Warnings: Language, mentions non-consensual zaubertrank-induced sex but nothing more than what you saw on the show, violence, death of OCs, Nick whump, creepy fly-people doing creepy fly-people things which are creepy, angst, sarcasm, so much sarcasm (I'm lookin' at you Monroe). Umm…angst, hurt/comfort, more Nick whump. No slash. Other warnings on specific chapters.

Lost That Loving Feeling

Nick kept an eye on the bank of purple clouds massing over the mountains as he wedged one more box into his truck and closed up the back. The wind was picking up, stirring leafless branches, and sending a scuttle of winter leaves rattling down the gutter. It looked more like a spring tempest than mid-December, full of sleet and pounding rain.

His phone rang as he was climbing into the driver's seat. He started the engine and cranked the heat as he dug it out of his jacket pocket. Elvis was crooning out of the radio as it kicked on a little too loud.

I'll have a blue Christmas without you—

He turned it down low and answered the call. "Burkhardt."

"Hey, it's Monroe. Just wanted to see if we were still on for our training session this afternoon. Looks like the weather might be turning nasty. We might want to move up the time."

Nick dropped his forehead to rest on the steering wheel. Crap, he'd forgotten to call. He rubbed the back of his neck and wished the aspirin would kick in. "Sorry, I completely forgot that I need to cancel."

"Awww, man, we were going to try out that cool scimitar thingy."

They were going through the weapons closet of his Aunt's trailer piece by piece, checking things out, cleaning, getting a little practice in so he at least knew what they were like to hold and swing, how it felt when they made contact. It wasn't going to make him a weapon's expert, but the exercise, stress relief, and the company were all worth the effort. Every new weapon made Monroe light up like a kid at Christmas.

"I know and I'm sorry." He winced and wished that ever other word out of his mouth lately wasn't an apology. "I just…have some things to take care of."

He could actually hear Monroe's ears perk up over the phone. "What sort of things? Anything you need help with? I already cleared up my afternoon."

He sounded so earnest and eager to help and Nick felt a little stab of guilt every time he pulled the other man deeper into the mess that had become his life. At least this time it wasn't likely to end up in a life or death situation. "Yeah, actually that would be great. Let me give you the address."

He wasn't surprised to see Monroe's yellow VW already parked when he turned down the short, tree-lined street. The address wasn't that far from the other man's house. He reversed up the driveway next to the house, parking under the mossy, tin-roofed carport.

Monroe bounced out of the beetle, coming up the drive with a long, legged lope. His hair was wild today, curls flailing in the wind as he approached.

"Morning," Nick greeted.

"Good morning. I brought coffee and croissant. Is it appropriate to bring refreshment to Grimm related business?" He handed Nick a to-go cup.

"More than appropriate," Nick said, eagerly taking the cup. He'd gone straight into packing this morning, pausing only for a couple slices of toast. "But this isn't Grimm business."

"Dude, you're a Grimm ergo anything you're involved in is Grimm related." Monroe looked extraordinarily pleased with his conclusion.

"This is not business related then. Juliette and I…. We broke up." That was the first time he'd said it out loud, he was pleased he had managed it with only a slight hitch in his voice. Hank knew but he hadn't actually needed to say it to his partner who'd taken one look at him yesterday and threatened to drag him along on his trip back home for the annual Griffin family reunion.

"Oh, wow, man, that sucks." Monroe patted his shoulder awkwardly and a little too gently as if he thought Nick was going to crumble under his touch. "Did you fight? Did she kick you out? Do you need a place to stay?" More reluctantly he added, "Do you need to hug it out? Because I can call Rosalee. She's a lot better at that kind of stuff."

"No Juliette did not kick me out." He was a little offended that Monroe automatically went that way. Although under the circumstances it wasn't an unreasonable assumption. Digging keys out of his pocket, he unlocked the back door to his new rental.

"Wow. This house must have been built back in the 40's." Monroe pushed past him to wander around the kitchen. "Are these original appliances? I think some of them are older than you are. I think some of them are older than I am. Wait a second—boxes in the car. I'm helping you move!" he accused.

Nick smiled for the first time that morning. "I was wondering when you'd figure that out."

