Oh Heaven, Oh Heaven

I wake with good intentions,

But the day, it always lasts too long,

Then I'm gone.

(Emeli Sandé)

Nick's brain was doing this funny little thing. It was telling him there was a small crack in the laminate, right there, by his right foot, he'd never noticed it before, but now that his face was tilted downwards and to the side he could see it clearly. He was staring right into that little line of blackness. He was noticing every tiny bit of dirt that was caught in it. For a moment, his brain simply refused to tell him that Monroe had hit him and called him a fucking liar.

But then the next moment came and Nick's self-preservation instincts kicked in with a bang. Before he knew it he was hitting back as hard as he could, which turned out to be pretty hard. The clockmaker stumbled backwards, bumping into the breakfast bar and sliding down until he was sat on the floor, holding his jaw, and for a brief second there Nick could see a glimpse of the Monroe he knew on that quite literally gobsmacked face. Then his vision went blurry. His first impulse was to walk away. Maybe forever. But at least for now. Yet he couldn't leave Monroe in this situation. He just couldn't.

"Fucking get a grip!" He shook out his hand and went upstairs.

As soon as Nick was in his room he closed the door and leaned against it, furiously rubbing at his eyes. He would not cry. Unlike Monroe, he barely ever cried at all. Yet this was already the second time in not even a whole day, and all because of that prick. Nick sucked on his throbbing knuckles. He paced the room for half a minute. Finally, he let himself sink down onto the sofa. It was the only piece of furniture in here. This house they'd bought was pretty big, so they both had their own rooms, plus a couple of spares, but Nick hardly ever used his. There were still boxes in a corner that he couldn't be bothered unpacking. Whereas Monroe had turned his own room into a cave of wonders of some sorts. It screamed his name loud and clear. It contained shelves upon shelves of stuff that Nick had banned him from putting up in their shared living space. Like that goddamn ugly talking gnome Monroe insisted was a Silesian rarity from the whatever-teenth century. Nick, in turn, insisted there was a good reason why it was a rarity. The clockmaker was also doing some of his repairs in there. Sometimes, Nick would sit in that huge leather armchair in 'the cave' and read a book whilst Monroe was working. Or, rather, browse a book. He wasn't a big reader. He always ended up watching his lover anyway. Nick still failed to comprehend how those big, hairy hands managed to carry out all of those tiny little movements with such care and precision. Monroe put so much love and dedication into all that he did, and as a bonus he looked hot as hell in those freaky glasses. It was better than anything that came on TV.

Nick pulled up his legs and leaned sideways until he was laid down with his head on the armrest and his arms hugging his knees. It shouldn't be hurting so badly, he tried to convince himself. He was used to being punched, in his job. And his other job too, the one that came without comprehensive health coverage. Somehow, a lot of Wesen seemed a little sensitive about his ancestors putting an axe into everything that moved and woged. But Monroe had reassured him he looked sublimely masculine with bruises and scratch marks all over his face, and while Nick wasn't one hundred percent sure what 'sublimely' meant exactly he assumed it wasn't bad. He really wasn't too bothered by someone trying to hit him, kick him and even bite him on a regular basis. And Monroe's fist hadn't even hurt so much. It was the kind of punch that was simply making a point. Though that made it worse, in a way. In every way. Monroe was his safe haven. Yet, to his surprise, Nick wasn't angry. All he wanted was to get his Monroe back, his Monroe, who would never hurt him, who was prepared to defend him with his last breath if anyone else tried to, though the detective insisted that he stayed out of physical fights whenever possible..

Nick had no concept of whether he spent minutes or hours lying there, breathing in and out and not much else. Time eluded him, a rare occurrence in their house. In the end, a soft knock pulled him out of his mental slumber, followed by the sound of his name, and as quiet and cautious as that was it still made him jump a little. His insides clamped at the mere thought of opening that door, and Nick hated, hated to feel this way about Monroe. Still, he forced himself up. If he weren't prepared to talk he might have as well grabbed a suitcase and left.

