Fic: Surrender (1/7)
Title: Surrender 1/7
Fandom: Grimm
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Nick/Monroe
Summary: Just when Nick's life is changing, Monroe is attacked by a Grimm, making them closer while forcing them to deal with Monroe's past.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own words.
Chapter 1
The bullet broke through the kitchen window while Monroe was steaming some vegetables for dinner. He barely heard the cracking of the glass or saw the shards implode inwards, one embedding itself in his left cheek, the slight sting barely perceptible in his suddenly numb skin as he looked down at his chest where a patch of red was spreading on his shirt, broken rib and muscle screaming as he suddenly awakened to the reality that there was a bullet lodged in his torso, mere inches from his heart. He collapsed against the counter and slid to the floor as he struggled to breathe, but his chest felt as if thorns were stabbing his flesh. He couldn’t catch a scent, not even through the perforated glass, nothing but the neighbors, but he’d never done anything to piss them off save for peeing in his yard and they thought that was a stray dog, and fuck, it hurt! His muscles were clenching as he dragged himself to the opposite counter where he’d left his cell phone. His feet slipped on his own blood as he pulled himself up by a drawer handle to reach the phone, his face shifting in a cry of pain as he jerked the wound, nerves screaming through his body at a hundred decibels. He lost his grip on the phone as he fell back on the ground. He scrambled for it, practically sobbing with relief when he touched it, and looked up Nick in his contacts.
The phone rang. And rang. And rang.
Please, please, answer the phone, goddamn you, Monroe thought.
“Burkhardt.”
“Nick!”
“Monroe, it’s not a good time--”
“I’ve been shot,” Monroe hissed, collapsing into a coughing fit. Blood landed on his lip. A punctured lung. Shit, shit, shit!
“Where are you?” Worry laced Nick’s voice.
“At home. Shot me through the window. Right in the chest.”
“I’m on my way. Have you called 911?”
“No.”
Funny. He should have. Yet the first number he’d thought to call was Nick’s.
“I’ll call them now. Just stay with me, okay? I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Suddenly, Monroe’s nose perked up, grasping a scent out of the air that had him whimpering.
“Nick!” Monroe cried before Nick could hang up.
“What is it?”
“It’s a Grimm.”
It was the faintest damn smell, but definitely a Grimm, and if Nick didn’t get here in time, it was going to kill him.
The siren in Nick’s car blared through the speakers.
“Monroe, listen to me. I will not let them kill you. You understand me? I’m six miles away. Just hang on.”
Hang on he did, with every breath locked on to the Grimm’s scent as it got closer, a growl trapped in his chest as he forced himself to lie still and play dead in case it peered through the window and thought to add a bullet through his brain. Or perhaps she’d shoot him properly in the heart this time, saving his head for a lamp or a mantelpiece, maybe even take a hand. He was half-morphed, claws jutting out of his fingertips. Grimms loved collecting those. Six miles. Nick damn well better be flooring the accelerator, for very soon the “playing” part of “playing dead” would no longer be valid. Dizziness swam in his head, his limbs weakening, the loss of blood and the pain and the torn lung all catching up to him just like the Grimm. Didn’t even need to breathe deeply to smell her now.
Nick, please.
Monroe’s eyes slid shut.
||||
The doctor assured him Monroe would be fine. They had dug out the bullet and dealt with the collapsed lung and the broken rib, so all Monroe needed now was rest and medicine to manage the pain. Unless the wound got infected. The doctor insisted this was unlikely, but that didn’t keep it from bouncing around in Nick’s head like a lotto ball in a tumbler, along with the chance that the asshole who had tried to kill Monroe might come back and finish the job, but Nick wouldn’t let that happen, not on his watch, not if there was still breath left in his body. God, Juliette was right. Why hadn’t Nick realized before?
He should be at Monroe’s house scouring the place for any signs of the perp, but he couldn’t leave him alone. The instant they moved him to a room and allowed Nick inside, he needed to be there. Monroe shouldn’t have to wake up alone with a hole in his chest.