Monroe snorted. "Fine, but you're buying me lunch."

"You drive a hard bargain."

Monroe was made of willpower and stubbornness and snark and a big streak of kindness right down the middle like the gooey center of a Ho Ho. Nick's known that since the first week they met (although he never actually appreciated the full scope of it until after he'd read the blutbad book in his Aunt's trailer). They actually have the Toyota entirely unloaded before Monroe spits out the question Nick knows he must have been chewing on the entire time like a particularly grisly bit of meat.

Sliding a box onto the 70's green linoleum counter, Monroe burst out, "So, uh, I thought you and Juliette were trying to work it out."

Nick pulled out his pocket knife and started cutting open tape. Somewhere in this load was pre-Juliette kitchen gear he'd never actually gotten rid of. "We were. I just..." He managed a smile that felt plastic and probably looked just as stiff. "Just realized I was being selfish."

"Selfish?"

He found the glasses, wrapped up in towels and dishcloths leftover from his bachelor days. "You know what the first thing my Aunt said to me was after she met Juliette? That I should leave her for her own good."

"That's a little harsh," Monroe said with a grimace that spoke volumes of his feelings towards Marie Kessler.

Nick shrugged. He'd thought so too. At the time. "She was right. I put Juliette in danger just by being around her." Pulling out two glasses, he walked over to the sink, giving the faucet a twist. Pipes groaned all over the house and they both waited a wary moment to see if something was going to burst. "I thought that I could keep the Grimm part of me separate from her." Jesus, he'd been so fucking naive. "She could have forgotten her parents, her work, her whole life." She could have died. There were a dozen ways that story could have had a less happy ending than Nick moving out.

"But she didn't," Monroe said, aiming for reassuring. "And she'll remember. Rosalee will find a cure."

Nick shook his head. "That's kind of the point. There shouldn't need to be a cure. She shouldn't have been in danger in the first place. If I'd—" He cut that thought off before it got started, focusing on rinsing the glasses then filled them.

It was funny how he could remember the day he'd bought the glasses. They'd come in a whole set of dishes on the mark down shelf in the back of the store where he'd fled the dizzying array of cooking utensil for the familiar comfort of Sporting Goods. There had been some damage to the box, a single juice glass broken, but for half off, and an end to dish shopping, he was willing to overlook that.

Monroe looked dubious. He shifted awkwardly and Nick could literally see him searching for something comforting to say. "Still…."

Yeah, that pretty much summed it up. "I've got to get back to the house before ten," Nick said, changing the subject to Monroe's obvious relief. "The alarm company is coming by to finish up. You want to help me with the packing? There isn't much left."

"It's like you really think I don't have anything better to do," Monroe complained halfheartedly.

"I'm sure you have many, many important plans for the day," Nick assured him, patting his back, "that you've put off to help your friend in his time of need." He was glad Monroe was here, the ready affection and sarcasm took his mind off the ache of worry and loneliness in his stomach.

Monroe rolled his eyes and downed his water in one big slug. "Go get in the car."

They hit every red light—every single one—and were late getting to the house but so was the guy from the alarm company so it didn't matter.

"Centurion 3000," Monroe read off the partially-installed keypad by the door. "Sounds like…."

"Like they watched Ben Hur too many times," Nick suggested. "But the company is highly recommended. It even has a built-in carbon monoxide detector." So he was a little freaked out that Juliette would be alone in the house. And possibly he was contemplating calling her parents and suggesting that Juliette might like her mom to come up for a few weeks after she came home, a move that would have gotten him smacked upside the head if they were still living together.

"Fancy," Monroe commented, examining the numerous wires hanging out of the panel like he knew what they were for. Which, actually he might. Monroe was smart and Nick wouldn't put it past him to spend time reading manuals for random electronic equipment. "You should get one of these for your new place."

"I'm more worried about someone coming here looking for me. I asked Bud to spread the word that I was moving." Would it be overkill to borrow a real estate sign with the SOLD placard on it for the front yard? Probably.

"Then it ought to be all over town by tomorrow," Monroe sniggered.

