VI.

Monroe was inside of the bar, tailing and spying on the suspect; Adalind was doing god knows what to screw up his case and screw Nick over back at the suspect's residence and place of business; and Nick was, well, he was doing absolutely nothing and feeling about as useless as a penny. His hail mary of a plan was working out just about as well as one of Hank's many marriages.

Maybe because Nick had to drive everywhere for his own job or because, if he had a car like the Ziegevolk's, he would never leave home without it, for some reason, it had never occurred to Nick that his suspect might opt to walk if he left the B&B, rendering the tracking device he put on Capra's car null and void. He should have known better, though. After all, it was Portland. But, because of this oversight, Nick had been forced to choose between following the suspect or taking advantage of his absence to search the inn. He chose the former and then ordered Adalind to nose around the Bramble House for the broken window on his behalf, though Nick didn't for one second believe she would stick to his instructions and do what she was told. Letting a Hexenbiest loose on a house, however, seemed like the lesser of two evils compared to letting her loose on another person, Wesen or not.

So, now, here he was just… waiting - waiting for Capra to do something he could arrest him for; waiting for Monroe to actually say something useful; waiting for Adalind to… well, who the hell knew what she would do next; waiting to blow his own cover, get caught, and probably ruin his career.

And he was the optimist of their extremely unorthodox, dysfunctional, conceived in the bowels of hell group!

And then his phone rang.

His other phone. His burner phone. His Adalind phone.

Although Nick wasn't expecting her to call him, he decided to blame his reaction - a disportionately large jump - on the fact that the loud tone was conspicuous and not because he had been startled. "What," he answered tersely - no greeting, no warmth, tone muted though not quite a whisper. Nick briefly debated what he should do with Monroe on the other line before deciding to just listen to both Wesen talk at the same time and hope that his newly discovered dual nature would lend itself better to multitasking than his gender usually did.

"That hooved freak has a nursing home kitsch sex dungeon in his basement… words that should never be used together let alone in reference to a Ziegevolk." Adalind was shuddering so hard in reaction to her pronouncement that Nick could hear her through the phone connection.

"Did you find the broken window… which, you know, was the only thing I asked you to look for?"

"Are you not listening to me, Nick? A. Sex. Dungeon. Complete with an elaborate hallucinogenic gas setup connected to his radiator system and women in dog cages! I tried to free them, opened the cages and everything, but they won't leave. I don't know if they're too weak physically from the gas or too… Stockholmed." Every time he tried to get a word in edgewise, Adalind just talked over him. "You need to get back here. No, you need to call for backup. These women… it's bad, Nick."

How many times did he have to ask her…. "Did you find the window?"

"Forget the damn window already!"

"I need the window for probable cause, Adalind," he reminded her… despite the fact that, of the two of them, she was the lawyer. "Nothing else you found in the basement is admissible without it. Even with it, we're on thin ice, because you shouldn't have found anything."

"Yes, I found the window," she told him impatiently. He imagined her pacing back and forth in her agitation and annoyance, her robe trailing behind her like the proverbial witch's cape, though white instead of black. "It's in one of the guest bathrooms. He fixed it, but you can still tell that it was recently broken. And then I heard some really strange and unsettling sounds coming from a grate in the floor, so I… wandered a bit."

There was something she wasn't telling him. Maybe they hadn't known each other long, but Nick felt like he had a pretty good understanding of who Adalind was… at least the versions she presented to him. "Was the basement locked?"

"Locked. Unlocked. When you're a Hexenbiest, there's really no difference."

He sighed, shook his head. When he lifted the hand that wasn't holding his burner phone in order to pinch the bridge of his nose - he felt a tension/frustration (when dealing with Adalind Schade, really what was the difference?) migraine coming on, he remembered that he was also holding his actual cell phone, Monroe still providing a constant, running commentary on The Adventures of a Ziegevolk on the Prowl. "Just… get out. The last thing I need is for you to breathe in too much of that gas and still be there when the police arrive."

"I'm not an idiot, Nick. The gas is off - has been this whole time." Her tone went from provoked to simpering in the span of a breath. "But your concern for my wellbeing is touching."

"I'm concerned about my case. And those women."

"Which is exactly why I'm not going anywhere."

"Aw, did someone find their humanity since I left," he taunted her.

"It has nothing to do with that," Adalind snapped, though her adamant denial did little to convince Nick otherwise. "And everything to do with the fact that I refuse to allow your incompetence as a Grimm and as a detective to prevent me from making sure that Ziegevolk gets exactly what he deserves. I'm going to make damn sure I didn't do all of this for nothing whether that fits with your little plan or not."

