A/N: I am so, so sorry for what you are about to read, lol. I sort of ran into a dilemma as far as the sex scene was concerned. I realize this fic is rated M (which it certainly deserves at this point), and that everyone has been waiting for the sex. I tried not to be too graphic ( has pretty clear standards on what is allowed/not allowed - unless you're me, then you're sort of just perpetually confused, lol); hopefully I haven't pushed it too far while at the same time providing what everyone has been waiting so patiently for. If anyone feels the sex is far too graphic and could possibly warrant it getting taken down, PLEASE TELL ME (I implore you). I can tone it down to make it coincide better with the rules. I tend not to write too many sex scenes because of my own preference, but at the same time I hope to make them a little different so it's not the same thing all of the time. Hopefully I've accomplished one of the goals I set out to meet, lol (actually… hopefully it's not too terrible/weird).

And apologies for the wait! I have oodles of excuses, but I'll spare everyone.

Please enjoy! (Hopefully the editing isn't totally messed up; to save on time I refused to let myself re-read through this ENTIRE thing one last time. After all of the issues/grammatical and spelling mistakes in the last few chapters alone, not to mention AFTER I specifically went through to fix them AGAIN, I see that it is worthless. There will perpetually be mistakes… D,: )

ABSOLUTION VIII: FIN FINALITY

Two weeks before…

Even if Nick refused to have anything to do with him, Monroe couldn't leave Nick in the situation he was in. It was his duty as a former friend to try to convince Nick he deserved better. He wasn't audacious enough to ever imply himself to be that someone, but Nick deserved a partner who didn't hurt him physically or emotionally at the very least. If Nick did see the validity of his point, Monroe would even offer to get rid of the belligerent, younger man for him (through violence if necessary). He'd be more than happy to. If he didn't, well… Monroe would still get rid of the bastard, just without Nick's input on the matter. Monroe decided it was probably best to break the ice between them over the phone (and that way, Nick couldn't shoot him if he felt so inclined and Monroe might not have to murder anyone). If Nick didn't answer, well…

Monroe picked up his phone and drew in a deep breath as he clicked on Nick's number. Part of him didn't really expect Nick to answer; he couldn't imagine how incredibly pissed the younger man still was at him, but he'd leave a message and beg for the detective to call him back, if only to say just the one thing. He might even enlist Rosalee's help in getting in contact with him. As far as he knew, Rosalee and Nick weren't on bad terms (they might not see much of each other as of late, but they didn't hate each other at least).

Under his ear, the phone rang and rang; Monroe was waiting for it to go to voicemail when a gruff, unexpected voice suddenly picked up on the other side and bit out, "Stop. Calling. He doesn't want to talk to you."

"Who is this?" Monroe growled back feeling a good deal of concern having expected to hear Nick's voice instead.

"He doesn't want to fucking talk to you, Hank!" the man on the other end of the line yelled.

"Hank?" Monroe immediately replied feeling genuinely confused. What the hell did Hank have to do with anything? Then everything became clear as Monroe recognized the voice. He berated himself for a moment; he should have realized who it was sooner since half the time he'd heard it, it was screaming. Hank must have been getting on Nick's case about the abuse.

"Who is this?" the man asked, his voice slurring just enough that Monroe could tell the man was pushing drunk. "Another one of Nick's boyfriends? Which one are you?"

"Monroe," Monroe ground out. "And may I ask who I'm speaking to? Are you the same stellar gentleman who keeps putting bruises all over Nick? 'Cause I'd be pleased as pie to have a word with that a-hole."

"It's not your fucking business what we do."

"It is my 'fucking business.' Keep your goddamned hands off of him, do you hear me?" Monroe threatened back. If he could, he'd strangle the man through the phone.

"He's not yours," the man replied. "He's mine. I can do whatever the hell I want to him, so back off."

"He's not your property," Monroe practically yelled."Even if you were married he wouldn't be your property. Nick doesn't belong to anyone. The way you treat Nick is despicable. He deserves a helluva lot better than some piece of crap like you."

There was a pause before the voice on the line laughed derisively. "Nick been telling you I'm tossing him around? Cause that's utter bullshit."

"I've seen the bruises," Monroe scoffed back. Suddenly feeling cocky, he jibbed, "And I've seen a heck of a lot more than just his bruises, if you know what I mean."

There was a muffled yell over the line before it went dead. Monroe shook his head as he slipped his phone back into his pocket. As he snagged his keys off of the coffee table and grabbed his jacket, all of his plans to woo Nick back peacefully were thrown out the window. Any thought to personal grooming would be a waste. It'd be ruined the moment he got there, because Monroe was out for blood. He knew Nick could certainly handle his own since he'd seen the two of them tussle a bit in the past, but Monroe was putting an end to this nonsense immediately. No more waiting. He was going to beat the man half to death right in front of Nick if he had to. He didn't care what Nick wanted at the moment; Nick had to be delusional if he was going to put up with someone like that. No one, absolutely no one talked about Nick like a piece of furniture. Nick could kick his ass and complain as much as he wanted to afterwards, but Monroe wasn't going to let anyone push the Grimm around, regardless if he had any real say in the matter.

Monroe debated on calling Hank. Monroe had seen what Nick's 'boyfriend' was capable of, but he doubted the need for backup. Besides, Monroe couldn't guarantee what might happen and he wasn't entirely sure he could count on Hank to help him dispose of the resulting body. He wasn't entirely keen on killing humans again, but there would always be an exception to his own long standing rule.

Knuckles gripping the wheel, Monroe sped as quickly as his little bug was capable of all the way to Nick's house. He was thankful for the lack of patrolling police officers, though it wouldn't have mattered. His VW maxed out at 85 mph on a good day. With every minute that passed, his rage grew. Every altercation he'd witnessed, every bruise, each one flashed through his mind in quick succession making his plans to utterly destroy the abusive dick all that more colorful in his brain. It'd been a long time since he'd felt a rage as encompassing as this one. Not since Molly, and that klaustreich hadn't walked away with all of its limbs still attached. As it was, he had an awfully large bone to pick with Dean, and then he'd use the man's bones to pick his teeth clean afterwards. The sound that slipped out of Monroe's throat at the thought sounded almost too evil for him, but he couldn't help but relish in his own devious imaginings. It'd been so long since he'd genuinely felt such a rush of rage that it was almost making him light-headed. If Monroe had more control over his own emotions, he'd stop and ask himself if this was truly how he wanted to handle it, but he could hardly feel his own hands; the blood pumping through his veins was so heated it felt like his flesh would burst and encompass the entire car in flames.

Tonight, he'd be the devil, come to drag Dean straight into hell.

Monroe didn't immediately detect anything suspicious as he made the drive down the familiar gravel road to Nick's house. He couldn't hear any screaming, or gunshots (both relatively good signs, though he'd never heard the latter). There were lights on in the house, but Monroe couldn't see any silhouettes moving back and forth in their usual arguing routine. Perhaps they'd already gone to bed. It was getting sort of late. Monroe hoped for relative peace; he wasn't any less angry, but he'd had some time to think and doubt the virtues of outright murder, but if it came down to it and the bastard was already dead, his head already served on a platter, he'd be more than happy to help Nick bury the rest of the body.

Monroe quickly parked his car and got out; as he did so, he saw the dark outline of a tall figure fighting to unlock the little Mazda in a frantic haste. He recognized it to be the other man as Nick wasn't quite that tall. Monroe quirked a brow as he observed him silently for a second. Maybe Nick had already put the bastard in his place. Monroe took a few steps forward and just as he was about to call out and challenge the man, he smelled blood. Nick's blood in particular. The strikingly familiar odor hit the back of his nostrils from several yards away causing a deep seated, boiling rage, even worse than the one he'd fought back in the car, to overtake him. His whole vision swan red for a moment, blinding him to his surroundings as his body blindly charged forward, the back of his neck prickling with thick, black hair as every muscle in his body burned. Human thought and moral recognition vanished instantly, leaving not a single eloquent motif in his head as he continued to sprint, gravel rough against the pads of his hands and feet. There was an animal anger controlling him, guiding him to kill the man in front of him.

At the sudden scrape of gravel, the man saw Monroe's charging, black form. After one quick glance, the man bolted into the field just beyond his car. For drunk, he ran surprisingly well; he managed a remarkable distance into the overgrown tumble of weeds before Monroe caught him by the arm with his teeth, throwing him hard onto the ground. Normally Monroe would enjoy the chase, would hang back a bit to give his prey a sense of hope, but this wasn't for fun. This was purely for revenge.

Monroe tore at the man, dragging him by the ankle along the hard dirt, his belly scraping against rock and thistle. When Monroe stepped back, his tongue flicking briefly over his blood-stained teeth for a taste, the man rolled away from him and kicked with frantic legs in the futile hope of deterring his own death. Really, his screams of terror only egged Monroe further on.

Monroe growled low in his throat, immediately silencing the quivering mass in front of him. The man's eyes grew wide with unspeakable horror as he stared up at a great beast unknown to any common man, as he truly beheld Monroe's massive black form poised over him for the first time. Distracted, Monroe lunged.

The air around them grew heated with the sounds of screams as Monroe's teeth clamped firmly around on one of the man's swinging legs, his head snapping instinctually to the side to tear away chunks of meat. The flesh resisted, but bones snapped and crumbled between his teeth like dried kindling. The subsequent ear piercing screams sounded like honey and silk in his ears, the blood just as sweet.

God, why had he ever stopped hunting humans, he wondered with glee as he continued to tug at mutilated flesh with his razor sharp teeth, each bite growing more and more delicious. They were such funny little creatures, especially the way they begged pitifully for their lives. Wesen tended to die with some dignity; humans were weak.

Monroe jumped back, his tail wagging excitedly as he dropped the mangled limb to the ground. He watched with amusement as the man tried to scramble away from him to escape, his fingers clawing frantically at dirt and grass. Monroe couldn't help but nip several times at bare toes, urging the man to crawl faster, delighting in the broken sobs spilling out of the man's throat. With another loud snap, Monroe darted forward and bit down on the other leg. Another loud, pitiful scream and the pungent stench of urine and shit filled the air around them. If Monroe could laugh in this form, he would. It was all too funny. He settled for a satisfied growl instead.

And if he could feel pity, he might because this was not a simple kill. If it was, Monroe would end it, rip the man's throat out and be done with it. He would have already ended it since the longer the kill lasted, the worse the meat would taste, spoiled rotten with fear. But this lump of flesh wasn't for dinner. No. Monroe couldn't remember quite why he was doing what he was doing; his brain was so far removed from his human conscious that it was impossible for him to know his own motives. But nothing and no manner of distance could separate him from the feeling of vengeance. And he would enjoy every last minute of it: the gibbering cries, the muffled screams as he dragged the scrambling body across the ground, skin and muscle stretching and tearing apart as the leg fracture separated. The blood in his mouth was like fine caramel ghosting over his tongue, a forbidden candy he hadn't tasted in years.

Monroe lapped at his sopping, wet muzzle after he dropped the limp, mangled leg to the ground. The man underneath him was wailing, screaming for help. Monroe thought he may have heard a crunch as he pounced hard onto the man's chest, his teeth tearing at the arm flailing in front of his face. He was about to snap at the dirty face under his when he stopped to take a moment to examine it. The man had ceased to put up much of a fight; he just lay there, motionless, seemingly accepting his fate.

It wasn't nearly as fun. It was boring. Monroe growled.

"P-please," the man simpered at the noise, "p-please don't kill me…!"

'Kill…'

'Kill…'

'Kill…'

The word kept echoing in Monroe's ears, bouncing around in his head like loose ends. He lowered his face until it was inches from the sniveling man's face, thick gobs of blood-mixed saliva dribbling down his jowls and onto the sobbing man's forehead. Monroe set his ears forward like the black bullhorns of a devil, his eyes glimmering crimson in the moonlight. His desire for more blood, organs, meat was so keen on his tongue, he could practically feel the ache in his belly to tear out this man's throat, taste the last screams to leave his dying body. Monroe's whole body trembled with the desire, a rush coursing through his veins like a shot of heroin.