At least, when Nick opened the door and looked into his boyfriend's face it was finally displaying some adequate emotions rather than sheer madness, or, even worse, nothing. Monroe was radiating guilt and embarrassment out of every pore.

"I'm sorry", he mumbled as soon as their eyes met, instantly averting his gaze. "I'm so sorry, Nick.. I didn't mean to, I don't even.. I know 'sorry' is not enough.."

"Yeah, no shit!" Nick barked, giving himself a hard surface, yet on the inside he was crumbling. The pain in Monroe's voice was eating through him like acid. He couldn't even bring himself to shout at him some more. It felt like kicking a wounded puppy.

He exhaled in a loud huff and also looked to the side, nervously running a hand through his hair. He had no idea where to go from here.

"Something is happening to me", Monroe whispered, "something is.. oh God.."

Nick's gaze shot back to the clockmaker who was staring down at his hands. He followed that dismayed stare. Monroe hands were moving, yet seemingly without his intent. They were fluctuating between human digits and claws, back and forth, almost in a blur. Nick had never seen anything like it before.

"Stop it!"

"I can't!"

On an impulse, Nick grabbed them and held them still.

"What the hell is this, Monroe?"

He squeezed them as hard as he could until they finally stopped quivering and remained finger-shaped in his hands.

"What's going on, talk to me, for God's sake!"

"I don't -..", Monroe gave a barely noticeable shake of his curly head, ".. I just.."

There he was, the most eloquent person the Grimm had ever come across, reduced to a mere handful of syllables. Without a coherent thought on his mind Nick let go of Monroe's hands and leaned in, slinging both arms around his tall frame. And almost instantly the clockmaker was responding in like.

There was something deliciously bittersweet about this, being wrapped so tightly into each other after the horrible things that preceded. It made Nick feel all raw under his skin. It wasn't comfortable – yet more comforting than he would have expected. He could feel Monroe's nose in his neck, lips lightly touching his skin.

"Forgive me.. please.. I think I need help.."

"I know..", Nick was gently stroking his lover's hair that was all tangled-up and brushy underneath his fingertips, not as soft as usual. "Everything will be alright.. I promise."

He was trying to reassure Monroe and himself in equal measures. Nick honestly had no clue how to make everything alright, he needed Monroe to tell him what to do to help, but that seemed like a lost cause right now. Right now, the Blutbad was simply clinging to him with all the headless urgency of a drowning man. It felt good though, to be that straw, it eased the hurt he had chosen to swallow a little.

"Don't leave me.."

"I won't..", the Grimm dared an unsure smile against Monroe's plaid-clad shoulder. "Though, you know, back in the car, it almost sounded like you couldn't care less if I left."

"In the car?"

A cold shiver started crawling down Nick's spine. He lost the smile and pulled out of the embrace, just a little.

"Yes, in the car, when we drove to the m-.. hospital, remember?"

Monroe gazed at him blankly for a second. And then another second.

"Yeah, sure. I know", he finally attempted, cautiously intonating each word. Slowly, though, that lost expression on his face was giving way to a sincerity that momentarily melted Nick's doubts. "Of course I care, Nick, you're all I have. I'm so sorry."

The detective had needed to hear it so very badly. He freed one hand from where it was stuck underneath Monroe's arm and brought it up to stroke his cheek.

"I'm sorry too."

There was an angry, purplish bruise glowing on the clockmaker's jaw. Nick realised he hit him much harder than he'd been hit himself.

"Come on, let's put some ice on that." And then, after a moment's hesitation, he added: "I'll run you a bath, too."