He went to argue with her further, deciding that he would try another tactic - after all, Adalind was quite fond of her own skin, and Nick had no doubt that she would do anything to protect herself… even at or perhaps especially at the expense of others, and, by staying, she was putting herself at risk from Capra and them at risk from the Wesen world finding out about their… partnership, but then, all of a sudden, the suspect was leaving the bar, and Monroe was staying, and Adalind was still in the basement with the Ziegevolk's victims, and Nick was….

Well, Nick was pretty much screwed.

VII.

It felt like one second he saw Adalind across the basement from him and then the next he was trapped in the sex dungeon… no, the crime scene with her, the Ziegevolk having slammed the door behind Nick.

"Now, look what you've done," he accused her. Before Adalind could react to his (admittedly unfair - after all, he was the one who had derided her lack of empathy and then, when she finally showed some, he railed against her anyway) censure, Nick heard a whoosh, a strange smell tickling his nose but, thankfully, not impacting him at all. And then he was yelling at her again before he couldn't stop himself. "I thought I told you to leave?"

"And I thought I told you to eat shit and die, Grimm, but here you still are. Alive."

She hadn't actually said that to him… at least, not in so many words, but it seemed like the sentiment was the subtext for half of their conversations, the other half no subtext required, for she was plainly and pointedly propositioning him. Instead of actually saying as much, however, Nick chastised, "hey, you can't talk about that in front of… them," and he nodded towards the three captive women.

"Oh my god, they're seriously a step below drooling in their cornflakes, Nick. It's fine."

"Well, they won't always be. Plus, do you really think insulting me is the best use of our time when Capra has us locked in here, the gas turned ..."

Only… they weren't locked in the sex… crime scene… any longer, and Adalind was ignoring him in favor of charging through the door she had just telekinetically opened and towards the Ziegevolk who obviously still had no idea who or what he was dealing with in the two of them, the gas now turned off, too. For a brief moment, Nick found himself frozen in the face of Adalind's powers. They were awe and fear inspiring. After all, if their unholy alliance didn't work out, how in the hell was he supposed to stop someone who could control others, possibly even control him, with just her mind? Mixed in with trepidation was also a healthy helping of gratitude, because, if it wasn't for Adalind and her refusal to listen to him - ever!, then they'd still be trapped with no means of escape or ways to help the three caged victims, and his suspect would assuredly get away. With all that said, though…. "Adalind, stop! You can't kill him!"

"I most certainly can!"

Seriously. If she would listen to him just once - do what he asked (told) and not argue with him about everything…. "I'm not doubting your abilities," he explained with a tired sigh. "I just… I don't recommend it."

Without losing her mental grip on Capra - an invisible hand held him up off of the ground, by the neck, and was very quickly choking the life out of Nick's suspect, Adalind turned around and smirked at him. "I think between the two of us, I'll trust my lifetime of Wesen instincts over your two weeks of experience. Thanks anyway." She went back to the Ziegevolk, redoubling her efforts. Capra could no longer wheeze and cough around her grip, and his eyes were starting to roll towards the back of his head.

"Wait," Nick called out. While Adalind didn't stop, she also didn't finish the Ziegevolk off either - a small victory. If he knew her at all, there was only one way that he'd be able to get through to the Hexenbiest. "It's already bad enough that his victims saw you, but, if we want to get out of this without the entire city of Portland knowing that you were here with me, then they can't see you kill him, Adalind." Capra was still dangling from the air, and he was clawing at his red and purple throat, but he was also breathing once again. "You need to leave the suspect to me, trust me to take care of this, and go - pack your stuff and get out of here. I already called for backup. Hank and a whole squadron of patrol officers and EMTs will be here any minute now."

The only response Nick received was the breaking of a bone. He gasped, rushed forward to stop her, though his efforts would have been too little, too late… if Adalind had snapped Capra's neck. Instead, she simply dropped him to the floor with enough force to fracture one of his legs, the Ziegevolk screaming out in both pain and a reassurance of life. Hands fisted on hips, Adalind whirled around to confront Nick. "I want the record to show that I didn't do this, didn't let that slime live, for you. Or for your Patty Hearsts over there." She nodded towards the three caged women, Nick's three witnesses. "As far as they're aware, I'm dressed all in white, I'm pale, and I have blonde hair. They'll probably say a guardian angel saved them."

"Well, they are drugged." Without deigning to acknowledge his dig, Adalind pivoted on her slippered heels and started to march out of the basement and up the stairs. "Besides, with you, it'd be more like the devil," Nick groused under his breath.

Apparently, however, he wasn't the only one with enhanced senses. "I heard that," Adalind yelled at him. "And the devil is still angelic, still divine; just fallen."