Hearing a car door slam, Nick glanced out the window, spotting a company truck at the curb. "There's the alarm guy. He said all he'd have to do is connect everything and test it. Shouldn't take more than a couple hours."

Monroe clapped his hands together. "Let's get packing then."

() () ()

"You need furniture," Monroe complained as he picked through the leftover Styrofoam cartons sitting on the floor between them.

"Tomorrow," Nick replied, wiggling his back against the cabinet door to find a less jabby spot. His new landlord had offered the last tenant's furnishings but since the last tenant was now looking at fifteen years for seven counts of possession with intent to distribute Nick had cheerfully declined.

"Don't take this the wrong way," Monroe added, "but I think you should hit the thrift stores. Your furniture has a habit of…."

"Dying before its time," Nick finished for him.

"In ways that involve it being shattered, smashed, stabbed, shot, crushed, used as weapons," Monroe expounded, "etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. You sure you don't want to take anything out of the house? I could probably borrow a truck from one of the guys at group."

Nick glanced through the kitchen door to the flat screen TV they'd managed to wedge sideways into the back of his vehicle. It was the only thing in the living room besides a stack of boxes that mostly held clothes and things he'd never gotten around to throwing out three years ago when he'd moved in. He was happy to leave the rest of the furnishings and knickknacks for Juliette, but he wasn't quite martyr enough to give up his TV. "Nah. I'm good."

"You aren't planning on sleeping here tonight, are you?"

He wasn't going back to the house. Maybe tomorrow to do one last check before Juliette came back but didn't think he could handle looking at the empty spaces in his old life tonight.

"You are!" Monroe accused, aghast at the very notion.

He wasn't, he'd planned on crashing in the trailer for one night, but he couldn't help teasing Monroe just a little. "I am paying to live here." And at least here he'd have a shower in the morning.

"You don't even have a bed."

"I have a sleeping bag." Somewhere. In a box. That hadn't been aired out since who knew when. The trailer was looking better and better.

Monroe stared at him like he'd grown a third eye. Were there wesen that grew third eyes? That would be cool. Freaky but cool. Possibly he was a little bit sleep-deprived, not having actually slept since…since the night before last and that being restless hours on the couch turning possibilities and repercussions over and over and over in his mind until he'd thought his brain was going to start smoking from the friction.

"Don't give me that look," he complained, not even having to look in Monroe's direction to know he was getting the worried eye.

He ended up spending the night on Monroe's couch (because the guest room looked like a mauzhertz had been nesting there and Nick actually wanted to sleep rather than spend the night watching Monroe try to sort it out enough to uncover the bed) which was not only a lot more comfortable than his own couch but had the added benefit of coffee first thing in the morning.

At eight am he was lounging in sweat pants with a second cup and the sports section, listening to Monroe do his morning workout and the rain pound against the roof as if Mother Nature had a grudge against the world. The light creeping in the windows was gray and pale but inside it was warm and bright, filled with tinsel and evergreen boughs and colored lights and the smell of cinnamon from the basket of waxed pinecones beside the hearth.

"Don't you have to be at work soon?" Monroe asked, trundling towards the stairs.

"Took the week off." Nick turned a page, scanning an article on the Portland Timbers newest acquisition. "Want to go out to breakfast and then go furniture shopping?"

"You buying?" Monroe asked incredulous.

"Yep." Nick didn't look up, treating his surprise with the disdain it deserved. He'd totally paid back that three hundred dollars.

"In that case, absolutely."

Portland had a lot of thrift stores, rummage stores, pawn shops, and places that could be classified as straight up junk piles. By lunch Monroe had found a wooden lamp carved to look like a small tree, a mixing bowl Nick thought had been made in Amish country sometime in the '20's, a record that also looked like it had been made in the '20's, and seven books covering a wide variety of topics.

"How Not To Die in the Woods. Really?"

Monroe pushed the book back in the pile, carefully looking anywhere but at Nick. "I find that this book resonates with my new lifestyle. You want to borrow it?"

Nick sighed. "Sure."

He also found a throw pillow that nearly matched the comfy leather chair in his living room, three flannel shirts, and a hat that made Nick want to stick a gigantic white feather in the band and say arrrrrrrrgh every time he saw it. And— the piece de resistance—a plastic storage bin full to the brim with Christmas lights. For three dollars.