He felt a tiny bit embarrassed having to suggest it, but as much as he tried to ignore that stupid little detail he just couldn't help noticing Monroe's smell. It was different from his usual scent that Nick adored. Monroe was the only person he'd ever met who didn't use any perfumed products, even his shampoo and shower gel didn't smell like anything at all. The Blutbad hated artificial fragrance on his skin, it gave his nose a headache, he said. And that was quite a welcome change from being around Hank all day who seemed to have a habit of bathing in cologne. Though, before he'd met Monroe, Nick couldn't have imagined that a guy's natural scent could be so attractive. Well, there were many things Nick couldn't have imagined before he'd met Monroe. Monroe smelled like dark, salted caramel – if caramel grew on trees..

Yet now there was nothing pleasant about his smell, it was raw and musky, somehow, it even reminded Nick of wet fur. The Blutbad had been running through the forest all night, he was in clear need of a wash.

But first they returned downstairs and Nick told Monroe to go sit on the sofa while he grabbed a bag of peas from the freezer and wrapped it into a kitchen towel. Back in the living room, he carefully pressed it against the swelling on his lover's jaw, taking Monroe's hand to position it on top of the compress and asking him to hold it in place while he went to run that bath. The clockmaker obeyed without a word. Nick decided he did not like this quiet, unresponsive Monroe any better than the violent, psychotic one. It was the second time his personality had changed in just a couple of hours. 'Unresponsive' was the last word anyone would have chosen to describe Monroe under normal circumstances. At times, he was maybe a bit too responsive for Nick's taste, getting all excited over the tiniest things, like a little child, well, it was adorable in its own way.. Nick winced. He'd burnt his fingers, carelessly holding them under the hot tap as he was adjusting the temperature.

When he came back into the lounge Monroe was sitting in the exact same position the detective had left him in.

"Nick?"

Nick perched on the sofa next to him, cautiously wrapping an arm around his broad shoulders.

"Mmh?"

He was pretty sure that whatever Monroe had to say would not succeed in shocking or disturbing him any longer, that he was prepared for anything. How wrong he was.

"Nick, where are my parents, shouldn't they have been here by now?"

The clockmaker turned to look at him with that heartbreakingly confused face, towel still pressed to his cheek.

"Eh..?"

Nick gaped back, open-mouthed.

"Uh.."

He was yet to find a fitting response when a sudden spark of realisation hit those brown eyes and Monroe shook his head, letting the home-made ice pack slide onto the floor.

"Of course.. they died.. sorry, man.."

He leaned forward, dropping his head into both hands. Nick was staring at it in wordless stupefaction. That beautiful head was brimful of knowledge, though only parts of it were useful to anyone but himself. The Monroe he knew had an amazing memory. Sometimes, when he was feeling melancholy, he would play his cello for hours without even looking at the music. He could list and explain all past and present train engine types, in chronological order. He would quite happily give a comprehensive lecture on stamps in the Third Reich, if anyone let him. Not that Nick had ever seen Monroe's stamp collection. Not that it hadn't been on offer, on their very first proper date, actually..

.. the one Nick didn't realise was a date at the time. They had eaten dinner together many times before, though never at this type of posh Italian restaurant that specialised in fancily named dishes and tables for two. Nick was not the sort to spend big money when eating out, but Monroe insisted it was his treat, so he was quite happily stuffing his face with some award-winning pasta – whereas the clockmaker barely touched his own food. That should have set off all alarm bells, but Nick was too busy telling his friend about that colleague he'd only just discovered was a Genio Innocuo. Monroe listened intently and talked less than usual, not taking his eyes off Nick, really focusing on him. And yet, the detective had no clue, not even when Monroe told him he looked handsome in that dark blue shirt and ordered the most expensive wine, and asked if he wanted to share a dessert. Nick should have known Monroe wouldn't give up half of his dessert to just anyone. But he was still oblivious when they were walking back to Monroe's car, oblivious and a little tipsy, he was complaining how difficult it was to find a girl. Well, finding a girl was not a problem, but he wasn't interested in just a night or two, he wanted someone who'd understand – or, at least, put up with his crazy working hours and all the other things that were crazy.

