “It’s been nearly half an hour - Mrs. Sims will never forgive us if we miss her special boiling process. Come on!” She quickly returned the wine and the glasses to their spot beneath the welcome counter and began to lead Nick back toward the reception.
“There’s just one thing I don’t understand,” Nick said thoughtfully as they walked along the corridor.
“What’s that, then?” Annie asked curiously.
“Why didn’t you request the Castle Suite again for your visit? It obviously has special meaning to you and David.”
Annie frowned a little as she said slowly, “You know, I have no idea. The thought honestly never entered my head. Whenever we’ve made reservations, Mrs. Sims has always given us the “Chalet Suite,” and it never occurred to me to request anything. That didn’t strike me as odd before, but -”
Annie was interrupted in her musings by a loud crash, followed by a deafening screech from the nearby reception room. Nick’s police instincts kicked in automatically, and he dashed in front of her to see what the commotion was about.
His gaze immediately went to Monroe, who he was amused to see had donned a “Kiss the Jam-Maker” apron, but seemed otherwise the same as when he had left him, before panning to the source of the commotion.
On the other side of the room, the unpleasant woman from the room next door, covered in a red, goo-like substance was shooting icy daggers at her husband, who was holding an empty pot in his trembling fingers and looking thoroughly terrified.
“I-I’m s-so s-sorry, d-dear,” he stammered out.
“You’re sorry?!” she shouted, anger coming off her in waves and filling the room.
Nick’s world then seemed to slow as a flurry of things happened at once. The woman lunged for her husband, while he watched in horror as her razor-like fingernails transformed into talons, her pointed nose into an actual beak, and the fringe of her white shawl into downy feathers. The little man stumbled backward, desperately holding the empty pot above him like a shield. Nick lunged forward, hand reaching instinctively for his concealed sidearm.
Before he could draw it, however, a commanding voice bellowed, “STOP!” in such a way that every person in the room, including the jam-covered bird of prey, froze in place. Mrs. Sims took a moment to smooth her apron before adding in her normal, pleasant tone, “There shall be no violence under my roof. Now, Mrs. Vogel, if you’ll accompany me upstairs, I’m sure we can do something about your dress.”
Mrs. Vogel immediately shifted back to her formerly human shape and obediently exited the room, passing in front of Mrs. Sims’ outstretched arm, although not before shooting another frightening glance at her husband.
“Now,” Mrs. Sims said, addressing the remaining members of the party, “I don’t want any of you to let this spoil your jam-making experience. Annie, dear, you’re a veteran of the workshop - I trust you can take over?”
“Sure thing, Mrs. Sims!” Annie said cheerfully. Though she still appeared a bit disquieted by the confrontation they had all just witnessed, it was not enough to stop her from immediately announcing, “All right, everyone - five minute break, then we’re going to put the jam on to boil.”
She then turned her attention to a still shaking Henry and added gently, “Henry, honey, I think we have a spare pot of the raspberry somewhere around here - why don’t I find it for you?”, receiving a small, very grateful nod for her trouble.
Nick, meanwhile, was startled to feel a strong hand on his shoulder. He jumped and whirled around to face his assailant, to find out it was only Monroe, looking at him with concern.
“Monroe,” he said with a relieved, little laugh, before adding in confusion, “Wait...how did I get over here?”
“You don’t remember throwing yourself in front of me like a wild man the second Norma Bates over there started whaling on her husband?” Monroe asked incredulously.
“I mean, I remember thinking that I needed to move fast, that someone was going to get hurt but I didn’t intend to...” Nick began, trailing off as he found himself more than a little disturbed that his body had apparently acted of its own accord.
“If I didn’t know better,” Monroe said with a sly grin, picking up their pot containing the sugar and mashed peaches, “I’d say you were protecting me.”
Nick opened his mouth to object, but found himself embarrassingly unable to come up with a convincing rebuttal to Monroe's. “Even if I was,” he said instead, “who’s to say it wasn’t just for the cover? I am supposed to be your devoted boyfriend, you know.”
“So you are,” Monroe agreed, still grinning, as he pivoted to place the pot on the burner behind them. “So you are, indeed.”
“Anyway,” Nick said hurriedly, trying to change the subject, “The only reason I didn’t notice what I was doing is that I was too busy watching Mrs. Vogel turn into a terrifying bird monster.”
“Really?” Monroe asked excitedly, lowering his voice as he asked, “Any idea what she is?”
“I don’t know,” Nick said, shaking his head, “But we aren’t leaving this bed and breakfast until we find out.”
“Well, well, here’s the big hero,” Annie said as she deposited a pot containing a sticky, purple substance on the burner next to theirs. “I saw you dash across the room in three seconds flat just in case that crazy Mrs. Vogel decided to come after your boyfriend.”
“Oh, it was nothing,” Nick muttered, hoping she would drop it.
“It was not nothing,” Annie scolded gently, “It was heroic. Monroe, you’re very lucky to have him.”
“And don’t I know it,” Monroe declared, wrapping an arm around Nick’s shoulders.
“In fact,” Annie said mischievously, “I’d say heroism of that scale merits a thank-you kiss.”
Nick had begun to say, “Annie, that’s really not necessary,” at the precise moment that Monroe had shrugged and pressed his lips to Nick’s, so all he actually got out was, “Annie, that’s -” before shock and the logistics of kissing prevented him from speaking further.
Though it seemed to Nick to go on far longer, in reality the kiss lasted only a few seconds before Monroe pulled back, murmured “My hero,” as he sent a wicked grin Nick’s way, and started calmly discussing with Annie when he should add the pectin to get the jam to set properly.
Nick was glad that the other two were occupied enough not to notice him dropping roughly onto the nearest stool, his head reeling.
It was not the first time he had kissed a man - and judging by his technique, it definitely wasn’t the first time Monroe had either - but it being the first time he had kissed Monroe was more than enough to have him questioning even his most basic assumptions about their relationship.
As he got up to help Monroe with the jam, Nick thought ruefully to himself that between Monroe being a secretly great kisser and Dorothy Vogel being a secret bird creature, he was now estimating his chances at leaving the Enchanted Rose Inn the same way he had entered it at a generous slim to none.