As soon as Nick had contacted the emergency services, he called Monroe, but got no answer. He tried over and over, heart clenching as he struggled not to crash into anyone as he barreled down the residential road going 50 miles per hour, because there was always some idiot who didn’t heed the siren. When he found Monroe bleeding on his kitchen floor, his breath gave out altogether, choking him as if a rock had lodged in his chest. Monroe lied against the drawers, his head twisted to the side, phone in hand, but his fingers were limp and his eyes shut, his chest rattling from not being able to catch his breath properly. Kneeling beside him, Nick ripped off his jacket and pressed it against the wound, yammering distressed “sorry”s when Monroe yelped in pain. His eyes couldn’t have been more agonized as he met Nick’s eyes, sharpening Nick’s fury at the bastard who had dared hurt him.
“It’s going to be okay,” Nick said. Please let everything be okay. “The ambulance will be here any second. You’re going to be fine.”
Monroe kept staring into his eyes, his gaze more intense than it could ever be, and he curled his right hand around Nick’s wrist, his grip so tight it hurt into his bones.
Now, while he slept in the hospital bed, Monroe’s hand had no strength, his skin pale from loss of blood, strikingly fragile under the fluorescent lamps. Nick held it between both of his, stroking along the slender fingers, the ring finger bearing a mosquito bite below the topmost joint (how amusing it had been last month to find out that even blutbaden were victims of the flying scourge).
If Juliette could see him, she’d feel justified in everything she’d told him earlier this evening. Their relationship had been deteriorating for a while, little grazes here and there, plus the distance that had been growing between them without them noticing, exacerbated by their jobs and now his new duties as a Grimm, which he still wouldn’t share with her, fearing she’d think he’d lost his reason, for how could he prove the creatures were real when no one else could see them? Have Monroe shift into full wolf form in front of her? Not likely. Yet it turned out that their biggest problem was even more acute than that.
“You’re not really here with me anymore,” Juliette had said during their latest argument, which were erupting now on a regular basis.
“You’ve never complained about the job before,” Nick said.
“It’s not the job. Don’t try to make me seem petty. It’s you. I’m not the only person in your life anymore.”
“What the hell are you talking about? You think I’m cheating on you? I would never do that.”
A burned out expression crossed her face.
“I know you’d like to think that. But how much time have you spent with me in the past two months?”
“I-You want me to count hours?”
“And how long have you spent with Monroe?”
Nick’s words died in his throat as shock ran through his system. He struggled to get his mouth to work, breath escaping him.
“You think I like Monroe?”
“Do you?”
No, he should have said. No, I love you. Monroe’s just a friend and I could never think of him that way.
“He’s just a friend,” is all that came out after too many seconds of silence as he struggled to keep looking into Juliette’s eyes and not shy away in shame as he realized how many times he’d stared at Monroe’s mouth wondering if he would taste his friend’s premium coffee on them, how often after 14 straight hours of chasing some creature around the city, instead of going home to Juliette, he found himself curling into Monroe’s couch, smiling while his friend grumbled about lost work time and needy Grimms while offering Nick another piece of culinary perfection to soothe his hunger. God, even admitting to himself that he enjoyed Monroe’s cooking more than Juliette’s made him feel like a worm.
“That wasn’t a ‘no’,” Juliette said, voice tight with the betrayal shining in her eyes. She turned away from him and started down the corridor, perhaps for the last time.
“Juliette,” he called out, following her into the hall, but she was already climbing up the stairs, her feet heavy on the floorboards, not wanting to have anything more to do with him.
I love you.
He tried to say it. He really did, but it felt so cheap, a coward’s plea, for while he did love her, it wasn’t the burning, blinding love of a man about to propose like it had been before this tornado crashed into him. It had shrunken beyond recognition, the embers grown ashen and cool, a love that bordered on affection and the memory of past joy, passion no longer entering in it.
“I’m sorry,” he said into the empty hallway.
His mobile buzzed. Another case. Another problem. He had no will for any of it. After the third ring, he finally got his limbs to move, training propelling him forward.
“Burkhardt,” he answered, not even glancing at the caller ID.
“Nick!”
Oh God, of all the people in the world.
“Monroe, now’s not a good time-“
“I’ve been shot.”
Time froze into ice crystals around him. His limbs jumped into motion, running out the door without thinking of anything else.
It had been simple. It should still be simple. Not that he would have reacted any differently if it had been Juliette, not for a second, yet…
He stroked Monroe’s hand.