Nick did not have the foggiest idea – until Monroe pushed him against a wall and kissed him, and then he suddenly had a lot of ideas, all of them foggy. He managed to pull away in righteous indignation, enquiring what the hell that was, to which Monroe responded that he was pretty sure it was a kiss, yes, that was the word he would usually choose, and before Nick had a chance to grumble about his annoying pedantry he was already getting another demonstration. Monroe moved even closer and kissed him again, slowly and sensuously, nudging his mouth open. It blew Nick's mind to pieces and did things to his body he never knew could be achieved with just a pair of lips on his own lips. It made him forget they were outside, in public, though in a dark and empty back road. It made his hands curl around the taller man's neck. And when Monroe finally released him and took a step back with that half shy, half playful grin on his face, telling him how long he'd been waiting to do this and asking him if he wanted to come back to his place to 'see his stamp collection'.. Nick couldn't help but laugh. From one moment to the next, all of those warm, cosy feelings he'd already held for his friend grew much clearer and sharper and he was nothing but stammering, sweaty infatuation.

It was safe to say he did not sleep in his own bed that night, or at all, Monroe would not allow it, despite Nick's half-hearted attempts to remind him he had an early shift coming. Monroe's hands and tongue showed no mercy, keeping him awake, or rather in his overtired, deliriously dream-like state. Nick had forgotten such endless nights existed. When they finally arrived at the clockmaker's house, in his bedroom – they had to take breaks on the way as it was sheer impossible to keep their lips off each other – but when they finally made it Monroe didn't go straight for his groin, like it usually went when Nick ended up between the sheets with someone. Monroe lifted Nick so effortlessly it made him feel weightless and placed him onto his huge bed, taking all the time in the world to map out Nick's body with his mouth and his big, warm hands, as if it were in fact a precious and intriguing clockwork and all Monroe had ever wanted from life was to find out what made it tick. As if he had the power to suspend the usual course of hours and minutes and let them drag deliciously like strands of hot, sticky toffee. The detective wasn't used to this, to being explored like this, he was normally the one doing most of the exploring, but Monroe was like a force of nature and Nick submitted to it without even thinking.

And when he was just about to go crazy Monroe finally started stroking him where he really needed it. It took his breath away, as well as the rest of the doubts he might have still held at that point. Being jerked off wasn't generally something Nick was crazy about. As a rule, girls didn't seem to know how to touch a cock. Most of them were too soft, and that was nice and relaxing but kind of beside the point. Some focused on the wrong areas, and that was a bit uncomfortable. And then there was that slightly scary minority who chose the opposite strategy and pulled really hard and fast from beginning 'til end, as if planning to tear it off or something. Of course, Nick never complained, just steered the proceedings towards the main course. But when Monroe stroked him it was satisfying enough to serve as starter, main and dessert, as good as doing it yourself, but with the significant added bonus of not doing it yourself. Nick was shocked and embarrassed to find that he hardly took any time at all, and was expecting his friend to make some kind of joke, as usual, asking him if he'd been feeling a little desperate lately, the answer to which would have been a resounding yes. But Monroe did nothing of the sort, just smiled and held him and kept kissing him until he recovered, and then Monroe used his talented mouth elsewhere. So it went. Though they did not go all the way that night. But in the very early morning, when the sky was turning that silky, ink blue colour and they were still all over each other – well, then they did.