But something held him back.

'Kill,' the word echoed again, but not as a command. As a warning. He could hear Nick's voice in the distance, on the cusp of his awakening conscience urging him to back down. Thoughts began to filter back into Monroe's mind at an alarming speed. Memories, motives, realization. Suddenly he remembered everything about the man under his two, thick paws. Who he was and why Monroe was killing him.

Monroe pulled his head back slowly, budding horror at what he'd done crossing his mind. There was no denying what this man had done to Nick, what he probably deserved, but he was human and somewhere he had family, someone who would come looking for his mangled corpse and trace him back to Nick somehow. Monroe could never let Nick, someone who had already suffered enough, be blamed for the death of someone who had tormented him so much already. And Monroe couldn't protect Nick in prison; he couldn't protect Nick from the wesen who wanted to kill him, from the Reapers, from any man who came along next and thought Nick no better than a chair to sit on or a dog to be kicked. Protecting Nick was stronger than any killing instinct inside of Monroe. It overruled every thought in his animalistic mind. Nick was the most human part of him, if the only human part of him left. He had to protect Nick, even if that meant letting this bastard live.

Monroe felt his body flickering as his humanity slowly began to return. His body wanted to woge, if even to a more humanlike state, but he held back. The more humanness that threatened to break free, the harder it was for him to maintain his full transformation and the sleek, fully fledged body of his ancestors.

Reluctantly, Monroe lifted one paw, then another as he stepped away from the man. He wasn't sure what to do. Maybe he'd call Hank and just flat out tell him what he'd done. After all, Hank had asked him to deal with the problem, just not how. Explaining the injuries would be interesting, but… nothing he couldn't worm his way out of.

Just as Monroe began to turn to head towards the house to check on Nick, he was suddenly struck across the muzzle hard with a fist. Was the man an idiot? His eyes flashed the color of blood as he pounced, his jaw clamping down on the juncture between throat and shoulder, teeth digging into bone as he tugged, one paw bearing down against ribs, the other gritted against dry, black soil.

There was a sudden pop as bone and cartilage separated, a gurgling sound followed by a last, shuddering breath. Monroe froze, his whole body going ice cold as everything went still. A feeling of déjà vu flooded his brain. He recognized this scene. It was from his dream. It'd somehow become real. He'd let it become real.

Oh, god, his mind pleaded with horror as he took in a single, ragged breath, his whole body trembling. He'd truly fucked up. He'd forgotten exactly how easy it was to kill humans; how fragile they truly were. Slowly his jaw slackened, the body slumping to the ground with a light thud. The blood, once sweet, soured in his mouth as he stared down at his handiwork. He couldn't… believe what he'd just done, how he'd lost control of himself in the last seconds. He hadn't meant to… He'd only meant to protect Nick.

But he'd enjoyed it! His brain couldn't forget, couldn't bury the pleasure he'd derived. It wasn't just whom his victim had been, but the process involved.

He liked killing humans.

Tail tucked between his legs and his head down, Monroe stepped far away from the lifeless body and began to pace. Oh, god, what would he do? He couldn't leave the body on Nick's property. It was the first place the police would go looking for him. The field would cover up a good deal of the struggle, but any decent forensics team would be able to uncover the blood with little difficulty. Hell, they may even notice the scuffled gravel from where the other man had taken off sprinting.

He was screwed. They were screwed. Oh, god, he'd fucked everything up in one impulsive move!

Distraught, Monroe slumped towards the house, his body easily reverting to its human form, his clothing hanging from his frame in tattered shreds. He hadn't noticed the fabric tearing at the time of his transformation. He wasn't surprised; with his inhuman strength, clothes were more like tissue paper than any real physical binding. It was hardly a moment for humor, but Monroe wondered if the man had noticed the ferocious wolf had worn clothing. Or would that have been an extraneous detail? Perhaps. Most certainly, he mused.

With reluctance, Monroe stumbled out of the field, the earth rough under his bare feet. His shoes had slipped off somewhere; he couldn't be bothered to care at the moment. Seemed to be another extraneous detail when he considered the gravity of the situation. The fact that he'd just murdered someone.

Slowly he approached the house, his trepidation bordering on fear. He couldn't forget the smell of Nick's blood on the other man; it'd been the thing to set him off in the first place. Part of him worried that Nick too could be dead. The front door was locked and when Nick failed to open the door after several loud, pounding knocks, Monroe rounded the house and slipped in through his usual entrance: the cellar door with the broken hinges. He shuffled through a narrow path between two towering stacks of boxes and made his way to the basement stairs, each step causing his fear to heighten.

Though fear chased him through the house, it also held him back. It hadn't taken much for Monroe to lose sight of himself and tear into human flesh after years of abstinence. What would he do when he found Nick and he wasn't dead, but merely injured, possibly bleeding out? He'd attacked out of vengeance the first time, killed out of animalistic enjoyment; was it possible for him to still hope to protect Nick when he was presented with such an easy kill?

To be honest, a large part of him didn't want to find Nick at all; he just wanted to leave and genuinely hope for the best, but he knew he had to at least check before he forced himself out of the house all together. Nick could seriously need help.

When Monroe opened the door to the upstairs, he cursed his heightened, Blutbaden senses. Even from the other side of the house he could smell Nick's blood seeping in through the cracks like a venomous gas. It was pungent and terrifying. When he finally reached the living room, it was hard not to fear the worst as he found blood everywhere. Smeared on the floor, on the furniture, on the fireplace mantle. He couldn't even begin to imagine what had transpired there. And far too much of the blood was Nick's. To Monroe's relief, at least he wasn't beset with a ravenous appetite for more; instead he was petrified at the very real prospect of finding another mutilated corpse strung up like a deer in the rafters.

Nose on overload, Monroe searched frantically through the house for the smaller man. A moment later he found Nick in the bathroom, curled up under a towel in a shivering mess on the freezing tile. There was a moment of shock and hesitation as he took in the sight and the extent of the Grimm's injuries. He was… honestly surprised. He'd feared it certainly, but honestly he hadn't believed it quite possible. He'd seen Nick roughed up before, but Nick was strong and seasoned, had taken on wesen even Monroe was hesitant to face. But still, how could Monroe have let this happen?

Monroe stooped quickly to check for a pulse, to see if Nick was still breathing. At the tentative touch of Monroe's hand, Nick shrunk away reflexively. Monroe felt his shoulders relax just the slightest amount and a small smile spread across his lips. Nick was very much alive. He looked worse for wear, but he was still at least partially aware of his surroundings on a subconscious level; certainly a good sign. From a quick preliminary examination, Monroe couldn't find too many open wounds, another good sign, though he did worry about internal bleeding. The blood flowing from the gash on his forehead had stopped almost entirely, but it was wide enough that it would probably need stitches.

"Nick, Nick, hey," Monroe murmured as he stroked a thumb against Nick's cheek, the detective's head cradled in his hands. Nick's eyes fluttered before going still. "Nick? Come on, man, I need you to look at me," he said a bit louder. Nick's eyes fluttered again before they opened and looked up at him in bleary confusion.

"Hey there, sunshine. Look at you. You're a mess," Monroe choked out softly. "But I'm going to take care of you, alright? He's not going to hurt you anymore, okay?"

"Where've you been, asshole?" Nick mumbled, his words slurred as though through a drunken filter. It was more teasing than angry. Monroe choked on his laugh, a flood of guilt building in his chest.

"Sorry, I was late."

The edges of Nick's lips perked into a small smile before his body went slack once more with unconsciousness. Hands trembling, Monroe set Nick's head back down on the floor, resting it on the bath rug.

He stood quickly and frantically searched for a clean towel. Finding one under the sink, he immediately cranked the faucet on high. As he was dunking the edge under the flow of warm water, he happened to glance up at the mirror and spy his own reflection. It was a face he hadn't seen in a long time. His hair was more wild than usual and his irises still glowed red. It made the matching dark smears across his mouth and down the sides of his neck to the collar of his t-shirt more prominent. There were even flecks of blood in his beard. If someone saw him then, there wouldn't be a doubt in their mind. They'd know he was a killer.

Monroe splashed water onto his face and scrubbed frantically at his skin with the edge of the towel and with the bite of his fingernails, everything in him wishing to erase the night from his face. It remained even as the flush of pink water escaped down the drain. Letting out a tired breath, knowing there was little he could do, Monroe dunked the towel under the stream of hot water again, rising it clean, before turning to care for Nick, his eyes not meeting his own again.

He did his best to clean Nick's wounds before he applied an antiseptic he found under the sink. He found a self-suturing kit beside it as well and with shaking hands did his best to stitch the wound on Nick's forehead closed. He'd had experience in the past fixing up members of his family, but it'd been so long and the last person he'd hoped to demonstrate his skills on was the Grimm. He'd sort of always hoped it wouldn't come to this point, but here they were. His stitching job was sloppy at best, but it'd do until Monroe could get Nick to the hospital. Thankfully the smaller man remained unconscious for the most part, his eyelids fluttering occasionally and his head attempting to pull away from the needle at times. Monroe hated to see Nick in pain, but at least the guy was a fighter. Monroe was thankful for the well stocked medicine cabinet and the abundance of gauze and ointment (though he preferred his own to the human-made stuff). Monroe honestly hoped it was because Nick was a cop and a Grimm, not because of previous incidences just like this one. Taking the newly patched up Grimm in his arms, Monroe carried the smaller man's bruised and battered body up the stairs to bed.

"I'm so sorry, Nick," he murmured, his voice choked with emotion and remorse as images of what had probably happened before he'd arrived flashed through his mind. "I love you… God, I love you so much… I should have been here earlier… Hell, I should have killed him sooner," he laughed, the situation bittersweet as the guilt for his crime slid off of his shoulders.

Nick shifted in his arms, murmuring, "Monroe..?" just under his breath.

Monroe jumped at the sudden use of his name. He smiled down at the Grimm. Nick definitely recognized it was him.

"I'm here now," Monroe replied as he nuzzled his nose gently into the smaller man's hair. "I'm going to take care of you. I took care of that bastard. You're safe now."

He laid Nick out on the bed covers and, with a decent amount of shame, found a clean pair of sweatpants and underwear before stripping Nick down bare. He only felt sadness when he looked down at the detective's nude body. He seemed so much smaller than he used to. So fragile. It wasn't the Nick he'd met a year ago…

His heart aching, he dressed Nick with delicate hands before folding him into the covers, his hand stroking lovingly over the blanket cloaking his chest. Monroe found himself hesitating as he stared down at the Grimm. What next, he wondered uneasily. He had yet to feel any desire to rip out Nick's throat and take a taste, but he couldn't help but still fear an unexpected change of heart. He couldn't trust himself to be around the other man in such a weak state. Nick didn't smell as strongly of blood now that he was clean and changed, but Monroe still worried for good reason. But the longer he watched Nick shiver under the covers, the quicker his resolve crumbled. He knew he couldn't leave Nick the way he was. Even though he was definitely beyond awareness of what had happened, he was probably still fighting off shock. Without another moment of hesitation, Monroe flipped back the covers and crawled in beside Nick, shuffling the smaller man onto his uninjured side and pulling his hips back against his own. He pressed his chin into Nick's neck and held him lightly in his arms, willing his own heat to pass into Nick's frigid body.

It seemed to last for a long time, but eventually Nick's body stopped trembling as violently against the cold and relaxed, all of the tension melting out of him as he slumped back into Monroe's chest. When Monroe felt his eyelids grow heavy, the heat under the blankets feverous, Monroe knew it was time to leave. He couldn't stand his guilt any longer. It wasn't so much the feelings he'd felt towards Dean, but feelings of guilt for the suffering he'd put Nick through (inadvertently) and the suffering he still could evoke if given the chance.

Monroe bundled Nick up in the blankets tightly before he left him to his own devices, crossing to the other side of the house to the room he'd secretly been using for the past two weeks. Monroe would check on Nick later, of course, but first he had to ground himself and then deal with a few things. Dean's body, to be specific.

