Disclaimer: I don't own "Grimm" or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

Authors Note #1: I recently got into "Grimm" and fell in love with the Nick x Monroe pairing. This was mostly inspired by the pilot episode, 1x07, 1x08, 1x12 so it is loosely based in the late season one setting – early season two setting. In an AU where Nick and Juliette broke up mid-late season one-ish.

Warnings: temporary memory loss, injury, care-taking, hurt and comfort, animal traits, scenting, language, flirting, just guys being dudes, drama, romance, first time.

Abendrot

Chapter One

"Monroe? Oh thank fuck- you're okay. Jesus Christ-"

He woke up suddenly on the forest floor. Senses slapping back like the sting of a rubber band. Half deaf as the echo of dying frequencies whined painfully in his ears. Trying to make sense of what was happening and where the hell he was as the shadows above him slowly condensed into shapes, then double vision, before turning clear enough for him to make out the forest canopy and-

Pain.

Blood.

Dirt.

Human.

Male.

Danger.

He flinched when an unfamiliar face came into view. Barely catching his reflection - his true reflection - in the man's dark eyes before he knew what he was.

A Grimm.

"Whoa. Whoa. It's okay, it's me," the Grimm soothed, leaking a fresh surge of adrenaline when his hands shot up and hooked around the Grimm's jacket collar. Automatically trying to stop him from reaching for a hidden blade. Uncertain of what to do with the realization, when it slowly dawned, that not only was he with a Grimm, but the Grimm was acting like he knew him. Touching him worriedly, like-

"Who are you?" he rasped, keeping his claws out as he sniffed the air wearily. Head aching and trickling blood down from his hairline as he winced and forced his shoulder to pop back into place. Using the Grimm like an anchor as the other man stiffened beside him. Looking down at him with a question that only grew more serious the longer the moment stretched. "What do you- what do you- you're a Grimm? Why-"

It wasn't even a proper question. He was too rattled and there was no context. All he knew was that his body was screaming, head splitting with a headache he already knew was going to take days to fade. And there was a Grimm- a real life, flesh and blood Grimm right in front of him...not killing him?

"Monroe? It's me, Nick. You just saved me from a- I don't actually know what that was. You were about to tell me before it ambushed us," the Grimm answered slowly, still not making any move to kill him as he helped him sit up. Movements open with familiarity and worry, but not gentle. Like the man knew he could take it, even if he'd gone ten rounds with something nasty and probably lost.

Nick.

Something in the back of his mind tickled at the play of that single syllable. Like he should know what it meant, or maybe he was just trying to convince himself he should. Everything was just- honestly he didn't even know. The last thing he remembered was-

"Hey, I'm going to check your head, okay? You're bleeding pretty bad. Hey- it's okay. I promise I won't hurt you. We're friends."

He didn't smell a lie as he flinched back. But that didn't make it believable. People like him didn't have the luxury of friends. Especially human ones and definitely not Grimm ones. He wasn't suicidal, thanks.

"I don't have friends," he returned, frowning into the dark. Eying the Grimm for a long second before he finally dipped his head in assent. Willing his claws away. Allowing the man to sink down on his haunches in front of him and brush his hair to the side. Too distracted by the scents mingling between them to ask the half dozen questions he actually wanted to.

The Grimm's posture was submissive as he moved in front of him. Open. Vulnerable. Like he didn't know or care that he'd opened himself up an easy swipe of his claws or a snapping lunge. It wouldn't take much. The Grimm would be dead before he knew he was bleeding. It was his right after all. He had family loyalty to consider. If they knew he'd been face to face with a Grimm and not at least tried to exact vengeance for his Grandfather, he'd be disowned.

But something, something beyond his weider vows, made him still.

Was it stupidity or trust that stayed the Grimm's hand?

And if it was the second then-

He snarled when the Grimm's fingers found the deep gash just above his right ear. Startled and in pain, but also trying to warn the man off. Uncertain of if he should be trying to get away or stay frozen as the Grimm showed no sign of wanting to finish him off.

Maybe he wasn't the only one who'd gotten beaned in the head. Maybe this was just some weird coincidence and the Grimm had woken up, forgot who he was, and was just weirdly chill about him shifting. Unbothered by the way he was pressing his claws rather rudely into his pulse points and showing him his teeth.

Yeah. Right.

Except the baseline of the Grimm's pulse barely even slipped.

It was more like he wasn't afraid at all.

That and he knew his name.

Which kind of blew that whole theory out of the water before it could leave the harbor.