Neither of them had expected it to happen, Nick's mind didn't even go there at first, it just wasn't something he'd naturally think of. But then Monroe was lying between his legs, sucking on his mouth, lazily, they were both exhausted, yet Nick could feel how hard his friend was, again. He reached down to run his fingers along it, panting as Monroe bit down on his chin, but Nick didn't want to just do it with his hand again like the last three or five times, he'd lost count, and every time had been a little weird still, but Monroe's reactions had been so captivating and sincere they made it worthwhile. Now that hardness was driving Nick mad, pressing against a sensitive area he never knew was so sensitive. His thoughts were running away with him more and more until all he could do was wonder what it felt like to have all of that hot, stiff cock inside you, to be fucked by Monroe, what the girls and maybe guys Monroe had been with must have felt. Nick still remembered a few passing remarks Angelina had made, she'd probably thought they were subtle, but Angelina didn't do subtle very well so it was pretty obvious they were complimenting Monroe's qualities as a lover. The clockmaker had turned bright red at the time and told Angelina to shut it, and Nick had been embarrassed too, saying it was way too much information, and yet those remarks still lingered in his mind. Before that, he'd never thought of his geeky friend as a very sexual person. Well, he'd been wrong, and was craving to find out just how wrong.

Nick spread his legs a little more. He had to be crazy, but his brain was too tired to work in its usual fashion, and it didn't help that he was so horny still, still very much turned on by his friend. Somehow, the clockmaker seemed to lose all of his amiable, clumsy goofiness in bed and was nothing but confidence, a very different person, and that person was fucking hot. And yet, it was clear Monroe wasn't even dreaming of going there, he'd obviously assumed Nick wouldn't want to. It made the look on his face all the more delicious when the detective pulled out of the kiss and stroked his cheek, and asked Monroe to please fuck him. He watched in breathless fascination as the Blutbad's gaze flared up red, a scalding hot mixture of fear and excitement in his stomach. This bad idea was such a good idea. And when Monroe regained control and squinted at him in surprise, asking if he was sure with those hungry brown eyes of his – Nick simply nodded. He was as sure as he'd ever be about something he had never done before, something that should have felt unnatural to him – giving up the lead. But it was pretty clear Monroe was wearing the pants when he was, well, not wearing any pants, and to his surprise Nick found that he was okay with that, well, no, not okay, he was thrilled out of his mind.

Thrilled and terrified as Monroe reached into the bedside table to get out lube and a condom, which was when it really hit home that this was happening, but Nick was a brave guy by nature, and by profession, being scared had never, ever stopped him from going through with a plan. He was quite prepared for it to hurt, girls in porn always looked like this hurt a lot, not that Nick had ever done it to a woman, he'd never seen the point. But once it all began Monroe was so careful and gentle there wasn't much pain, hardly any.

Outside, the sky was paling, it was getting lighter by the second and Nick was looking straight up into his friend's face as Monroe pushed in a finger. Nick could tell the Blutbad was as excited as himself, which flattered him immensely, since by now he was sure that Monroe had been in this exact same place with a guy before, and not just once, oh, he knew exactly what he was doing. Nick felt another long finger and then Monroe curled them both up inside him, as if asking him to come close, though Nick was pretty close already, closer than he'd ever felt to another person. At first it was all about this heartwarming intimacy, Monroe's fingers caressing him and teaching him to relax, to stop clutching them so hard. The physical side of it was not so straightforward at first, Nick wasn't sure how much he was actually going to enjoy this, until Monroe found a spot inside him that turned his body into a bunch of rainbow-coloured Christmas lights. Nick gasped and clenched his eyes, and when he was looking again Monroe had this big grin on his face. On anyone else that would have been smug, but the clockmaker appeared genuinely happy, and once he found that spot, he wouldn't let go of it, playing with it as he prepared himself with his other hand. Nick watched him, as much as he could keep his eyes open and focused, God it was huge, this was never going to work, he was already shaking just from Monroe's fingers sliding in and out of him. He had now idea how his body could be so responsive still, but this was like a whole new menu of sensations, like when sometimes you feel full and content after a good meal, but there's still ample space to have something sweet.