The room wasn't terrible, but it was certainly dated. The walls were covered in peeling, flowered wallpaper, the base molding a yellowing white and the furniture dusty. Though the room lacked a proper bed, behind more towering boxes of books and other useless junk was a beat-up, fraying chaise lounge. It was really too short for him and his legs (when not folded under his butt) tended to hang off of the edge, but he found it was far better than sleeping on the floor. The reason he'd initially chosen this room in particular instead of a different one with a bed was because of the location. It was the farthest (useable) room located from Nick's bedroom and had seemed at the time the safest place for Monroe to hide. It took only a few days for Monroe to discover that he wouldn't be caught though; it was in the older part of the house, the part Nick (and his now deceased lover) never ventured into. Most likely because even though the occupied portion of the house was cluttered, it couldn't possibly hold a candle to this side of the house. Monroe had even discovered some structural damage from the massive hoard bearing down on the floors from one of his numerous clandestine explorations.

Monroe let himself fall back onto the plush chaise, his knees curled over the edge and his feet flat on the floor as he stared listlessly up at the ceiling, praying for an answer to his problems to come. Praying for it all to just be a dream. He wasn't sure how long he lay there, but between 3:00 and 4:00 AM, he rose to his feet and went to Nick's bedroom one more time. After he was positive Nick was still breathing and doing relatively well, he bundled him up extra tight before making the solitary trek down the stairs and out to the field to finish what he'd started. Several thoughts ran through his mind, but first he had to get the body far away from Nick's house.

He was honestly surprised his brain was functioning at all and that he'd remembered to grab a pair of latex gloves from the first aid kit as he bent to take hold the wretched, stinking body. He slung the lifeless lump over his shoulder before shuffling back out of the grass and towards his own car. He was halfway there when something shiny caught his eye. He dropped the body to the ground unceremoniously before approaching for a better look.

It was the dead man's wallet and keys. He flicked the wallet open once and stared down at the man's license.

Deon. Guess I've been calling you by the wrong name, he thought with misplaced amusement as he stuffed the wallet and keys into his pocket. He returned to the body, stooping quickly to take hold of it, he threw it over his shoulder once more. It was pointless to try and prevent even more blood from saturating his clothes. He'd have to burn them later, which was too bad because he was actually quite fond of the flannel.

With more care than he probably deserved, Monroe lifted the dead man into the passenger's seat of his car, the body slumping over against the door like an intoxicated friend when he closed it again. It was rather pathetic looking. Unless someone spotted the blood on his clothes, anyone passing by would assume just that. But it was dark; who would notice?

For a long time, Monroe just drove, unsure of what to do or how to proceed. Should he dig a grave? Or just toss him in the river? Should he… burn him? He'd have to deal with the man's car too eventually, but it could wait until the next night. He had at least 48 hours, if not more before someone would report him missing. Nick certainly wouldn't. In the past, Monroe had had a pack to call upon. People he could depend on to help him conceal and get rid of bodies without hesitation. But now it was up to him to deal with it. Hell, Nick probably would have been a great partner to have in this, but right now Nick was likely a hair's breadth away from a coma because of this stupid, rotting corpse next to him.

Suddenly filled with a flush of anger, Monroe slowed to stop under a highway overpass as he gripped the steering wheel tightly in his hands, his mind racing. Traffic was nonexistent at the moment. He couldn't see any traffic cameras. He didn't smell any vagrants. So he just leaned over the dead body, opened the door and pushed. The man sort of just slumped onto the side of the road with a hollow thud. Immediately shame filled Monroe's heart. He loathed the man, would kill him all over again if there were no consequences, but it was such an undignified, sacrilegious thing to do to a body. Even when he'd hunted, he'd had the decency to dig graves and give a somewhat decent burial to his victims.

So Monroe got out and dragged the body onto the sidewalk before he got back into his car and sped away before anyone happened to come around the bend and see him.

After he'd driven for a few miles, he regretted it. How stupid was he? Anyone could find the body now! Jesus Christ! Was he incapable of forethought? But there was nothing he could do about it now. He couldn't go back; he could only keep going forward. So he drove. And drove. He drove south for a long time before he began heading back west and north towards Portland, towards home. Since he was paranoid anyone might see him, he parked down the street in front of an empty lot and braved the tangle of blackberry bushes and overgrown weeds until he could get behind his own yard and jump the fence. He didn't sense anyone out and about, though it was a quarter to 5:00 AM so who would he likely see? Even the earliest risers of his neighbors didn't normally venture out until 6 o'clock.

After Monroe was showered and changed he went through the whole process of sneaking out again before he was back on the road to Nick's. Without thinking, Monroe found himself parking in his usual spot behind the barn. He thought of Deon's car again still parked in the driveway. He'd have to get rid of it somehow. Drive it into the river or pawn it off to some wesen junk yard worker who knew a thing or two about making that sort of thing disappear for a price.

Even if it cost him a small fortune, he'd make sure he kept their asses out of prison.

For the rest of the night, Monroe stayed with Nick, curled up beside the injured man under the blankets making sure he was kept very warm and woke him every hour or so to make sure he hadn't slipped into a coma or anything worse. It was probably ridiculous and overkill since Nick woke every time, but just seeing Nick's eyes peering up at him vaguely made it seem like things had a chance of working out. Each time Monroe would gently stir him awake, a hand combing through the hair above his ear and a rather loud, "Nick," to get him started. Nick would open his beautiful silver eyes and stare up at him for awhile, as though regarding him fondly, before blinking several times and going back to sleep. Monroe knew he should consider taking Nick to the hospital or even to Rosalee, but he was terrified of leaving the house and somehow getting caught for murder before he knew Nick was entirely in the clear. In the morning, they'd set out. Until then he'd have to rely on his own nurturing instincts to care for Nick.

Around 11:00 AM, Monroe decided to head downstairs for awhile. Nick was showing signs of waking soon and seemed to be doing relatively fine given the situation. Monroe had already replaced Nick's bandages with fresh ones and had applied more ointment so the Grimm should be set for the time being. Monroe would contact Rosalee in a bit to see what sort of medicine Nick should take to help him heal and deal with the pain. The poor detective's face was a mess of bruises; his pale skin a mesh of dark purples and blues. The swelling had encompassed much of the right side of his face causing his features to look distorted and out of proportion. Monroe really should drag him to the hospital…

Just as Monroe was turning off the faucet in the downstairs bathroom and contemplating what to cook Nick for breakfast, he heard some movement above his head. Nick was awake. But instead of searching the other man out and greeting him right away as he should, Monroe hesitated and kept just out of sight as the other man slowly made his way down to the second floor. Monroe watched in silence as Nick hunted around the house for a bit, but by the way he searched - his eyes kept low, Monroe knew he wasn't looking for him. He stalked quietly after Nick as the younger man headed into the kitchen and watched, his head stuck just around the doorframe, as Nick stopped dead in the middle of the room, his eyes trained on the floor.

Ah, Monroe thought with reserve as his own eyes followed suit. So that's what Nick had been searching for. Then it struck him. He felt his stomach drop through the floor underneath him as he took in the sight of the scattered pieces of Nick's phone. He dragged a hand over his jaw, realization rooting him to the spot as he remembered the call he'd made the night before.

Oh, Jesus.

Nick scooped the pieces into his hand and unceremoniously tossed them into a Ziplock bag, leaving it there on the counter before wandering into the living room and throwing himself onto the couch. He'd yet to call out for Monroe, and that gave the blutbad pause. He… knew Monroe was there, right? The longer Monroe watched, the more he realized with unease that Nick didn't remember him being there at all from the night before. He listened as Nick made several calls on a different phone (a spare? Deon's?); he listened as Nick called in sick, lied to Hank, and then eventually called Rosalee. Even then, Nick wasn't forthright. He made up some vague story about getting jumped, not quite saying a wesen did it, but not not implying it at the same time. Monroe wanted to growl, but he couldn't bring himself to announce his presence either. Not after…

He knew with a sinking heart that none of this would have happened if he'd only kept his mouth shut. At least it wouldn't have happened this way. Nick would be fine. And happy. Deon would be alive still. Everything would be better if Monroe hadn't said a word.

When he heard the front door slam and watched Nick leave from out the window of his borrowed bedroom, Monroe let out a relieved sigh. He sunk onto the chaise lounge and let his head drop into his hands. What was he going to do? What could possibly be done?

When he opened his eyes again, it was dark and in the distance he could hear the murmur of the television in the living room. He hadn't expected to pass out and sleep for as long as he had, and when he checked his wristwatch, he saw that it was almost 10:00 PM. He'd missed his opportunity to slip out of the house undetected. He hadn't realized he was quite as exhausted as he was; the full transformation had really taken a lot out of him. Not to mention the other thing…

He rolled over on the chaise lounge, his back protesting with the sudden movement and his joints sore. He'd give anything for a real bed. Anything to cuddle up to Nick again…

In the morning when Nick left for work, he'd escape.

Nick wasn't going to work. He wasn't leaving the house, period. The younger man spent almost all of his time camped out in the living room on the couch watching television. Monroe didn't blame him; the poor kid had taken a helluva beating and deserved a period of rest. Unfortunately, Monroe was getting really hungry and being cooped up in pretty much one room all day, day after day, was getting pretty tiring. Sometimes he wandered and poked through dusty boxes, but when he'd almost been caught by Nick and had to spend an hour cramped inside the linen closet in an extremely awkward position, he relegated himself back to the safety of his own room.

Monroe knew he should just come out with it and tell Nick he was in the house, or just let himself get caught, but the longer he stayed there, the harder it became to find an appropriate way of saying it or letting Nick know he was there. He realized it wasn't necessarily required of him to divulge exactly how long he'd been sneaking into the house; he could honestly keep mum about how many times he'd wandered through uninvited, poked through things and how many times he'd intentionally spooked Nick's (former) boyfriend. All he really had to tell Nick was that he'd been there since the fight…

…and that he'd somehow murdered the man and had ditched him off the side of the freeway too. Oh, and that he'd pretty much caused the whole fight to begin with that nearly ended up in Nick's death. Yeah, that was probably an important thing to mention (even if it didn't somehow just come up in conversation on its own).

He'd yet to see hide or hair of the police on the premises, which was a good thing, but eventually some conclusions had to be drawn. The sooner Nick knew what had really happened, the sooner they could figure out how to avoid prison (for hopefully both their sakes).

And besides, it was complete torture to hear Nick cry by himself and not be able to comfort him.

Knowing and doing were still two completely separate things. He knew he should do it, but he couldn't bring himself to get too close to Nick. He still didn't quite trust himself to be near Nick. He'd killed that other man so easily; what if Nick wanted to send him away for the murder? Monroe didn't want to go to prison. He certainly didn't want Nick to, but he'd fight his way out of the country to avoid it if at all possible. What if he just… lost control of himself again and Nick wound up dead too? After everything?

Nick still smelled like blood, antiseptic and sick. Not an ideal dinner, but weak and vulnerable. A kill purely for fun.

Monroe awoke early the next morning to the sound of Nick's car starting and driving away. He wasn't sure how long Nick would be gone, if he was actually in fact going to work or just out for a bit, but nonetheless, Monroe hurried out of the house and on his way home to stuff his face, shower and change his clothes, and take care of the 'Ben Situation.' All week, almost nonstop, Ben had sent him text after text, call after call wondering where he was and when he was coming by again. If Monroe didn't know Ben better, he'd think the kid lonely, but he was just horny, something that ranked remarkably low on Monroe's list of things to worry about. And after one of Ben's calls almost resulted in him getting caught by Nick, he'd ended up turning his phone off for the most part, which only made Ben's curiosity grow.

"There you are," Ben practically yelled when he opened the door and stared up at Monroe's tired form. "What the hell? I've been texting, calling… I even went by your house." Which was a huge step for someone like Ben who was normally above house calls. "Please tell me you at least spent the week entwined with Nick on a down feather bed, sucking chocolate off each other's - "

"Not quite," Monroe interrupted before Ben could get too graphic. He pushed past Ben and stood awkwardly in the foyer, his eyes darting around the downstairs.