````
Chapter 2
Fandom: Grimm
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Nick/Monroe
Summary: Just when Nick's life is changing, Monroe is attacked by a Grimm, making them closer while forcing them to deal with Monroe's past.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own words.
Chapter 1
The bullet broke through the kitchen window while Monroe was steaming some vegetables for dinner. He barely heard the cracking of the glass or saw the shards implode inwards, one embedding itself in his left cheek, the slight sting barely perceptible in his suddenly numb skin as he looked down at his chest where a patch of red was spreading on his shirt, broken rib and muscle screaming as he suddenly awakened to the reality that there was a bullet lodged in his torso, mere inches from his heart. He collapsed against the counter and slid to the floor as he struggled to breathe, but his chest felt as if thorns were stabbing his flesh. He couldn’t catch a scent, not even through the perforated glass, nothing but the neighbors, but he’d never done anything to piss them off save for peeing in his yard and they thought that was a stray dog, and fuck, it hurt! His muscles were clenching as he dragged himself to the opposite counter where he’d left his cell phone. His feet slipped on his own blood as he pulled himself up by a drawer handle to reach the phone, his face shifting in a cry of pain as he jerked the wound, nerves screaming through his body at a hundred decibels. He lost his grip on the phone as he fell back on the ground. He scrambled for it, practically sobbing with relief when he touched it, and looked up Nick in his contacts.
The phone rang. And rang. And rang.
Please, please, answer the phone, goddamn you, Monroe thought.
“Burkhardt.”
“Nick!”
“Monroe, it’s not a good time--”
“I’ve been shot,” Monroe hissed, collapsing into a coughing fit. Blood landed on his lip. A punctured lung. Shit, shit, shit!
“Where are you?” Worry laced Nick’s voice.
“At home. Shot me through the window. Right in the chest.”
“I’m on my way. Have you called 911?”
“No.”
Funny. He should have. Yet the first number he’d thought to call was Nick’s.
“I’ll call them now. Just stay with me, okay? I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Suddenly, Monroe’s nose perked up, grasping a scent out of the air that had him whimpering.
“Nick!” Monroe cried before Nick could hang up.
“What is it?”
“It’s a Grimm.”
It was the faintest damn smell, but definitely a Grimm, and if Nick didn’t get here in time, it was going to kill him.
The siren in Nick’s car blared through the speakers.
“Monroe, listen to me. I will not let them kill you. You understand me? I’m six miles away. Just hang on.”
Hang on he did, with every breath locked on to the Grimm’s scent as it got closer, a growl trapped in his chest as he forced himself to lie still and play dead in case it peered through the window and thought to add a bullet through his brain. Or perhaps she’d shoot him properly in the heart this time, saving his head for a lamp or a mantelpiece, maybe even take a hand. He was half-morphed, claws jutting out of his fingertips. Grimms loved collecting those. Six miles. Nick damn well better be flooring the accelerator, for very soon the “playing” part of “playing dead” would no longer be valid. Dizziness swam in his head, his limbs weakening, the loss of blood and the pain and the torn lung all catching up to him just like the Grimm. Didn’t even need to breathe deeply to smell her now.
Nick, please.
Monroe’s eyes slid shut.
||||
The doctor assured him Monroe would be fine. They had dug out the bullet and dealt with the collapsed lung and the broken rib, so all Monroe needed now was rest and medicine to manage the pain. Unless the wound got infected. The doctor insisted this was unlikely, but that didn’t keep it from bouncing around in Nick’s head like a lotto ball in a tumbler, along with the chance that the asshole who had tried to kill Monroe might come back and finish the job, but Nick wouldn’t let that happen, not on his watch, not if there was still breath left in his body. God, Juliette was right. Why hadn’t Nick realized before?
He should be at Monroe’s house scouring the place for any signs of the perp, but he couldn’t leave him alone. The instant they moved him to a room and allowed Nick inside, he needed to be there. Monroe shouldn’t have to wake up alone with a hole in his chest.