"Yeah, you smoked your head pretty bad on that tree. Thanks for that by the way. I would have been toast. I think you might have a concussion. I don't know if that's a thing for you guys, but yeah you look pretty out of it. I'll need more light to see if I can do anything about it though. I'm guessing you don't want to go to the hospital?"

The facts permeated slowly. Taking comfort in the familiar scent of the forest next to his house. Which meant he wasn't far from it. Which was good. The mouldering stink of Smatherhorn blood was less comforting. But considering he had bits of its green and purple fur between his fingers he figured - concussion or not - that problem was dealt with.

Had he really saved a Grimm?

Why?

And why was a Grimm out here with-

"...Monroe?" the Grimm questioned, one hand falling gently on the curl of his shoulder. Overly familiar and worried. Making him want to shake it off on pure principal, only he had the sneaking suspicion the man was one of the only reasons he was even upright at this point.

"I don't remember," he forced out. Feeling guilty almost immediately when the man's expression fell. Like he'd kicked a puppy or something. "I don't- I don't know you."

The next few beats were almost suffocated with a collection of sharded, broken-off scents. Ones that hurt every time he tried to breathe them in until the Grimm finally nodded and looked him firmly in the eye. Clearly making some sort of decision.

"Okay, I get that. And we'll figure it out. I promise. But we have to get out of here. There could be more of them," the man told him, grabbing his arm like he was about to pull him up before he made an angry, warning sound and yanked his hand away.

He didn't like being touched.

Okay, that was a lie.

Touch was a pitfall.

A slippery slope that could set him off one way or another. And right now he was face to face with a Grimm, injured and apparently sans a significant chunk of his memory and he didn't-

The hand on his arm was back again. This time more careful. Fingers asking for permission as they twitched along the blood-stained cuffs of his shirt before closing around his wrist. Squeezing gently before falling away again. Close but letting him have his space. Like that made it better somehow.

Did the Grimm have a death wish or what?

Jesus.

"Okay. You don't know me. But I know you. Monroe, you've saved my life at least a hundred times since I met you. You make me dinner and coffee and make sure I know enough not to die on a regular basis. I know you can sense things about me. You know I'm a Grimm. But I'm here, now, and if I wanted to hurt you I would have done it when you were unconscious. Think about it. Right now what you need to know is you're my friend and we're not safe here. So let me help you, okay?"

It was the confidence behind the Grimm's words more than anything that made the decision to trust him easy. Letting the man duck close and help him up. Biting back the pained groan when a couple broken ribs made themselves known. Head aching like a second pulse as he forced his nails back to blunt.

But it wasn't until the Grimm had his shoulder under his - supporting him as his vision swam at suddenly being vertical - that the real mind fuck of the evening had a chance to sink in.

Because when the Grimm hauled him to his feet, the difference in height nearly buried his nose in the man's hair. Forcing him to realize in a thick, molten rush of confused possession and animal recognition, what had been tugging at him since the moment the man had materialized above him.

The Grimm smelled like him.

Like he was his.

He blinked when he realized they were in front of his house. Basically a mirror to the moment the Grimm had led them over to his Beatle and nudged the key out from under the driver's side mat like it was second nature.

There hadn't been another vehicle.

Meaning the Grimm had probably ridden into the park with him.

Which was- well, coupled with the other stuff it was a lot to process.

"You know where I live?" he rasped hoarsely. Mostly for a lack of anything else to say.

But the Grimm just smiled at him as he parked and cut the engine.

"Friends, remember?"

He shook his head. Hanging back as the Grimm jingled his keys and chose the right key for the front door on the first try. Jiggling the old lock with the kind of familiarity you really couldn't fake.

He hesitated, stalling on the porch as the Grimm opened the door and went inside. Toeing off his shoes to the right of the shoe rack before turning around to dip his head encouragingly. As if he needed an invitation to come into his own damn house.

He ignored him.

Instead, he scented the air. Inhaling the familiar scents of home and territory. Wood. Dryer sheets. Varnish. Metal gears. Fennel. Wool. The oil he used to clean the gears of his clocks when he was working. And-

He blinked.

"You're...you're here a lot," he said aloud. Following the strongest trail of the man's scent inside as the Grimm closed the door behind him. Caught off guard when he realized it was even stronger inside. And not just in the entryway either.

Hell, his home was practically saturated in the Grimm's scent.

New. Old. Fading.