Ben seemed to read his thoughts and said as he shut the door, "She's not here. But seriously, Monroe, you're back together with him now, right?"

"Uh… not quite," Monroe answered softly.

Ben's face sobered, his expression reflecting the one Monroe wore. "Then what happened? You've been gone for so long…" he asked softly.

Monroe hummed and hawed as he considered how much to tell Ben about what had happened. What he could tell him without incriminating himself too badly. Hell, he was already screwed.

"I had a talk with Nick's boyfriend. Safe to say he won't be giving Nick anymore trouble."

"Well, good for you," Ben congratulated, but his expression didn't change. "But why exactly aren't you two running off and eloping now that the big, bad wolf is out of the picture?"

Monroe would laugh if things weren't so serious. "Nick doesn't know I had anything to do with it."

"So he just up and left?"

"More or less."

"Why don't you just tell him?"

"Because… Nick wasn't too happy about it. He's been crying a lot over it."

"Please tell me you're not still camped out inside his house without him even knowing it." At Monroe's guilty look, Ben shouted, "Jesus Christ, Monroe! That's… actually sick. I think you need help. And I'm not just being facetious and I'm seriously not joking. I'm genuinely concerned about you." And from the look on the younger man's face, Monroe could tell he was.

"You can't keep breaking into his house like that. It's illegal. I know I egged you into it in the first place, even got you to go back a second time-" Which was true. "-but I didn't imagine you'd continue to do it without getting back together with him as the end result."

Monroe felt even more ashamed now that his biggest supporter thought he needed serious mental help. Hell, he probably did. He'd murdered a man in cold blood (well, he'd probably feel a bit better if that's all it'd been - if he hadn't enjoyed it). Ben was right. He needed to get out of there sooner rather than later, as soon as he knew Nick was in the clear.

"I'm not sure I'm going to go back," Monroe confessed. "I want to make sure Nick's okay, but you're right. It's gotta stop."

Ben smiled sadly. "It's never too late, you know? You can still tell him. You can still have your fairy tale ending. It doesn't have to end here because Nick's broken up over some abusive douchebag."

If only Ben knew the half of it, he wouldn't be saying that. He'd probably be calling the cops. Not to mention it was Monroe's fault, more or less, that Nick was beaten as badly as he was in the first place. Sort of put a damper on the whole 'romantic' side of things.

"I'm gonna go," Monroe muttered as he started to back towards the door. Ben nearly fell out of his chair as he lunged to grab hold of his arm. Maybe he sensed the finality of everything between them as well.

"You just got here. Stay a bit. Have lunch. We could watch TV for awhile…"

There was a hint of desperation. Disgustingly, it made Monroe feel better to have been missed even just a little bit. But he wasn't sure it was such a good idea to expose himself to Ben. Ben was vulnerable. Another easy kill. He couldn't even run if he wanted to.

"Where is your grandmother?" Monroe asked pointedly.

"She won't be back for several hours. Bingo." Ben's eyes looked pained when he practically begged, "Please stay?"

Monroe couldn't help himself, and Ben knew it; the moment the younger man gave him that look, he was all over him, carrying him off to the downstairs bedroom. The touches seemed softer, sadder. So final. The subsequent lovemaking was even slower and gentler than usual, causing Ben to murmur with painful clarity, "This is a goodbye fuck, isn't it?"

Monroe stared into the blonde's eyes. "Yeah. I'm sorry."

"Nah, it's fine. Let's make it count then."

Afterwards, when Monroe went to move from the bed, Ben stopped him. Monroe looked down at the man cuddled up by his side.

"Can we just… stay like this for awhile?"

"Yeah, that would be nice," Monroe replied as he settled back into the mattress. He felt Ben's grip on him tighten, his own throat constricting slightly with the degree of emotion the younger man was showing.

It was clear to him then that Ben had cared for him all along. It was too bad it was too late.

"We can still be friends though, right?" Ben asked as Monroe started out the front door an hour later. The blutbad turned back to look at him. He was surprised how small the other man seemed there, and how lonesome.

"Of course."

It was a lie, and Ben seemed to realize it as his lips drew into a firm, solid line. He nodded his head once before he closed the door; the resounding echo of the latch catching sent Monroe down the steps in a flurry. Even from the bottom of the steps and through the heavy oak door he could still hear Ben cry. It was difficult for him to keep walking, to not go back, but Monroe knew the younger man would be safer the farther away he was. And he would be fine. He was starting school in a couple of months. He'd find plenty of people his own age who were more suitable than he ever could be.

You don't need me anyway.

With purpose, Monroe drove to Nick's house. It would be the last time. He was later getting back than he'd planned on, almost midnight. He'd spent most of the night at home, staring absently at the TV as he tried to formulate some sort of speech he could give to the detective that would make his actions seem somewhat forgivable. He hadn't come up with much. Normally he'd assume it'd be too late to confront Nick - in which it really was - but Nick rarely went to bed before 1:00 AM so there was a good chance he was still awake.

Monroe approached the door with trepidation; what could he expect from Nick? Then again, he didn't have to be honest. There was no reason he had to admit to how long he'd been staying inside of the house without the other's knowledge. He could just… fudge that part.

He raised his hand and knocked. The house was dead quiet in response. He knocked again. Again nothing. Nick was home, he saw his vehicle in the driveway. Perhaps he really was asleep…

Just to be sure, Monroe crept around the house towards the cellar door. The light emanating from the studio caught his eye though.

When Monroe peered through the window, he nearly lost his footing. There on the cold cement floor stripped down to only his boxers lay Nick, covered head to toe in blood. Monroe's heart stopped as he stared, horrified. Most of the blood seemed to stem from Nick's arms; at his side lay a blood soaked palette knife. What had he done…? Nick couldn't have been this distraught over…

Monroe lunged for the unlocked backdoor; he crossed the room in seconds and stooped to touch Nick with trembling hands. He grabbed for one of Nick's arms to examine the wounds, to see if there was any way to stop the bleeding.

When he over turned the arm, he was stunned by the lack of a gaping wound.

Then the pungent odor of acrylic paint hit him. It wasn't blood, but… paint? Dark, crimson paint? Seriously?

Monroe sat back on his heels and almost keeled with laughter. He couldn't believe he'd panicked like that. If it'd truly been blood, he would have been able to smell it long before then. Monroe wiped a tear from his eye as he stared fondly down at the passed out detective. Honestly, nothing really explained why Nick was sleeping on the floor, but at least it was out of sheer exhaustion and not a suicide attempt or a murder.

Monroe grabbed up a dingy towel from the stool set beside the red smeared canvas Nick had obviously been working on and tried his best to wipe off the paint from the detective's skin. When it stubbornly refused to be smeared away, Monroe gave up and ditched the towel before rolling Nick onto his back and scooping him up into his arms like a limp child. The Grimm murmured something once as he adjusted his head on the blutbad's shoulder before settling once more.

"You ass. You nearly gave me a heart attack," Monroe complained affectionately as he carried Nick towards the stairs. "Next time, paint with blue or some other non-blood related color. I'm too old for these sort of surprises."

Nick obviously didn't comment, already dead to the world outside of his dreams.

After Monroe tucked Nick into bed - he hoped the paint wouldn't somehow stain the sheets - Monroe returned to the studio to truly examine what Nick had been painting.

It was another abstract; this one was a mess of red on yellow and white. There was a touch of black in one corner. Monroe wondered what it meant. Like all of Nick's other paintings, it was rather nice to look at. But he honestly hoped the red didn't symbolize blood, though he had a feeling (a pit feeling) that it had something to do with the whole situation concerning Deon.

Monroe had planned on ending his illegal squatting in the house, but Nick's behavior took a turn for the downright weird and he found himself justifying his continued stay.

Nick needed him.

Within a relatively sort amount of time, the younger man had developed this strange habit of falling asleep in weird places. Once on the stairs, once in the overly crowded upstairs office, and once just outside of his bedroom door like he'd been meaning to go to bed, but had never quite made it all the way inside. For the most part, Nick tended to fall asleep in his studio after spending several hours painting (or in his recent fashion, angrily throwing paint at the canvas). Just about every night Monroe would find the young detective slumped onto the freezing cement, out cold. Monroe would then scoop Nick up into his arms and take him to bed, extra careful of the Grimm's various healing injuries, and would spend the next hour or so sitting at the end of the bed watching over him just to make sure he was okay.

After nearly a week of this, the sheets of Nick's bed were an interesting pattern of colors. He loved Nick, but god was the kid slow. For a detective, he didn't seem quite able to connect A and B together. A being: Nick falling asleep in weird places that weren't his bed, and B, finding himself in bed in the morning. Maybe he thought he sleepwalked…?

Monroe still felt he should come clean, but things were getting progressively worse. Nick was growing more and more careless about his own safety. By the second week, he no longer remembered to lock doors or windows, sometimes he even left the back one to his studio open for any strange sort of creature to come wandering in. There was no way Monroe could leave him alone this way. Anything could attack him. And falling asleep wherever he pleased without care? Nick would get himself killed out of sheer negligence the moment Monroe stepped away and left him to his own devices.

The problem had grown so troubling to Monroe that he'd secretly moved in full time. Nick never ventured into the older part of the house so he was pretty safe to wander even during the day when Nick was home. He kept for himself a dresser stocked full of his clothing; he'd re-plugged in the refrigerator in the unused kitchen and kept it stocked with food and even a few luxuries like his favorite German beers. He'd even cleaned out one of the extra rooms when Nick was at work and converted it into a usable bedroom, complete with his own (decently functioning and clean) bathroom. It still wasn't ideal since he couldn't outright speak to Nick, but it was a start. The only time Monroe got to see Nick up close was those few moments it took for the blutbad to locate the Grimm and take him upstairs to bed.

It wasn't nearly enough, but beggars couldn't be choosers, he supposed.

It'd honestly gotten to the point where Monroe considered calling Hank and having the older detective do something about it. Nick needed serious, psychiatric help to deal with everything that had happened. Obviously something deep inside of him had broken or gone terribly awry. The sleeping problem was such a common occurrence Monroe thought about keeping track (if only to convince Hank of the severity of the situation).

One night though, after nearly two weeks of silence, something changed. Something happened that drove all thoughts of contacting the older detective far from his mind. It was ridiculously stupid of him, but when Nick murmured, "Don't leave… I miss you," Monroe was so overcome with sentimentality he found himself crawling into bed beside the younger man for the first time since he'd found Nick in a bloodied mess. He knew in his heart Nick was calling out for Deon - he wasn't calling out for him - but he'd take what he could get. It was only a matter of time before he'd forget Nick's face. His voice. Everything about him when he finally left.

He spent the night watching Nick and the shadows as they slipped and faded across his skin. When the morning came, he was hidden away once again.

The next day, Nick was naked. It was his day off, and after his shower, Nick just paraded around the house in the nude, never bothering to change into proper clothing or put on a towel. It wasn't entirely unexpected, he'd spent most of the week before in varying degrees of undress, it was just a bit distracting. Nick spent a good deal of the day in the living room, even dozed off at one point and lay completely vulnerable on the couch. Monroe couldn't help the voyeuristic part of him that watched for moments at a time before forcing himself to leave. He hated himself a little more each time.

But at times it felt almost deliberate, but it was impossible. Nick couldn't know he was there. If he'd known, wouldn't he have said something by then? He'd never seen Nick skulking around the house looking for clues and as far as he knew, Nick had never found his car tucked behind the barn. He hardly ever went outside and rarely ventured around his own property. It helped that Monroe was extra careful and only came and went when the detective was away at work. As far as he could tell, his secret was still safe.

But… was Nick connecting the dots…? But no… It couldn't be possible because Nick should hate him. Should be hunting him down and putting a bullet through his skull. By now Nick had to know Deon was dead, and from the damning injuries, there was only one person it could be.