As soon as Nick had contacted the emergency services, he called Monroe, but got no answer. He tried over and over, heart clenching as he struggled not to crash into anyone as he barreled down the residential road going 50 miles per hour, because there was always some idiot who didn’t heed the siren. When he found Monroe bleeding on his kitchen floor, his breath gave out altogether, choking him as if a rock had lodged in his chest. Monroe lied against the drawers, his head twisted to the side, phone in hand, but his fingers were limp and his eyes shut, his chest rattling from not being able to catch his breath properly. Kneeling beside him, Nick ripped off his jacket and pressed it against the wound, yammering distressed “sorry”s when Monroe yelped in pain. His eyes couldn’t have been more agonized as he met Nick’s eyes, sharpening Nick’s fury at the bastard who had dared hurt him.
“It’s going to be okay,” Nick said. Please let everything be okay. “The ambulance will be here any second. You’re going to be fine.”
Monroe kept staring into his eyes, his gaze more intense than it could ever be, and he curled his right hand around Nick’s wrist, his grip so tight it hurt into his bones.
Now, while he slept in the hospital bed, Monroe’s hand had no strength, his skin pale from loss of blood, strikingly fragile under the fluorescent lamps. Nick held it between both of his, stroking along the slender fingers, the ring finger bearing a mosquito bite below the topmost joint (how amusing it had been last month to find out that even blutbaden were victims of the flying scourge).
If Juliette could see him, she’d feel justified in everything she’d told him earlier this evening. Their relationship had been deteriorating for a while, little grazes here and there, plus the distance that had been growing between them without them noticing, exacerbated by their jobs and now his new duties as a Grimm, which he still wouldn’t share with her, fearing she’d think he’d lost his reason, for how could he prove the creatures were real when no one else could see them? Have Monroe shift into full wolf form in front of her? Not likely. Yet it turned out that their biggest problem was even more acute than that.
“You’re not really here with me anymore,” Juliette had said during their latest argument, which were erupting now on a regular basis.
“You’ve never complained about the job before,” Nick said.
“It’s not the job. Don’t try to make me seem petty. It’s you. I’m not the only person in your life anymore.”
“What the hell are you talking about? You think I’m cheating on you? I would never do that.”
A burned out expression crossed her face.
“I know you’d like to think that. But how much time have you spent with me in the past two months?”
“I-You want me to count hours?”
“And how long have you spent with Monroe?”
Nick’s words died in his throat as shock ran through his system. He struggled to get his mouth to work, breath escaping him.
“You think I like Monroe?”
“Do you?”
No, he should have said. No, I love you. Monroe’s just a friend and I could never think of him that way.
“He’s just a friend,” is all that came out after too many seconds of silence as he struggled to keep looking into Juliette’s eyes and not shy away in shame as he realized how many times he’d stared at Monroe’s mouth wondering if he would taste his friend’s premium coffee on them, how often after 14 straight hours of chasing some creature around the city, instead of going home to Juliette, he found himself curling into Monroe’s couch, smiling while his friend grumbled about lost work time and needy Grimms while offering Nick another piece of culinary perfection to soothe his hunger. God, even admitting to himself that he enjoyed Monroe’s cooking more than Juliette’s made him feel like a worm.
“That wasn’t a ‘no’,” Juliette said, voice tight with the betrayal shining in her eyes. She turned away from him and started down the corridor, perhaps for the last time.
“Juliette,” he called out, following her into the hall, but she was already climbing up the stairs, her feet heavy on the floorboards, not wanting to have anything more to do with him.
I love you.
He tried to say it. He really did, but it felt so cheap, a coward’s plea, for while he did love her, it wasn’t the burning, blinding love of a man about to propose like it had been before this tornado crashed into him. It had shrunken beyond recognition, the embers grown ashen and cool, a love that bordered on affection and the memory of past joy, passion no longer entering in it.
“I’m sorry,” he said into the empty hallway.
His mobile buzzed. Another case. Another problem. He had no will for any of it. After the third ring, he finally got his limbs to move, training propelling him forward.
“Burkhardt,” he answered, not even glancing at the caller ID.
“Nick!”
Oh God, of all the people in the world.
“Monroe, now’s not a good time-“
“I’ve been shot.”
Time froze into ice crystals around him. His limbs jumped into motion, running out the door without thinking of anything else.
It had been simple. It should still be simple. Not that he would have reacted any differently if it had been Juliette, not for a second, yet…
He stroked Monroe’s hand.
````
Chapter 2