"Three dollars!" Monroe crowed. "Look at all these lights. You never find something like this so close to the holidays. Hey do you suppose that eisbiber guy you know could recommend a good electrician? I need more outdoor plug-ins."

Nick gave the box a glance and went back to comparing mixing bowls. "Do they work?" Blue enamel or stainless steel. Did he even need a mixing bowl? Did he anticipate mixing often?

Monroe made a derisive sound, pawing through the lights with a level of glee Nick had previously only associated with small children and toy boxes. "Finding out is half the fun."

Nick found a dresser, a stackable washer dryer set that was plain but clean and in good shape. And an armchair that was like sinking into a cotton ball and obviously built for a man over three hundred pounds. He could curl up in it like a puppy.

Monroe promptly vetoed the armchair on account of the supposed smell.

"I can't smell anything," Nick protested.

"Trust me. The nose knows."

He found a couch. It was upholstered in a soft, shaggy, green cloth that he couldn't stop petting.

"Seriously, dude, you do not want that one."

Another chair. This one was leather and looked like it had hardly been used except for the back corner that someone's cat had used it as a scratching post. He figured he'd shove it against a wall and never notice.

"No." Monroe wrinkled his nose. "Just no."

Nick was beginning to think he was putting in way too much work into this.

"What about this one?" he asked tiredly, collapsing on another couch. It was a pullout, three piece sectional in some kind of nubby, beige cloth and he was never getting up again. Shopping with Monroe was on par with antiquing with Juliette or running a marathon carrying a mini-refrigerator. A man could only take so much.

Monroe circled the couch three times, which brought to mind a metaphor about dogs and beds Nick knew he should never ever say aloud, and pronounced it, "Acceptable."

"Hallelujah," Nick declared. "I'll take it."

He found a small kitchen table and four mismatched chairs with much less drama and they headed for the nearest store with new beds because Nick doubted they'd ever find one that would get the Monroe stamp of approval.

Mattress stores were a surprising and welcome respite from the press of Christmas. A couple understated decorative trees tucked into corners and a string of tinsel around the sales counter at the front of the store. Best of all, the Muzak playing over invisible speakers was something instrumental and unrecognizable and if it had any relation to holiday music he wasn't going to try finding it.

They were in the plush pillow-top section when Monroe finally burst out, "Did you actually talk this over with Juliette? It seems kind of sudden."

Nick stared at the ceiling. There were mirrors on it, which was both disturbing and strangely entertaining. He could see Monroe kicking back on the bed across the room, making funny faces as he wiggled and tried every sleeping position he could think of.

"There's a stranger living in her house," he said finally, softly, trusting in Monroe's sharp hearing. "She locks the bedroom door at night because there's a man downstairs she doesn't know." The uneasiness in her eyes made his stomach twist and his chest ache unpleasantly.

Monroe lifted his head enough to look over his toes. "Is that why you've been sleeping on the couch instead of the guest room?"

"I didn't want to make things worse." Like the morning he'd gotten called out really early and had gone upstairs to grab his electric razor out of the guest bathroom and scared Juliette half to death coming up on her in the darkened hall.

The scuff of a shoe warned him of the salesman's reappearance. "Gentleman, how's it going?"

Nick looked up at him. "I'll take this one. Queen size. With that frame over there." The headboard had all kinds of cupboard and drawers, perfect for hiding assorted Grimm paraphernalia in. "And I need it delivered today."

The salesman went in search of paperwork and the delivery truck schedule, gleefully clutching Nick's debit card in one hand.

"Still," Monroe said, voice getting clearer as he sat up, "did you actually talk to her?"

Nick heaved a sigh that went all the way to his toes. They had talked. Juliette had looked relieved then upset and then relieved again and had agreed that time apart might be for the best. While Nick had sat at the kitchen table wondering if he should be upset or relieved with the quick agreement, she'd made him a mug of hot chocolate and gone to pack for a trip to her parents.

"She's going to be fine, Monroe."

She would be. She'd go on with her life with hardly a thought for the guy who'd shared her house for a couple weeks.

He sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "She won't even miss me."

TBC