Nick's sleeping habits hadn't changed much, though he seemed to be finding his own way to bed more often, but that didn't change Monroe from developing a bad habit of his own. It would be one thing if Monroe only stooped so low as to crawl into bed with Nick the once, but it was another thing entirely when it became a nightly occurrence. Every night when Monroe either, a.) took Nick up to bed himself, or b.) Nick was dead asleep, Monroe would gently ease himself into bed beside the younger man and curl up against his back, his chin resting protectively in the curve of the other's shoulder, a loose hand thrown over his hip. Monroe tried to never fall asleep himself so as not to be caught, but just incase he started setting an alarm an hour and a half before Nick's own alarm went off. The tone he set was out of the range of human hearing, so Nick couldn't possibly be woken by it. So far it was a pretty good system with no failures thus far. For a cop (and a Grimm), Nick was a pretty heavy sleeper, but it gave Monroe a few precious hours with the other man, even if some of them were spent sleeping.

He wondered what the Grimm would think of him if he knew.

It was such a dangerous thing for Monroe to do when the other man was completely defenseless. Monroe could do anything. He was less worried about perversion compared to something more heinous like mauling, but it was disgusting. It was a violation of Nick for him to cuddle up behind him, spoon him in his sleep when Nick subconsciously believed it to be someone else.

Nick was his crack. His addiction. But he had to cut himself off eventually.

Alarm set, Monroe let himself slip off for one last hour of peaceful rest before the morning came when he'd have to force himself to leave once and for all.

He knew something was wrong when his mind came to. It was far too light beyond his eyelids. He'd somehow missed his wake up call.

Oh, god, please don't let him be awake, Monroe prayed frantically in his head. Though it was late, there was still a chance of sneaking out alright. When Monroe opened his eyes and a pair of silver ones stared back at him, Monroe knew with a sinking heart that his sick game was over.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Nick greeted softly with a smile instead of the expected indignant cry. Monroe blinked several times before he managed:

"You… You too."

"I need to take a piss. Promise not to leave?"

"Uh, yeah," Monroe answered in disbelief, nodding his head slowly. When Nick rose from the bed, he noticed the familiar green material of the shirt Nick was wearing, entirely different from what he'd worn to bed. Monroe's heart skipped a beat. How long had Nick known? He watched as the Grimm slipped out of the room into the adjoining bathroom as though nothing was out of the ordinary. Almost like this was a normal, daily morning occurrence. A few minutes later Nick returned and slipped back under the covers with ease, a look of fondness on his features as he stared back at the blutbad still in his bed.

Monroe was flabbergasted.

"What do you want for breakfast?" Nick asked in that lovely voice of his. Traces of the battering weeks earlier remained on his face, but it could never tarnish his beauty.

"Whatever, I guess," Monroe answered lamely, still not completely sure he was even awake. Was he still asleep…?

Nick disappeared again; moments later Monroe could hear him banging around in the kitchen. Eventually the smell of bacon and eggs wafted up the stairs to him, followed not too much later by the Grimm himself. Monroe sat up as Nick handed him a plate of the aforementioned along with a side of warmed, pre-packaged hash browns and toast. He'd really gone all out, or as far out as a man with little to no talent in the kitchen could.

"Sorry if it's bland. I'm not much of a cook," the other man apologized as he began to eat. It was true that it wasn't gourmet or even the way Monroe would have made it, but it tasted phenomenal all the same if only because Nick had made it for him. After everything.

"It's great," Monroe answered honestly.

They ate in silence for an uncomfortably long time until Monroe couldn't take it any longer. He set his plate down on the side table and turned to look at the dark haired man beside him, concern evident on his face. Nick eyed him with a look of suspicion and nervous hesitation as he copied Monroe and set his plate down as well.

"How long have you known?" Monroe asked when he'd finally worked up the nerve to voice his thoughts.

"'Known…?' About what?"

"Me. Being here," Monroe clarified, his finger gesturing weakly to the shirt Nick was wearing.

Nick glanced down once before he laughed, the smile on his face truly genuine. "Two, two and a half weeks, maybe? But you've been here for a lot longer than that, haven't you?"

Monroe's eyes dropped to his lap, embarrassed. He scratched the back of his neck before he met Nick's eyes again.

"Yeah."

Nick didn't say anything, maybe he was thinking of something to say, but Monroe couldn't help but sputter, his tone bordering on frustration, "But why, Nick? Why haven't you…?"

"Why haven't I…? What? Said anything?" Nick supplied, his brow raised. "Why didn't you say anything? You're the one breaking and entering and trespassing on private property. Of the two of us, I don't think I'm the one in the wrong here."

Monroe nodded his head; he deserved that much. He quickly got out of bed and begun to pace back and forth anxiously, no longer comfortable just sitting there next to Nick like nothing was wrong. The dark haired man watched him for a minute from his spot on the bed before he too was standing.

"Monroe…?"

"I just… it was hard to face you after everything I did," Monroe confessed quickly, his arms nearly flailing at his sides. "After I… after everything I did to you."

"Did what?" Nick asked honestly as though he wasn't exactly sure which thing Monroe was referring to. Considering everything Monroe had done or put Nick through in the last few months, it wasn't a huge surprise. So Monroe was going to have to be specific, even if it was the last thing he wanted to say. He'd start with the big one; where it'd all gone wrong.

He forced himself to stop moving and look Nick directly in the eyes. But all that came out was, "You know."

But Nick… didn't. The Grimm stared back at him in blank confusion, his shoulders shrugging slightly. "Ignoring me?" Nick offered. "'Cause I'll agree; that was pretty dick-ish."

"Ah, yeah," Monroe found himself apologizing. "Sorry about the phone thing… forgot to pay my bill…"

"Yeah, I heard. I tried calling. Almost drunk-texted you. Wasn't pretty."

"Yeah, I bet not," Monroe laughed. He quickly sobered. What the hell am I doing?

"That's not what I meant. I mean…" Monroe scratched the back of his neck nervously. "There's something I've been wondering for awhile now… It was consensual?"

Nick stared up at him, his eyes searching. After a moment of silence, Nick failing to respond and another look of blatant confusion passing across his face, he said, "What?" His dark brows creased even further. "Wait… Are you asking me?"

Monroe couldn't help but stumble back a step in disbelief. "Of course I'm asking you! What the hell did you think I meant?"

"Well, I'm confused," Nick answered honestly, a touch of irritation pervading his voice. "Why would you ask me that? I initiated it. I brought the condoms. Why are you asking me whether it was consensual or not? I thought that was obvious. Or are you talking about something else… You mean the last two weeks..?"

"No, not the last two weeks! Of course I'm talking about… you know, that… night," Monroe sputtered.

"The night where we had sex?" Nick asked slowly, his brow raised and a smirk on his face as though Monroe's reluctance to directly refer to it amused him. Monroe didn't give into the jibe.

"Yes. That night. But seriously, you… wanted it?"

Nick laughed. "Of course I did. I still do. What do you think I've been doing for the last two weeks? I don't walk around naked for nothing."

Monroe stared at him for a minute, his mouth agape as words failed to come forth to the front of his brain. He snorted as he shook his head back and forth slowly. "I wondered if that's what you were doing."

"Well, you were kind of acting like a creep, sneaking around my house. Thought I'd make it worthwhile."

Monroe slapped a hand to his forehead. Somehow Nick never ceased to amaze him in the strangest ways possible.

He dragged his hand over his face slowly, stopping just over his mouth to stare at Nick for a minute longer before he said anything further.

"I heard you put something in my mailbox," he finally said. "What was it? I've wondered now for months."

"Oh, that." Nick smiled a bit too deviously. "A delicious bottle of wine," he said, an unusually catty look on his face. "It was actually quite good. Too bad you couldn't have any. Probably some of the best wine I've ever tasted."

"You jerk," Monroe teased. Nick just smiled at him as though nothing had changed between them at all in the last several months. Maybe nothing had.

Eventually Monroe couldn't help but breathe out a laugh.

"What?" Nick asked, his face still stretched in a smile.

"Nothing. Just… somehow I imagined this moment differently. I thought it would end with me on the wrong end of your gun or… Well, I thought it would be a bit more romantic."

Something fiery flashed behind the Grimm's eyes before he lunged, the weight of his lithe body knocking Monroe backwards onto the bed. Nick slid the fingers of his left hand through the thick hair at the base of Monroe's neck, his whole fist tightening as he drew the blutbad's face towards his own, the tips of their noses just barely brushing. Monroe stared up into Nick's half-lidded eyes, the silver ones searching his own.

"How romantic do you want me to be?" Nick asked, his voice husky and raw, his breath hot against Monroe's mouth. The blutbad's whole body trembled as his blood coursed with pure lust.

"I want you," Monroe murmured. It was all Nick needed to hear as his eyelids slid shut, a pleased smile against his mouth.

The touch of Nick's lips against his own. It was electric. He could almost hear the sizzle of his nerve endings fraying under the touch of Nick's body against his own. He wound his arms around the smaller man's back, his hands touching and grabbing at every part of this man he'd been so in love with for months.

Oh, my god. I can touch you, he wanted to cry out loud. He'd waited for so long. Now it was real.

Nick's knees straddled his ribs, his arms curled around the blutbad's head, cradling his face in just a way that it could perfectly meld with his own. The flesh of Nick's palm against the side of his face was hot, the perfect amount of heat. His own hands slid and cupped over the curve of the Grimm's ass, fitting perfectly in his grip. He could feel himself growing impossibly hard, his body eager to relive the night that had torn them apart for so long for no reason. He wanted Nick. More than he'd ever wanted another person before.

He didn't want to pull away, could hardly bring himself to, but it was unfair when Nick didn't know the complete truth just yet. Nick had this image of Monroe in his head; one that wasn't quite right. It'd been consensual the first time. Would be so this time as well, but it would be wrong of him to let Nick think Monroe was some sort of romantic hero when he was nothing but a murderer. And when he'd caused Nick so much unintentional pain before hand as well.

As gently as Monroe could manage, he pushed Nick back by his shoulders, dislodging the younger man's mouth from his own. Nick quickly ducked his head again, intent to search it out once more, content to suckle along the length of thick neck instead when Monroe turned his face away. Monroe felt terrible when he had to force Nick completely away from him.

"What's up?" Nick asked with genuine concern, his brows furrowed as he swept a sleeve across his mouth to wipe away some stray saliva. "You okay?"

"We can't do this," Monroe replied, his tone sad. "It's… wrong."

"What do you mean?"

Monroe pushed Nick to sit up properly so they could face each other. He took Nick's hands in his own, his thumb rubbing lightly over the soft skin and just around the splint on Nick's right hand.

"Is it Rosalee?" Nick asked immediately, completely serious.

"What…?" Monroe replied just as quickly. What did Rosalee have to do with anything?

"Seriously, Monroe, you're giving me incredibly mixed signals, not to mention what we just did…" Nick finished, almost more to himself than anyone else, his eyes wide as he dislodged a hand from Monroe's and ran his fingers over his bottom lip.

"Can we just be honest?"

"What do you mean?" Monroe asked slowly. But it was the wrong thing to say.

Nick laughed in return, but it wasn't a pleasant sound. He wrenched his other hand free of Monroe's grasp as he leapt to his feet, wincing slightly as the sudden movement tugged at his broken fingers. It looked as though Nick wanted to hit Monroe, but instead he began to pace, his back tense and a furious look on his face. Monroe recognized this stance from weeks of observation: he was poised to fight. Really fight. He'd seen it plenty of times before when he'd spied Nick and Deon through the windows. Nick stopped suddenly to stare down at Monroe on the bed, his eyes narrowed and the muscles in his neck taut.

"Really? What do I mean? You sneak into my bed at night. You do all sorts of things to me when you think I'm asleep, but at the same time it's suddenly wrong? Are you and Rosalee a thing, because I'm feeling extremely confused and really pissed off right now.