It was the kind of truth you couldn't fake. The nose knows, as his great grand-uncle used to say. And right now his nose was telling him that what the Grimm had said so far was true. Which was probably one of the weirdest things he'd ever expected to have to come to terms with.

"You can tell that?" The Grimm asked, impressed and incredulous as he shrugged out of his jacket and started up the stairs.

"Dude, you have no idea," he muttered flatly. Surprised when the man paused halfway up the bannister. Looking down at him hopefully. Dark eyes searching his face. "What?"

The Grimm shook his head, deflating a bit like disappointment was a taste that'd gone sour in his mouth. Like he'd been hoping for something more, whatever that was.

"It's just, you've said that before."

"I have?" he repeated, with zero confidence. Fingers itching to touch when he noticed an unfamiliar clock half disembowelled on his work table. Was that a French Mantel clock? "When?"

"The second time I met you, actually," the Grimm grinned. "You were hanging out of the car window trying to catch another blutbad's scent. I thought we were going to crash and go down an embankment."

He raised a brow.

"Well, it's true. Though I don't know why I would be doing something as stupid confronting another blutbad in their territory, Grimm escort or not," he returned drily. "That isn't exactly smart. Which you should know, being a Grimm and all."

"Because of a missing little girl," the Grimm responded before taking the rest of the stairs two at a time and disappearing into the upstairs hall. Leaving him with the weird feeling that his house wasn't just his anymore.

The wolf rumbled under his skin. Confused but surprisingly docile. Like some part of it recognized the man for what he was. Not a threat. A Grimm who wasn't a threat. He rubbed his eyes and huffed in frustration, temples throbbing. It was an oxymoron, obviously. But apparently true in this case.

Though, he supposed he didn't exactly have a leg to stand on when it came to weirdness.

He was a weider-blutbad after all.

"Besides," the Grimm called down, voice echoing back like he was in a closed space- the bathroom, probably. "I'm not like most Grimms."

He snorted.

That he believed.

He did a quick circuit of the downstairs as the Grimm rummaged around in the upstairs bathroom. Running water and opening the cabinet under the sink.

He wasn't sure what he was expecting when he realized the man had his scent, but this proved it. Whatever it was.

The Grimm's scent was present in almost every part of the house. He could tell from just a single whiff that the man preferred the padded chair by the window and the right side of the couch. There was even a coffee cup in on the counter with the Grimm's saliva still on it, the coffee cold and hours old.

Everything was melded, like the man was here often enough that he could pick out little differences from each fading trail of scent. Like the scent of wine and happy tones. Adrenaline. Sweat. Leftovers. A hair product he didn't recognize sitting on the top of the recycle pile. Stress. The fading smell of beef. Twin scents that weren't his clinging to the man's clothes - female and male. Blood. Stress. Grass stains. Frustration. That generic detergent he never bought because it always made his nose twitch. Laughter.

"What's the last thing you remember?" the Grimm asked as he came down the stairs with the first aid kit. Raising a brow when the man nudged his side. Guiding him in the direction of the kitchen table as he switched on the light and unzipped the bag. Deciding if was safer to say nothing when he realized the contents sagged like it'd been well used recently. Very aware that he'd picked it up only last month on a whim and hadn't had the opportunity to use it since, thank god.

Wait.

If it was this used already-

What exactly had this guy gotten him into?

"Uh," he said intelligently. Shrugging lightly as the Grimm dipped a bit of gauze in antiseptic. Stinging his nose as he fought the urge of tuck it into the collar of his sweater to dampen the smell. "I had to get groceries this morning. And some weather stripping for the attic window. I finally finished that special repair for Mr. Somsburry. Most fussy clock I have ever worked with, I'll tell you. And its- oh- not here. It was on the table, I was going to mail it out in the morning. Huh. I guess that's not exactly helpful. I don't really get up to that much- I kind of have a strict regimen thing going on."

The Grimm shook his head, encouraging him without words to tilt his head closer as he dabbed gently at the cut on his head. Letting him get used to the movement and the pain before he started cleaning the wound in earnest.

"No, its okay. If you don't remember me that means you're missing at least- wow, almost eight months."

His eyes blew wide.

"I forgot eight months!?" he nearly yelled, indignant and horrified as he lunged for the calendar. Seeing a hell of a lot of due dates for work he hadn't even started flash by and oh-

He sat back down in the chair heavily. Calendar warping morosely in his fist as the Grimm looked down at him with amused concern.

