Nick retched again. And this time he actually made it to the toilet. Monroe stared on. How could this guy throw up that much? Monroe hadn't seen someone upchuck this much since… since… well, he couldn't remember when. But that didn't matter. This kid was throwing up all the contents of his "black hole" stomach.

It was akin to watching a dancing water show in Vegas. Just when you thought he stopped, he was hobbling unsteadily to the trash can again. Monroe was at a loss for words. So he stood there, for the tenth time, silent.

"Nick, I'm going to get you something to drink." He took another look at the ashen pallor Nick's skin had taken on. "Try not to drown in your vomit, 'kay?" Nick waved a hand that Monroe took as a "yes".

Monroe was halfway down the stairs before he blinked. The bathroom smelled like a combination of hydrochloric acid and a protein-carbohydrate hot pot. Oh wait, that was what it was. He shook himself off as he rustled through the cabinets.

Nick was the worst at caring for his health. Juliet wasn't much better from the looks of it. He found six bags of chips and three gallons of ice cream. What were they going to do? Throw a party? Don't even get him started on the three different kinds of bacon he found. It was enough to tempt the strict "diet, drugs, and Pilates" guy into taking a bite. But, he held strong. Nick was the one in trouble.

Monroe managed to get some water into a cup and back upstairs. He held it up to Nick's mouth. The Grimm took a few tentative sips before all but snatching the cup out of Monroe's hands.

"Dude, slow down." Monroe pulled the cup back. "You're dehydrated. You have to take it slow or you'll be in for a hell of a different kind." When the Grimm calmed, Monroe passed him the cup.

Nick started drinking slowly. When Monroe was sure the man wouldn't disobey the order, he let go of the shoulder he didn't know he was gripping. Nick would have a few bruises in the morning.

The retching had finally subsided. Monroe was glad to note his original assumption was wrong. Nick hadn't passed out from intoxication yet so he didn't have alcohol poisoning. He just drank more than normal. For anyone.

Now, Monroe had the time to admire the restroom tile. Yes, it came to that. They were a lacy eggshell colored tiles partnered in a checkerboard with sky blues. There was the basic shower curtain and porcelain sink with silver fixings. Juliet must have found it pretty but to Monroe it all looked very nondescript. It looked like it came out of a cheap TV show. The kind where you saw the same restroom redecorated in all the TV shows that had a bathroom on that channel. But hey, who was he to judge? He fixed clocks not interior design.

"Hey, Monroe thanks." Nick's voice was a bit rough around the edges but it was the familiar one. Not the "I'm-a-cop-and-you're-a-suspect" voice, it was the "can-I-get-a-beer-while-we-watch-the-game?" voice. Nick was tired and after throwing up everything in his stomach, probably hungry.

"Let's get you something to eat." Nick shakily got to his feet and tossed one arm over Monroe's shoulder. Monroe inhaled the scent so distinctly marked in his mind as "Nick". It was the smell of after shave, coffee, dirt, Grimm, and, Monroe was quite proud, blutbad. So, this rubbing off thing wasn't only one sided.

They got to the kitchen and Monroe checked the refrigerator again. He was not feeding Nick any of those trans fats and high fructose corn syrups. The man was just tossing chunks. Monroe didn't want to see another round.

He spotted a smidgeon of green against the take out boxes crammed into the refrigerator. When he finally unearthed it, Monroe found a glorious head of lettuce. So they weren't a lost cause after all. Then he found a few tomatoes and the rocket in his head shot off.

He sliced lettuce and tomato while Nick sat in the dining room, head sprawled on the table. Then he proceeded to cook the three different types of bacon while pinching his nose. When Monroe finally finished the masterpiece, he set one in front of the Grimm.

Nick raised his head enough to see the sandwich in front of him and take a bite. Monroe smiled when the Grimm heeded his warning and ate it eagerly, but slowly. Monroe took a bite of his own BLT minus the B. Then, Monroe saw the time.

"Where's Juliet? It's almost five." Nick's head shot up so quickly Monroe was sure he heard a crack.

"Is there something you want to tell me?" he asked. Now, Nick was just being suspicious.

Nick did the scratching-the-back-of-the-neck-while-changing-the-subject routine. It was too obvious. Even a genre blind Reinigen like Roddy could see it.

"What happened?" Monroe waited for heart-wrenching, teen-angst worthy story to follow.

"We broke up." And that was it. And, it explained everything. Nonetheless, he gave Nick the look. The "dude-you-can-totally-tell-me-about-the-gruesome-crime-scene-because-I'm-a-blutbad-and-I've-seen-my-family-do-worse" look.

"Okay. She hated that I missed our anniversary. That I was never home. That I spent more time with Hank and you than with her." There was the angst.

Monroe put a reassuring hand on the Grimm's shoulder. He had been there. Well, not exactly there.

"Nick, whatever you need, whenever you need it, call me."

No words. The look on Nick's face was worth it.

"So, a Grimm and a Blutbad walk into a bar…"

936 = 312.

Thank you, everyone.

Thank you, Anna Lane, NiteQueen EmoCheerleaderChellie, and BADAZZtoldya for the reviews and reminders.

This was my first Grimm fiction and you have all been greatly supportive. I didn't ask, but you gave and kept on giving.

Thank you.

See you next fic.

~himitsutsubasa