"I don't know how many times you want me to say it, but I wanted you that night all those months ago and I still want you now. If you want to be with me, then just be with me," Nick practically yelled, his hands gesturing wildly and the look in his eyes pained."If not, we can still be friends, but I don't want to keep dancing around this like it never happened. If you don't want to be friends with me anymore, fine. If you think you owe me something, you don't.

"So no more of this bullshit," Nick pleaded. "I'm tired of it. If you're going to walk out on me, don't keep coming back. I was ready to move on, maybe with the wrong guy, but I can't keep doing this with you."

His eyes flashed once, the Grimm in him peering out through frosted, silver eyes.

"I'm done."

Monroe wasn't sure what look he was giving Nick, but the other man wilted under his gaze as he slowly approached to stand just in front of him.

"Monroe, please," Nick implored, his face a mixture of anxiety and pleading, no longer angry. He set his hands on Monroe's shoulders, his grip tightening just the slightest amount. "Please tell me what's going on. Please, please just be honest with me. I think I've proved that I can handle it."

Monroe was so weak to Nick's will; it was ridiculous. He placed his hands over Nick's hips, pulling the shorter man closer to stand between his legs, his knees bumping and brushing against Nick's bare skin. Nick lowered himself into Monroe's lap, his arms lightly slung across the taller man's shoulders, their forehead's touching. Monroe, careful of bumping Nick's nose, pressed his lips against the younger man's again. It was light and chaste. Not quite as heated as it was just moments ago.

"I want to be with you, Nick, I truly do, but I can't ignore my part in this," he finished morosely, his thumb lightly ghosting over the bruise on Nick's cheek, careful of pressing too hard.

Nick's brows furrowed. "With… what Deon did to me?" He snorted. "If you think you had anything to do with this, you might just have the world's worst conscience, you know."

When Monroe opened his mouth, Nick added, "You're not responsible for everything that happens to me, regardless if you feel like you should have been protecting me or something. It's not your fault. If anyone's to blame, it's Deon."

"But Nick, it is my fault."

"How?" Nick asked pointedly, the most incredulous look on his face.

"I… egged him into it," Monroe confessed, his head dropping. "I talked to him the night he did this to you."

"You… What?Called him and told him to beat me up so you could sweep in as some sort of prince to rescue me? 'Cause that would be really messed up," Nick joked, not quite believing Monroe.

"What?! No! Of course not! I… called you, and he just happened to pick up and I… just so happened to imply we were close and that I'd been… intimate with you on more than one occasion. Recently."

Nick laughed, then sobered as he guided Monroe's face to look up at him again. "Monroe, what Deon did to me is not your fault," he explained, "regardless if you'd spoken to him at all. You could have called him specifically to tell him I was about to, hell, I don't know, propose marriage to him and he'd still find a reason to do what he did to me. You're not responsible for the choices of others, Monroe. He is not a good person, simple as that."

"Was."

"What?"

"He was not a good person."

Nick's quirked a brow as he sat back just the slightest amount. "Are you… seriously giving me a grammar lesson right now?" Nick asked with a dumbfounded look on his face. "I don't think that was even grammatically incorrect… It's been awhile since high school, but…"

"No, I -" Well, it was now or never. "There's a reason we can't be together."

Nick shook his head back and forth slowly, his eyes screwed shut as though seriously trying to control his temper. Which, perhaps he was. "Monroe…" Nick ground out.

"Nick… you just don't understand the circumstances."

"Are you with Rosalee?" Nick demanded in a tight voice as he pulled away to stand once more.

"No."

"Do you like her then?"

"What? No! Well, I do, but not, okay, well…" Monroe bumbled, feeling completely flustered. Thankfully Nick took pity on him when he clarified:

"I mean, are you in love with her? Do you want to be with her, or do you want to be with me? And before you think I'm being jealous, I'm not. And I'm not going to make you choose me over her. I'm not conceited…"

"Of course I want to be with you," Monroe quickly assured him. "I love you. And I'm seriously sorry about ignoring you these last few months. I didn't mean to."

"I know. You already explained it to me. It's fine."

"I know, but I still feel really bad. And then to leave you alone for so long, with Deon. I should have been here…"

"Monroe, seriously. I don't care."

"But, Nick, I -"

"I really, really don't care about what may or may not have happened. I don't want to hear about any more broken phones or any other stupid misunderstandings between us. Any of that. I seriously couldn't give one less of a fuck. I only care about right now.

"So please just tell me: Do you want me? Do you want this?" he asked while gesturing between them. "'Cause if you don't, just say it and it'll be over. I just need to know. I'm not going to wait forever for you."

"I do want to be with you, Nick," Monroe quickly said. "I really do, but…"

Nick raised a brow as he frowned. "But what? You keep saying that. It's really -" Nick frowned. "It's really annoying."

"I'm terrified of hurting you," Monroe finally confessed, his hand reaching out and taking a hold of Nick's smaller one again tightly.

Nick laughed. He actually laughed.

"How? Because you're a blutbad?" he asked with an amused smile. "Because we can be careful; that's not a problem. You've never intentionally hurt me before. Well, except for that time you jumped out of your window at me. I think you gave me a bruise, but that's a forgivable offense considering I was stalking you at the time."

"Nick, I'm not joking," Monroe said seriously, an edge of anger seeping into his voice.

"Neither am I. You're making a huge deal out of nothing. The whole time we've been friends, I can't think of a single instance where you've tried to seriously harm me. I can handle my own -"

"But you're weak!" Monroe blurted loudly as he lost complete control of himself for a moment. Nick's angry look had him quickly retracting his statement with a bumbling explanation of: "Only meaning you're not at full capacity. I don't want to take advantage of the situation."

"And what? Have your way with me?"

"No. I'm afraid I'll… hurt you, or worse… kill you," Monroe admitted in a stilted whisper.

"Kill me?" Nick asked, his eyes incredulous. "Why would you kill me? Why would that even be an option?" Nick was quiet for a moment. "What are we talking about right now…?"

"I can't be around humans, Nick."

"Why? …What's with this sudden change?"

"I can't trust myself."

When Nick didn't reply, Monroe continued:

"I've… I've killed people, Nick. A lot of people."

"Yeah, I know that. You more or less confessed that to me when we first met," the smaller man replied, though with some reservation. "But it was a long time ago, right? Back before you turned good. Turned Weider or whatever." When the blutbad wasn't quick to reassure him, Nick whispered, "Monroe…?"

"Mostly…"

"What do you mean by 'mostly?'" Nick repeated, his face growing dark. "You haven't been hunting again, have you?" For once Nick's voice reflected the serious nature of what was at hand.

"No! God, no. But… Nick," Monroe said, tugging Nick closer to him by the hand before immediately letting go as though scalded by the other's touch. As though Nick was somehow too pure for him.

"You need to understand," he practically begged, his voice cracking with desperation. "I can't always control who I am inside. I've been fighting, god have I been fighting, for my entire life. I try to be good, every day, but sometimes I slip. I lose control. I get so angry I can't keep the wolf in me locked away."

"What did you do?"

Monroe was on the verge of tears; the guilt consuming him was far too much for him to bear any longer. He needed to confess everything. Nick needed to know. Deserved to know.

"Nick, I'm so sorry," Monroe practically sobbed, his shoulders hunching as he buried his face in his hands. "You know how I corrected you and I said he 'wasn't' a good person? It's because… I swear to you, I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to kill him. I just… after what he'd done to you, I couldn't stop myself. I tried to walk away. I tried to stop myself. But I just lost it. I swear to you it was an accident. But I guess that doesn't really make it better. I still killed him. And then I dumped the body without thinking. I should have burned it, or even at least buried it."

"Monroe -" Nick said quickly, trying to interrupt the other's pained confession. Monroe ignored him though.

"I bet by now the police have found it," he continued listlessly, the claws in his hands extending, digging into his scalp. "You need to get out of here before they somehow tie it to you."

"Monroe…"

Monroe got to his feet, his tone growing increasingly frantic as he began to pace back and forth, the look in his eyes wild.

"If you want me to take the fall, if you want me to do anything, just say it, Nick. I'll do it. Whatever you -"

"Monroe!" Nick yelled, grabbing hold of the blutbad by the lapels of his shirt. "If you're talking about Deon, which I'm pretty sure you are, he's not dead. You didn't kill him. He's still very much alive."

"You…" Monroe stopped. He started again, "You know about…"

"He was found, but he's alive. Mind you not in very good shape, but he's not dead."

"He's… not…?"

"No, he's perfectly fine. Okay, not fine," Nick corrected, "but he's not dead. That's something, right?" Nick asked with a small, nervous chuckle.

It crashed over both of them then, the knowledge that nothing could make the problem go away. Nick swallowed hard as he let go of Monroe's shirt before slumping onto the bed. He stared down at his hands listlessly.

"What are we going to do?" Monroe asked softly, almost afraid of how Nick might react. "Should we run? I have family outside of Vancouver. They live way out there, no one would come looking for us. I also know some Spanish. Not a ton, but enough to get by… If we wanted to go that route…" Monroe suggested.

"No," Nick said after a second, the look on his face pensive. "Honestly, I don't think there's anything they could tie to you. There was hardly any physical evidence lifted from his person and a lot of it was washed away when he was taken to the hospital. Lot of people were upset about that, let me tell you," he chuckled.

"And besides, we've gotten out of bigger jams before," Nick reminded him. "Sort of comes with the territory of being a Grimm."

"And being friends with a Grimm," Monroe added with a smile.

Nick stood from the bed and crossed the distance between them in two short stride, his feet stopping just between Monroe's. The younger man pressed a hand over Monroe's heart, his eyes peering up into warm brown ones.

"I think you mean, 'lover.'"

The meeting of their lips was once more chaste, loving, as Monroe curled his hands around the base of Nick's skull, his fingers threading through soft, dark hair. Nick's own hands chased up Monroe's belly, over his chest to wrap around his neck, drawing the blutbad further into him, guiding them back towards the bed. When Nick pulled back, his lips hovering just out of reach, he whispered,

"So is that a yes?"

"Yes?" Monroe repeated absently, not sure what he was agreeing or answering to, but determined to have another taste of the Grimm's parted lips. Nick chuckled.

"Good enough for me," he said as pushed Monroe to sit at the edge of the bed, crawling into his lap a second later. There wasn't a moment of rest between the feverous coupling of their lips, their kisses almost frantic in their execution. When Nick eventually winced from their haste, Monroe worried between stolen kisses:

"Should we be doing this? You should be resting."

"I've been waiting for five fucking months. I'm not waiting another one."

He had a point there.

"I'm not going to break," Nick reminded him when the blutbad hesitated. "I'm not made of china."

"But you're made of flesh and bone, and from my experience, that's not much better. You're still healing," Monroe said, his hand cupping the beaten and bruised side of Nick's face.

"I'll be fine as long as you don't grind my face into the mattress," Nick joked, his grin too wide. At Monroe's horrified look at the thought, Nick added in a teasing voice as he pushed Monroe backwards until he was flat on his back on the bed, Nick straddling his hips "Unless you want me to be on top…?"

Monroe breathed a hesitant laugh. "I've never…" he started to confess with embarrassment.

Nick smiled down at him. "Let's stick with what we know today, alright?" he teased, his finger hooking under the top button of Monroe's flannel shirt, tugging the taller man's face towards his own until their lips just barely brushed.

"But eventually," Nick promised him, his eyes darting between Monroe's and his slightly parted lips.

"God, I love you," Monroe murmured back, bumping his nose against the side of Nick's cheek, nuzzling along his jaw. "I'll do anything you want me to." Anything to be with you. "Hell, if you wanted me in a dress, I'd do that too," he added before he could think.

Nick pulled back and gave him a strange look. Monroe stared back in horror.

"I didn't…"

Nick laughed. "You really don't know when to stop talking, do you?"

"Uh, it's… I'm working on it?"

"You say that like it's a question." Nick bent his head to kiss Monroe. When their lips parted, Nick whispered, "Just remember in two years time when I ask you to don a Princess Leia outfit that you offered. Or a sexy nurse, I can't decide."