"Aww man, I missed Christmas," he moaned. Totally bummed now. How could he not remember Christmas? That was terrible. Halloween had only been over for a month. He'd been set to start lugging the first few boxes out of the attic on the weekend and everything.

"No you didn't," the Grimm told him. Smiling again like he'd managed to say something funny. "Your whole house looked like a Christmas store exploded. It was impressive."

"Oh. Cool," he replied, slightly appeased that Christmas had not gone uncelebrated. Even though he couldn't remember it. "What did you think? Did I have the train set out? I kind of only bring that out every couple of years... it's kind of a special occasion thing."

The last part was forced casual. Unable to stop himself from asking as the man leaned back in and finished cleaning the wound. Handing him an ice pack for the other side of his head that he took gratefully. He knew he kinda went all out for Christmas. And Halloween. And- okay, well the point was it could be a bit much for some people.

"I'm still finding sparkles and tinsel in my clothes," the Grimm teased, smiling easily. Openly affectionate in a way that made his stomach dip pleasantly and oh-

Hold the frick on.

The Grimm was oblivious to his internal panicking. Going on a tangent about how he and his aunt had always travelled a lot when he'd been growing up and the most they had on Christmas was a scraggly little Charlie brown tree and maybe a string of lights.

He scented the air again when he was sure the Grimm was busy hunting through the bandages. Trying to find one to fit the long, but shallow cut on his arm. Shifting part way to get a better read on the situation.

But the scent stayed the same.

The Grimm smelled...good.

Comfortable.

The other man was keeping the wolf happy just by being here, and even better now that he was close. If he had to describe it, the man smelled like an anchor. Dependable, but sharp. Like he could be something to cling to in a storm just as much as he was something that was worth anything to protect. Which, apparently he had. If there was any truth to the Grimm's explanation that is.

But leaving it there would be lying to himself. Because there was another layer, beyond just familiarity. Because the Grimm smelled like how he felt. That emotional blip of tension that coiled low in his belly like unresolved pleasure. Like want and warm things. Following an instinct that made him want to go belly up just as much as he wanted to flip the man onto the table and hunt down the source of that smell until he remembered everything. All of it. Until he was dragging his nose down the man's skin and committing him to memory. Maybe even for the second time around.

He'd never felt anything like that before.

Not even when he'd been with Angelina.

"I didn't know it'd been that long. Hard to believe it's been almost eight months," the Grimm remarked. Waiting until he could see the bandage and the intent behind it before he pressed it to his skin and taped the sides.

He shook himself internally. Control in tatters. Letting the Grimm think his discomfort was to due with his wounds as he forced himself to heel. He needed to get a grip. And fast.

What the hell was wrong with him?

"Eight months since we met?" he asked, more to fill the quiet than anything. Needing a distraction from his own head as the Grimm abandoned the first aid kit and opened his mish-mash drawer. Pulling out a bottle of aspirin with a determined rattle.

Huh. He didn't know he even had aspirin in the house.

"And eight months since I became a Grimm," the man clarified. "I didn't know anything about all this- nothing- then my Aunt got sick and I started seeing things. I thought I was losing my mind at first."

He winced in sympathy. Talk about a trial by fire.

Personally, he didn't think it did anyone any favors, shielding them from their heritage. Whoever his Aunt was, she hadn't helped matters one bit. A Grimm growing up kept in the dark about who he was and what was really out there? It was like ringing the dinner bell. No wonder this one had attached himself to a Blutbad. He didn't know better!

"Wait, you met me the same time you became a Grimm? How did that even work out?" he exclaimed. Marveling at the fucked-up logistics that would have to be involved to allow the outcome he was currently enjoying. "Grimms and blutbadden don't exactly get along. There's uh- a lot bad blood. Like, a lot a lot. We don't really mix, if you get my drift."

The Grimm sent him a lazy smile as he set a glass of water down beside three aspirin. Looking at him expectantly until he huffed a sigh and took the hint. Not realizing he was so thirsty until the water hit his tongue. Washing away the taste of blood and grit as the man's shadow warped strangely across the table behind him.

"I do. And yeah- believe it or not, you kind of eased me into everything. Probably took it easy on me because I had no idea what the hell was doing now that I think about it. Then everything happened so fast I guess you kind of got over it and we just-"

"Became friends?" he supplied doubtfully.

"That's right."

It sounded so much like bullshit he actually believed it.

A/N: Thank you for reading, please let me know what you think. There will be more to come.

Reference:

- abendrot: a German word, defined as the color of the sky as the sun sets.