Why did it feel like she was describing not just herself but the both of them, together?

VIII.

The suspect had been arrested and was seeking medical attention for his broken leg - how Nick was going to explain that away, he wasn't sure… perhaps Capra fell down the stairs in his haste to escape?, the victims had all been coaxed from their cages and were also being seen to, and Hank was detailing all of the evidence the crime scene techs had discovered so far, but Nick was only half paying attention to his partner.

Okay, so half was being quite generous. It was more like… twenty percent if he was being honest. But what other option did he have? While he kept his gaze fully engaged on Hank, the rest of his senses, particularly his Grimm-enhanced hearing, were fully occupied by a meeting that would surely prove to be his undoing: apparently, after drinking away all of the money Nick had given him, Monroe decided it was a good idea to follow the sights and sounds of all the police and EMT sirens like a moth to a flame… only it would be Nick who would, no doubt, be burned. Because, while Hank talked on, apparently unrecognizing of Nick's distraction, Monroe approached a concealed yet still very much present Adalind, the two of them chit-chatting on the other side of the street behind some shrubbery like busybody spinsters.

"So, you're Nick's Hexenbiest, huh? Adalind."

"I'm not the Grimm's anything. Blutbad."

Nick could hear the note of derision in Adalind's voice from a dozen yards away, but Monroe didn't seem to mind the scorn. In fact, the Blutbad seemed to be amused by it.

"So, what's it like being engaged to Detective Burkhardt?"

"Ha! That would

never happen!"

"Eh, I don't know. I could see the two of you together."

"In the immortal words of Jane Austen's titular Emma, 'ugh, as if!'"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure Emma never said that."

"Fine. Cher Herowitz said it. Same thing."

"At least you make more sense with him than his current girlfriend."

"

Do not even get me started on that! A Grimm and a Kehrseite? I already read him the riot act about her, but do you think he would listen to me? Of course not! Like his trailer of torture and dusty tomes is worth more than my lifetime of Wesen knowledge, the egotistical, shortsighted, pompous ..."While he had no doubt that Adalind could go on for hours listing all of his many… virtues, Nick was dragged back to his more immediate surroundings by Hank, hands on hips and brow furrowed, observing him closely, asking, "are you even listening to me, man?"

"What? Yes. Of course," Nick denied and defended.

But Hank didn't seem convinced. "How did you get here so quickly, anyway?"

"Oh, I was out canvassing the neighborhood - asking around all the local bars, seeing if anyone ever remembered Capra acting strangely, doing or saying something suspicious while out with a woman. You know, the usual stuff." At least, for this, his planned cover story would still work. Adalind hadn't managed to screw that up as well. "When the anonymous tip about the recently broken window and the strange noises came in, I was just up the road."

"Right," Hank said slowly, hesitantly. Obviously, he wasn't completely buying Nick's story. "And all that yesterday about coming here to propose?"

Nick shrugged. "I don't know. I guess… the more I thought about it, the less I liked the idea and the more I just couldn't let go of Capra as a suspect. There was just something about the guy, you know?"

Hank nodded, apparently appeased, though he had been fooled by Capra the entire time, his human nature susceptible to the Ziegevolk's… charms. "Well, we'll have to wait for the test results from the hospital, but, dollars to donuts, I'd bet all three of those women are pregnant. You can't get any more solid proof than that against Capra."

"We're cops, Hank. I'm not sure if 'dollars to donuts' is the best ..."

The sound of shattering glass ripped the night air, interrupting Nick and immediately pulling both his and Hank's attention towards the caravan of ambulances. What they found was Capra's still and lifeless face protruding from one of the back doors' windows, blood from his severed carotid streaming down the side of the wagon to drop and then puddle on the street below. Hank reacted first, running towards their now dead suspect, while Nick lagged behind, his attention once more arrested by the two bystanders oh so casually discussing what they had just witnessed.

"Oh, Nick's not going to like that!"

"Too bad! It had to be done."

"Yeah, but, still …"

"No, no buts. That Ziegevolk had already convinced the EMT to uncuff him. Give him ten more minutes on the drive to the hospital, and she would have been over here collecting rare frogs for him. And he'd pull the same creepy crap with the lawyers, with the judge, with the jury, with the correctional officers… if his case even went that far which I highly doubt. He never would have served actual time, and he would have been back at it again, raping and impregnating women all over the country. You know it, I know it, and Nick would know it, too, if he would actually listen to Wesen who know better than him. He was right when he said I couldn't kill the Ziegevolk inside, because I couldn't be connected to the case, and I cannot be connected to him. But I'm right about this."