"Please don't make me put one of those on," Monroe muttered with mild horror. "I have really hairy legs. It'd just be gross. Not to mention I don't really have the figure for it…"

Nick winked at him. "You can shave."

"You know how many razors I'd have to go through? I'm like a Silverback Gorilla from the neck down."

"I've seen you naked," Nick reminded him. "You're not that bad. And I'm not going to make you shave." Monroe was about to thank him graciously when Nick added with a naughty little grin, "I'll make you wax."

Monroe didn't have a chance to confirm that Nick was only joking because Nick was kissing him deeply and Monroe didn't care enough about something as petty as body hair to pull himself away from Nick's lips. He'd been waiting months to make love to Nick again and there was no sense in prolonging the distance between their bodies when there was no need to.

Eventually Monroe flipped them, but he was still careful not to press too much weight into Nick, using his arms to hold himself up as he rutted hard against Nick's thinner body. Nick wrapped a leg around Monroe's back, his heel digging into the sensitive muscles of his lower back. It sent a strange sensation racing up his spine; normally that spot on his back caused intense pain when hit or pressed even too hard, yet somehow under Nick's ministrations it tingled pleasantly, sending electric sensations buzzing through his veins and straight to his groin. Nick used his other heel to push down hard on mattress, pressing him impossibly flush against the blutbad. If Monroe wasn't hard before, he was now.

He pulled himself back, letting Nick fall to the bed. He pushed and bunched the fabric of Nick's shirt up under his armpits, exposing his chest to the cool morning air. Immediately Nick's nipples hardened; Monroe couldn't help but brush a thumb over one of the flush, pink nubs, his lips following a moment later, laying kisses across his pectoral, down to the dip of his sternum. He followed an invisible line down Nick's chest, placing wet, suckling kisses along the way, all along the line of Nick's ribs until he reached the slight dip of the younger man's navel. The skin of Nick's lower belly was hot and sweaty against his chin. Suddenly, without warning, Nick burst into laughter, his whole body curling away from Monroe's touch.

"What?" Monroe asked as he sat up a little, a look of utter bewilderment passing across his face.

"Just… your beard," Nick breathed. Catching his meaning, Monroe ghosted his chin across Nick's abdomen again, causing the other man to jolt away from his touch, but his movements were halted by the large hands gripping tightly over his hips. Monroe held him firmly in place as he continued to torture the younger man with the soft scraping of his beard. Underneath his touch, Nick's body trembled, his skin prickling and the fine, dark hairs covering his lower body standing erect. Mindful of Nick's sensitivity, Monroe placed extra light kisses along the V of the younger man's lower abdomen, from one hip bone to the other, his nose poking through the dark patch of black hair peeking up from under the lip of his shorts.

"I didn't realize you were so sensitive," Monroe commented with a grin.

"You're killing me," Nick grunted as he bucked his hips once, the hard brush of his erection pressing against the blutbad's throat. "Stop torturing me," he growled, his lips pink, his eyes black with desire and the front of his shorts damp.

"Flip onto your front," Monroe directed. Nick didn't ask, just followed Monroe's orders and rolled onto his belly. Monroe shucked off his sweatpants and his shorts and crawled on top of the other man, his hands stroking up and down the other's sides, his nose buried deep in the gap between shoulder and neck.

"I love you, Nick," he murmured. "In case you didn't know that."

"Oh, I know," Nick chuckled lightly as he pressed up into the warm weight pressing down on him. When Monroe ground down with his hips, Nick pushed upwards, meeting him. All that separated them was a few thin layers of cotton.

"Take your shirt off," Nick commanded without hesitation. "The buttons are digging into my back."

"Oh, sorry," Monroe quickly apologized as he sat back on his heels to strip. Nick twisted under him just enough to reach back with one hand to help with the bottom few.

Before Monroe could shuck his flannel, Nick yanked him down hard by the collar of his t-shirt and kissed him deeply, his ability to wait worn clear through.

"Thought you wanted me naked," Monroe commented teasingly between the smack of their lips.

"I want you to fuck me. Whether you get naked or not is becoming increasingly irrelevant."

Monroe almost said something snide about 'big words' and 'sounding smart,' but he bit his tongue. There was a time and place, and neither of them were here. He stretched back out on top of Nick, intentionally pressing the length of his erection into the crease of Nick's ass, the fleshy, cotton-covered globes practically inviting him inside. He couldn't bring himself to wait any longer as he yanked Nick's shorts off, exposing two perfect globes of flesh.

"Oh, god," Monroe mumbled as he bent his head and kissed the top of each one. They were beautiful. Nick laughed at him.

"Right," Monroe said as he sat back again, reprimanding himself. "To the point."

"To the point," Nick echoed with a grin as he yanked his shirt off and threw it at the wall. Monroe quickly stripped off his remaining articles of clothing as Nick shimmied along the mattress on his belly to rummage through the side drawer. He pulled out a silver string of condoms, tossed it over his shoulder for Monroe to fumbling catch while still tangled in a shirt, before he located a sizable bottle of lube.

"You can do it this time, can't you?" Nick asked as he chucked that over his shoulder as well, Monroe catching it easily that time.

"Uh, yeah, I've had experience with this part," Monroe admitted with some embarrassment.

"Good," Nick said with a smile as he stretched out on his stomach again, his arms folded under his head and his shoulders relaxed. When Monroe hesitated, Nick jiggled his bum a bit and raised his hips.

Monroe was so thankful for Ben now; he'd had a bit of experience with Angelina in the past, true, but Ben had really been the helpful one. He'd taught him a thing or two about not only making this part satisfactory, but hot as hell.

"Oh, my god," Nick uttered as he twitched around Monroe's fingers after a moment. "I should have let you do this last time. Where the hell did you learn that?"

"Long story," Monroe admitted. "Long, long story."

Nick didn't ask, just chuckled as he shook his head back and forth; his laughter was cut off by another groan of pleasure.

When Monroe was positive Nick was decently ready, he leaned forward, his voice a deep, guttural noise against Nick's throat as he asked, "What do you want?" He rotated his fingers just the slightest amount. "Tell me what you want, Nick."

"I want you in me," Nick breathed, the side of his head pressed to the sheets, his body writhing against the bed with boiling desire. Monroe was trying his best to be gentle, but the heat was so silky sweet.

"I don't wanna hurt you," Monroe mumbled back breathlessly, reminding himself again of the fragility of the human body even though all he wanted to do was fuck deep into Nick's welcoming body.

"Just… shut up," Nick replied with irritation. "Like I said, I'm not a china doll. Now fuck me like a big boy or let me do the honors."

Monroe couldn't argue with that, he reasoned. From the glassy look in his partner's eyes, he knew Nick wanted it. Whole heartedly.

Monroe helped Nick to his knees, easily sliding in behind him, the other's legs curled around his.

"My word's 'cornucopia,'" Nick grunted as Monroe started to ease his way in.

"'C-cornucopia?'" Monroe balked as he stopped pressing forward, the absurdity of the word giving him pause.

"Yeah. My safety word?" Nick clarified with some hesitation. "You know what that is, right? I know last time, we-"

"I know what you meant," Monroe said quickly, successfully interrupting him. "But… Okay," he chuckled as he continued, his hips pressing forward, Nick's body practically sucking him in. He shook his head slightly as he breathed out a laugh against Nick's neck. "Whatever you say, though I'll never look at traditional Thanksgiving the same way again, thank you."

"Good," Nick breathed, already starting to feel full. "Give you something to think about when you're eating with your parents."

"'Cause this is what I want to be thinking about when I'm sitting down to dinner with my folks," Monroe replied sarcastically as he bottomed out.

Nick clenched his internal muscles, causing Monroe to grunt while he said knowingly, "I think so. It'll remind you to hurry up and come back home."

"Oh, you'll be going with me," the blutbad promised, "so don't think you can get out of any awkward family dinners."

When Nick didn't immediately reply, Monroe felt nervous hesitation. Too soon, he chastised himself. They'd only just become lovers. Did he really need to bring family into the equation so soon?

Just because he wasn't freaked out about the whole 'attempted murder' thing doesn't mean he wants to meet your parents, you idiot!

His internal, flailing dialogue was interrupted by Nick saying softly, "That'd be great, but maybe we should try for Christmas instead since Thanksgiving is…" Nick held up his hand, his whole body shuddering around Monroe as he tried to concentrate on counting, his hips held remarkably still. Monroe buried his nose in Nick's neck, his arms wound around the detective's chest as he tried to keep his excitable body from moving as well.

Nick glanced back at him, his lips pink and swollen, his face flush as he held up four fingers. "What am I thinking?" Nick murmured, grinning. "It's Thursday. That's four days from now."

"Gotta call my mom," Monroe grunted, his hips pulsing forward suddenly. Nick pressed back into him as he started them off on a rhythm.

"Hope you don't mean right now," Nick joked.

"Oh, god no," Monroe replied with horror. "Maybe tomorrow. Got my arms full, currently."

Nick looked like he wanted to say something sarcastic, or something base, but he just smiled sweetly and tipped his chin up for a kiss. Still careful of Nick's broken nose, Monroe kissed him deeply, Nick's hair gripped tightly in his fist as he smoothed his other hand over the lean, well defined muscles of Nick's neck.

Monroe didn't want this moment to end; he wanted to make love to Nick for hours, but he knew he wasn't physically capable of it. With Ben he'd done several rounds, but his age was beginning to catch up with him. Thank god for his Blutbaden stamina or he'd have to call it quits after just two. Even still, he didn't want his release to come quite yet.

He pulled back a hair as he reached a hand down between their bodies, his fingers immediately tightening around himself, willing his body to hold out longer.

"Hold up," Monroe grunted as he pulled himself entirely away from Nick, a slick, popping noise following his movement. Nick twisted to look back at him, a troubled look on his face. When he glanced down and saw what Monroe was doing, he seemed to understand him immediately and copied the older man's actions.

"I want this to last," Monroe explain as he answered the question Nick hadn't quite asked. "And I want to look at you. At least when we finish."

Nick ducked forward quickly to press his mouth over Monroe's, wordlessly agreeing. They kneeled in front of each other for a moment as they willed their bodies to calm down a bit. Stave off the impending climax.

"Okay, I think I'm good," Nick said as he wound a finger in a curl just under Monroe's ear. "You good?"

"Yeah, I'm good," Monroe replied as he leaned forward, his arms suspended in the air, about to guide Nick back onto the bed. Something playful flickered in the air between them before two hands shoved Monroe hard against the chest, knocking him flat onto his back, the air rushing out of his lungs momentarily. A different sort of fire ignited behind Nick's eyes as he crawled onto Monroe's downed body, his knees straddling the older man's hips and a wide, wild grin against his lips.

"Not so fast, buddy," Nick growled good-naturedly, his smirk growing as his mouth hovered teasingly close, never quite meeting the other's.

Nick grabbed Monroe by the wrists and held them firmly against the mattress.

"You're so hot," Monroe found himself saying. He'd planned on saying something else, commenting on the change of position, but it'd slipped out instead. Not that it mattered. It was completely true.

A look of surprise crossed Nick's features as though he'd somehow forgotten that was indeed the case. His look softened for a moment as he bent his head to kiss Monroe's neck, down his chest and over his arms, ending just over the captured wrists.

"You're not so bad looking yourself," Nick reminded him. Monroe nearly burst into laughter, but he controlled himself.

"Must be if you will sleep with me. Twice. And only drunk for one of them."

Nick just laughed as he shook his head and rolled his eyes, easily letting go of his grip on the other's wrists as he scooted back in Monroe's lap. He adjusted himself without another word and before Monroe could say anything, Nick was moving. First in shallow thrusts; ones that gradually became deeper and Monroe felt his flesh burn under Nick's touch.

He was so glad he'd held out. This angle was far better for admiring Nick in all his glory. He was so utterly perfect, it was almost ridiculous. Even after everything that had happened, the weight fluctuations, the abuse, his body was impeccable and there was a definition to his muscles that could only be called godlike. And Monroe wanted nothing more than to worship this man with his lips and his hands, memorize every facet of the god moving above him. He found his eyes inexplicably drawn to a droplet of sweat sliding down the other's shuddering abs with each rhythmic movement. Nick caught him staring; the dark haired man breathed a fond laugh as he bent his head to capture Monroe's lips and readjust the older man's hands on his hips.