Nick really wasn't sure if there was enough space though, but he did not get to worry about it for any significant amount of time as Monroe removed his fingers and stretched out on top of him once again. Their noses touched and Nick's breathing was all over the place, he hoped he wasn't looking too much like a deer in the headlights, and that Monroe could see he really wanted this, even if he had no clue what he was doing. But, of course, Monroe could tell, he knew Nick better than anyone, even Hank, or his own mother, yes, definitely better than his own mother, and now he would truly get to know him inside out. The clockmaker did not ask any awkward questions, just told him he'd go slow and that Nick should stop him if it got too much. Then he placed a hand on his hip and pressed inside. The first bit was the hardest part, the head of Monroe's cock was really thick and firm against Nick's ring muscle and instinctively the detective pulled him down by his neck and crushed their lips together hard enough to stifle all the embarrassing noises in his throat. He made Monroe kiss him through it as he adjusted to every inch stretching him slowly and carefully, and every time he thought he could take no more Monroe paused and nipped his neck, telling him how amazing he was, like being with Nick was the best thing in the world, heck, the whole universe, ever.

And when he was all the way in Monroe held still, brushing the young man's lips to ask if this was okay, and even though it was a mere whisper the Blutbad's voice was dark and thick with lust. Nick only mustered a little whimper in response, there were many words for this, not that he could think of any right now, but he was pretty sure that 'okay' wasn't one of them. Monroe had taken full control of his body with that massive, throbbing hot cock of his, and once he started moving it inside him those tiny little twitches of his hips were radiating through Nick's entire frame. He was trembling and gasping and Monroe caught and bit his lips every time, as if intending to suck all of those involuntary moans from his mouth, even though they were sounds of helpless astonishment rather than anything else.

Which changed pretty quickly when Monroe seemed to decide that Nick was ready for more and leaned away, pushing himself up on one arm and offering a welcome view of his sturdy yet perfectly toned upper body. Maybe Nick shouldn't have made fun of him for favouring a girly sport like Pilates. The Blutbad gave a surprisingly predatory smile, lifting the detective's hips to align them with his own, and that was when the pleasure truly hit Nick with all the impact of a steam train, though the nerdy Monroe would have disagreed with that overly simple metaphor and asked him to please clarify what type. But the hot, sexy Monroe didn't give a damn, that Monroe was watching him hungrily, adjusting the angle until he rediscovered that dazzling, electric spot inside him. Then he pounded it mercilessly. Nick didn't even know which way to turn, sobbing and squirming about on the sweat-soaked sheets, one part of him was trying to get away as this was just too intense, so dizzying it almost almost made him want to throw up, but another, more prominent part of him was arching up to meet those thrusts and use them to maximum effect as they were coming faster and harder, turning his body into soft plasticine in Monroe's hands. But all of that was nothing compared to what the shameless expression on Monroe's face did to him, what Monroe's mouth did to him, having moved on from sweet talk and telling him how fucking tight he was, how much Monroe loved fucking his tight hole and that he would fuck him so long and hard Nick wouldn't be able to walk for a week, and other promises that were so dirty and embarrassing the Grimm wanted to cover his ears, and at the same time they were the single most arousing thing he'd ever heard. His brain was already overloading and when he could barely keep it together anymore Monroe released his hips and wrapped a hand around his cock, which actually played a surprisingly minor role when Nick's body surged with heat top to bottom and every cell, every single nerve ending in his system exploded with pleasure. Monroe must have come shortly after but Nick had no conscious recollection of it, his mind remained positively blown for what felt like a blissful eternity. After that, Monroe had finally allowed him to sleep..

.. and now Nick was feeling as if he hadn't slept for years, but without the whole happy, hyperactive buzz of it. His mind was pressing down on his eyelids, dark and heavy, and all he wanted to do was lie down and and wake up the next morning to find that things were back to normal.

"Hey..", he moved his hand to caress the curls at the back of Monroe's head, surprised by the tenderness in his own voice. At least he didn't sound like he was interrogating a suspect. ".. is this, like, a Blutbad thing, 'Roe? I mean, your woge, and.. the memory issue? Can you tell me about it?"

Monroe let his head slide deeper in between his forearms, clawing fingers into thick hair.