Although he would never admit it to Adalind, Nick admitted to himself that she wasn't wrong even before he wandered over just in time to hear the paramedic tell Hank that she didn't understand why Mr. Capra committed suicide. He had everything going for him, his whole future waiting for him - love, a family, personal and professional success. Despite this, he resented Adalind's actions anyway. He didn't like the fact that, because of his family's secrets, he was starting so far behind the curve when it came to this Grimm stuff. It was a hard and bitter pill to swallow to realize that he wasn't the star student, the star beat cop, the star detective any longer; Adalind was. Plus, on top of everything else, the paperwork on this particular case was going to be a bitch!

Slowly but surely, the crime scene started to thin out, the ambulances taking the victims to the hospital for further treatment, testing, and observation and the now deceased suspect to the morgue. Hank seemed to sense Nick's less than approachable mood and meandered over to discuss the latest developments with Wu instead, leaving him finally, blissfully alone… or as alone as one could be with a feisty Hexenbiest and cantankerous Blutbad bickering within Grimm ear shot.

For a moment, he contemplated approaching them so as to perhaps stymie their rapidly developing rapport. But, despite his fear as to what kind of trouble the two of them could get into together, especially if they ganged up on him, Nick decided against such a preventative gesture - not only because he might draw attention towards their presence but also because, if he was completely honest with himself, uncomfortable though it may be, a productive working relationship between his only two Wesen allies (if one could call Adalind and Monroe allies) could only prove useful to Nick… just as, apparently, eavesdropping was as well. (However, given their far superior knowledge of Grimms, they probably knew he could hear everything they said and were saying it anyway or even intentionally so he would listen to them.)

"So, I should, uh, probably get home."

"No one here is stopping you, Blutbad."

Though Adalind's words were hostile, it was obvious that some, if not all, of her vitriol towards Monroe was feigned. And Nick wasn't the only one to realize that.

"Before I go, though …"

"Yes, what is it now?"

Their voices started to fade slightly. Nick risked discovery and hazarded a glance in their direction, realizing that Adalind and Monroe had started walking off towards Capra's preferred bar and hunting grounds, towards where Monroe had parked his car. Briefly, he found himself wondering if Monroe would give Adalind a ride home and resenting the fact that, despite the near constant harassment they offered him, he wouldn't be leaving with them. It wasn't necessarily that he enjoyed their company - in the Hexenbiest's case, far from it, in fact; he just… he didn't feel like he belonged in his own life anymore, and the closest he came to that sense of acceptance and kinship was when he was arguing with Adalind or pestering Monroe into helping him with a case.

"Just… how ugly is it all going to get around here?"

"You mean where the fight for the Grimm is concerned?"

"Yeah."

"I'd say it'll be uglier than your sweater, and that thing is hideous."

"Hey!"

"In all seriousness, the word on the street is that there's a Reaper in town."

Monroe whistled, and then their voices faded into obscurity, the distance separating them from Nick evidently more than even his Grimm hearing could detect. But he'd heard enough. While Adalind's last revelation left Nick once more with more questions than answers, the name alone - a Reaper - told him Portland's latest tourist posed a threat. But he'd worry about that later. For now, he needed to get the hell away from the Bramble House, find some food, and grab some sleep before Wesen problems were the least of his concern, exhaustion doing him in before his, apparently, many enemies could.

As Nick waved off Hank's offer of a ride back to his vehicle - after all, to avoid detection, he and Adalind had taken cabs to the B&B, so there was no vehicle to return to… at least not anywhere near that particular neighborhood, Nick headed down the street with the intention of flagging a taxi as soon as he was out of sight. He'd have the cab drop him off back at the house. Though he'd seriously consider manslaughter in exchange for a shower, going inside would just wake Juliette and arouse her suspicion when he turned right back around and left again. Luckily, he'd taken some clothes out to the trailer, so he'd drive out there, do some research into Reapers, and catch a few hours of sleep before getting up in the morning, heading to the station, showering there, and then starting everything all over again.

He could have saved himself the time, effort, and aggravation by just calling Adalind and asking her about Reapers, though talking to Adalind was its own kind of aggravation, but Nick decided against requesting her help again so soon. It wasn't that he didn't trust her to tell him the truth. In fact, if he had learned nothing else about her during their little… excursion that evening, it was that she was unflinchingly, uncomfortably honest. Oh, she was still the same self-serving, narcissistic pain in his ass that she'd always been, but, even when she was scheming and plotting against him, Adalind was upfront about her actions. She might cage the truth in coquetry and sarcasm, but she knew exactly who she was and what she wanted, and damn anyone and anything that stood in her way… including Nick. It wasn't much, and he wasn't sure if he was any closer to prying the name of the person she worked for from her, but his faith in her veracity was at least a start.