"You got me?" Nick asked vaguely. The blutbad didn't reply, just stared back with dazed eyes, so Nick just wrapped his hands firmly over the larger ones as he leaned his body away, angling his hips in a way that drove the Grimm over the edge, his head thrown back as he picked up the pace.

Monroe's eyes lolled back in his own head as he melted under the feeling of Nick moving around him, the sensations driving him deep into the mattress. Fucking Ben had been fantastic, but he couldn't even begin to describe this with words. There were no words. He would never know what Nick saw in him. The other man was so perfect, so beautiful, but he wouldn't challenge his good fortune again. He had Nick now. Nick wanted him, and that was good enough. He honestly didn't need any answers.

Monroe wanted this moment together to last forever, for it to never end, but his climax once again came too soon for his liking; Nick followed him several moments later. His body was regretful for the loss of heat as Nick pulled away, tossing his used condom into the waste basket beside the bed and shedding Monroe of his own as well. Nick bent once to kiss him before he disappeared into the adjoining bathroom, reappearing a moment later with a warm washcloth.

When they were clean and redressed, they lay together in uncomfortable silence, Nick curled up at Monroe's side, his head just over the blutbad's collarbone. Monroe idly ran a hand through Nick's short, black hair, his other clutched over the smaller one on his chest. The heat of the room, of their lovemaking, dissipated quickly, a sudden chill settling over them.

"I don't know what to think," Nick finally confessed, the silence too heavy. His voice was no longer confident like it had been earlier; it was hardly above a whisper now. "There haven't been a lot of leads on Deon's case, but… I heard a warrant for his phone records was filed yesterday."

"For his phone?"

"He didn't call or text a lot of people. At least no one other than me, mostly."

Realization of what that meant dawned on Monroe. Why hadn't he thought of that earlier?

"I threw his phone in the river. I didn't know what else to do with it, not that it'd matter. It's not like they need the phone to trace it to me…" Nick said softly, his voice thick.

"By tomorrow, they'll know. And I didn't toss it, not before I used it the morning after you dumped him on the side of the road. To call work. Rosalee. The hospital. The same goddamned hospital he was in. I kept it for far too long after that, even after I knew what had happened to him. I kept it on my nightstand like a freaking idiot. I couldn't bring myself to throw it away. It was all I had left of him.

"I hated him, yet…"

"It's over, isn't it?" Monroe choked out softly.

Nick shook his head once, a mask of resignation stretched across his face. "I'm the only connection they have. The only lead and the only one who could possibly have wanted him dead. And enough people could attest to the fact that I could do it, too. And I wanted to." Nick smiled once, mirthlessly. "I even threatened him that I would.

"But he's not dead," Nick reminded him. "They might try to pin it on me. But at best it was self-defense. I've documented all of my injuries, my hospital visits. I should be okay…

"Besides, I don't even own a dog," Nick finished, obviously referencing the wounds Monroe had inflicted on the abusive bastard.

Nick laughed, but Monroe could smell the stress beginning to pour off of the Grimm. He was lying. Monroe could only lean over and press a kiss to his temple.

"We need to leave. You can't stay here. You can't go to prison because of me."

"I can't, Monroe. This is just something I have to face. Even if I have to do it alone."

They stayed that way as the day ate away until the night, clutched in each other's arms only leaving the bed long enough to use the bathroom. Monroe knew they should be making the most of their last few hours together, but he couldn't rouse anything other than bittersweet emotion. Even Nick was so wrapped up in his own melancholy thoughts that they only could bring themselves to kiss when returning to bed. By the morning, Monroe would be long gone. It wasn't exactly what Monroe wanted to do - he wasn't even quite sure he could leave, but he couldn't stay there. He was almost positive there wasn't enough evidence to charge Nick with anything (how could Nick even create half the wounds? Like he said, he didn't even own a dog); maybe there wasn't even enough to charge Monroe with anything either (unless they searched his Beetle; the remnants of Deon's blood would certainly rouse suspicion), but Monroe was too much of a coward to face prison. He'd rather run, like he had been for years than to finally face up to his crimes like he should.

If he went in for this attempted murder, no doubt he'd wind up confessing to being the one behind other cold cases too and end up incriminating his entire family in the process. He'd be letting down far too many people if that happened. His family wouldn't hurt him for it, but he couldn't send his parents, his aunts and uncles, his cousins or his nieces and nephews to jail. He may be one of the only three Weider Blutbaden in his family, but he knew none of them hunted humans anymore. Killing wasn't right, but it seemed unfair to punish them now that they'd all gone straight. He felt even Nick, whose duty it was to 'punish' wesen who killed humans,would hesitate.

When the morning finally came, Monroe couldn't bring himself to pull away. To leave Nick to his fate. He wasn't sure what he was going to do; force Nick to leave with him or face his own reality. Honestly his head was in such a fog all he could do was sit in miserable silence across from Nick as they picked unenthusiastically at the food set in front of them at the table. They hadn't talked much in the last sixteen hours, at least not about anything important or the case; just stupid things here and there. Petty, unimportant things like, 'Pass the remote,' or 'How many eggs do you want?'

Monroe glanced up at the man sitting across from him, watched the way Nick's eyebrows furrowed as he stared down at his lap listlessly. Nick claimed there wasn't enough to charge him with anything, but he must have been lying, or at least doubted the validity of his own words. Monroe inhaled deeply before he stretched his arm across the table top and rested a hand over Nick's, the detective glancing up in surprise. His face softened, but into another look of sadness. Just then the doorbell rang.

The look of sadness turned to desperation as the Grimm's eyes went wide with worry. No doubt it was the police come to place Nick under arrest and haul him in for questioning. Maybe they even had a warrant. Nick had cleaned up the blood, had tossed the couch, but blood had a funny way of soaking its way in deep and ending up in places hardly imaginable.

Slowly Nick stood from his chair; Monroe followed suit, not willing to let Nick face this alone.

"I don't know," Nick murmured distractedly, "Just hide, I guess."

Monroe didn't reply, he just crossed the few feet between them and rested a heavy, firm hand on Nick's shoulder. Nick's eyes searched his for a second, Monroe's hand slipping from its place and sliding down Nick's arm until he could wind their hands together. The younger man looked slightly confused as Monroe led them towards the front door, his face firm with determination and his decision to face his actions for once set.

When Monroe swung the door open, it wasn't the police on the other side, but Hank. From the pleased look on the older detective's face, he wasn't there to warn them to run.

"Uh, hey, Hank," Nick greeted with mild confusion as he let the older man in. Hank glanced between the two of them, his eyes darting once to their firmly clasped hands, before he nodded back.

"I came by to let you know the case has been dropped."

"Dropped?" Nick asked in disbelief as though hesitant to believe really it. "What…? Why?"

"The mother of the vic asked for the case to go no further. Considering the time and effort put into it so far, I'm thinking someone got a nice pay off."

Nick slid away from Monroe, their hands separating as Nick slumped against the foyer wall. He shook his head slowly, his eyes closed and one hand resting against the hall tree as though to ground himself.

"I certainly wouldn't put it past her considering what she paid me to keep quiet about…" Nick paused briefly, a look of utter embarrassment crossing his features. "They certainly have money at their disposal," he finished weakly.

Monroe stared at Nick in shock. Nick had been paid to keep quiet about the abuse? And Hank knew about it? How much did the older detective know? Obviously he'd known about the abuse from the beginning since it was Hank who had told Monroe in the first place, but he was a little surprised Nick was so open about the whole situation with his partner. Monroe wondered what else Hank knew. Nick had confessed the night before when they lay in bed together to having known Monroe was behind the attack from the get go. That being said, had Nick shared his suspicions with his partner as well? Or did Hank already know Monroe had something to do with it? He must at least suspect it. Hank had, more or less, asked Monroe to 'take care of it.' Maybe he felt it was partially his responsibility too; that if Monroe went down, he'd go down with him as the dirty cop pulling strings to protect his partner in the most violent way possible.

"I understand how Deon's family paid off the DA, but why?" Nick asked, startling Monroe from the thoughts swirling in his head. "But it doesn't make sense for them to just drop it. She seemed pretty adamant the last time we talked about finding whoever did this."

"Apparently," Hank said with a shrug and a grin, "they found traces of multiple different drugs in his bloodstream. He's got a history, like you said, and when the focus got turned onto former dealers, the mother flipped. I suppose she didn't want that part of his history to come to light. Probably tarnish their good name or some other bullshit. And it doesn't help that they think he's crazy now too. From what I heard, when the Oregon City police asked Deon who had attacked him, he managed to garble out, 'the wolfman.'"

The look on Hank's face was pure hilarity.

"So I'm willing to bet there were dogs involved, but the man's a lunatic. Nothing he says would be admissible in court. His brain, as far as I can tell, is completely shot to hell. Mush.

"Anyway," Hank said quickly when he noticed Nick and Monroe eyeing each other excitedly, both shifting on their feet and no longer paying Hank the slightest bit of attention. "You two probably want to celebrate, so I'll be off. So, I'll see you at work on Monday, Nick?"

"Yeah, of course. Thanks, man," Nick said as he gave Hank a big hug and patted him on the back. When they pulled apart, Hank laughed.

"What?" Nick asked with a look of mild confusion on his face.

"I drove all the way out here and you don't even hesitate to send me right back out the door again."

Nick at least had the decency to look embarrassed.

"Don't worry, I'm happy for you two," he said with an easy grin and a wink. He turned and looked over Nick's shoulder at the blutbad. "Go easy on him though. He's still healing."

"Hank!" Nick squawked indignantly, his face flushing red. His partner said nothing else, just continued to smirk as he pushed his way out the front door.

When it closed again, Monroe wasted no time in wrapping an arm around Nick's middle, pulling him in close until their fronts melded together, his nose just lightly grazing against the Grimm's jaw.

"You don't have to move to Canada, or Mexico, or wherever else you planned on running off to," Nick said with a smirk.

"And I don't have to force you to come with me." When Nick raised a brow, Monroe confessed, "You know I'd have to. I couldn't leave you here by yourself."

Nick smiled shyly, his eyes glancing away.

"I love you, Nick Burkhardt," Monroe said softly, his forehead pressed to the shorter man's. "You're insufferable sometimes, always getting yourself into trouble, but I absolutely adore you."

Nick laughed, his breath hot on Monroe's lips. When his eyes glanced up again, the look he shot Monroe was pure heat.

"I love you, too. And as much as I love this, can we please go back to bed? I may be still healing, but I think I've proved I'm up for anything."

"Hell yeah!" Monroe replied excitedly, completely shattering the gentle, intimate nature of the previous moment. They both laughed like teenagers as they practically tumbled up the stairs after each other towards the bedroom. Monroe stopped at the upstairs landing as he suddenly remembered something.

"Shit… I still have to call my mom."

Nick grabbed him hard by the lapels of his shirt, his eyes once more black as he pressed his hips into Monroe, completely hard. "It can wait."

FIN

A/N: This officially marks the end of the story, but there is an epilogue chapter. Like I've said before, it's not necessary to read (but it will be more light-hearted if that interests you and will wrap up some things), but feel free to check out at this point, lol. Anyway, hopefully the sex wasn't… too terrible D,: Actually, hopefully the whole thing wasn't too terrible D: Sorry for the cop out ending, but honestly no one wanted this going on for another however-many chapters as Nick and Monroe find themselves evading the police, fleeing the country, getting hitched and raising chickens in the woods like two scary hermit-men, lol. If someone does want to read that, no, just no. lol!

Anyway, please, everyone, feel free to harass me about getting the epilogue chapter posted. I work better when I (constantly) feel accountable to people (and know I have something akin to deadlines, lol).

Anyway, thanks again for everyone's patience, favorites, follows and reviews. :D It means the world to me.