"Can't think of anything", he muttered, and the detective wasn't sure if he meant that he didn't know the answer – or that he literally couldn't think of anything.

"Alright, don't worry." Clearly, Nick had to be the one doing the thinking here. "Remember how I told you about Doctor Tenma?"

"Your Japanese colleague, right?" Monroe sounded relieved he remembered. "The Genio Innocuo guy?"

"Yeah, him. I'll call him right now. He should have a look at you, you know?"

"Why?"

"Well, he's our expert on psychological trauma, plus he's Wesen, so mayb-"

"I don't need a shrink!"

Suddenly, the other Monroe was growling at him once again, baring his fangs.

A blink of an eye later, his Monroe was slamming his forehead into his fists, shaking.

"Sorrysorrysorry.."

Still, Nick recoiled, physically and emotionally, pulling his hand away.

"I'm starting to think you do. This isn't you, Monroe, this horrible behaviour, it's not you."

"You know nothing about me!" The other Monroe snarled. It hurt Nick even deeper knowing there was some truth in it.

"No!" His Monroe whined. "I don't want this, Nick, whatever you need me to do, I'll do it, I swear!"

The detective felt as if someone had tied a bunch of thick ropes around his chest and tightened them all at once. He was absurdly grateful when his phone rang and he said sorry, but he needed to pick this one up. Without the distraction, he might have started going crazy himself.

"Hank?"

"Hey Buddy", came his partners comfortingly familiar voice down the line. "How are you holding up?"

Hank sounded apologetic and a little worried. They'd spoken briefly this morning, he knew Nick needed some time off to take care of Monroe. What Hank didn't know was how much care Monroe actually required. Nick was hoping to keep it that way.

"Alright", he lied, getting up and taking a few steps through the lounge, "I guess, given the circumstances."

"Good", Hank said. "Good. Look. I'm really sorry to bother you with this man, but did you accidentally take the Summers file home with you?"

"Oh.. shit", Nick slapped himself on the forehead. "Yeah. Must have left it in my car."

"Don't worry, I'll just drop by and -"

"No!" It came out way too rushed and panicked. "No, look, it's a complete mess over here." This time, Nick didn't even have to lie. "I'll bring it round."

"Wait, are you sure -"

"Yeah, sure, see you in twenty."

Nick hung up before Hank had a chance to ask any unwelcome questions. He peered over at Monroe who was gazing back, an unexpectedly needy look on his face.

"You're going away?"

He seemed to have gotten himself together a little. His face had stopped bubbling uncontrollably as it was trying to decide what shape to take on. Nick had watched him taking deep, deliberate breaths while he was on the phone to Hank. It reminded him that Monroe had missed out oh his Pilates session this morning. And that, in turn, brought something else to mind.

"Listen", he tried to put it as diplomatically as he could. "I suppose you haven't taken your tablets last night.. wanna take them now? Will that help?"

They'd never spoken about it before, of course not, but once they started living together Nick did notice that Monroe was taking some kind of medicine every evening. Yet the Blutbad was healthy as a, well, horse seemed like the wrong analogy here, but it was clear that these had to be the 'drugs' he was referring to when they first met, the ones that suppressed the less desirable parts of his nature and helped him stay good. Nick had never asked Monroe about them, and why would he? Just because they were seeing each other and he was a cop didn't mean he had to stick his nose into what was obviously Monroe's private business. The clockmaker was quite a bit older than himself, he didn't need Nick watching over him. That's what Nick had always assumed.

But now things were starting to appear in a different light as Monroe shook his head and murmured:

"I've run out.."

"Oh." Nick squinted at him in surprise and the clockmaker looked down, embarrassed. "When?"

"About a week.."

"You didn't get a new batch?"

"Had too much to do.."

That was true, the autumn months running up to Christmas were Monroe's busiest. People were retrieving their broken heirloom watches from the attic and needed them to be turned into presents; dozens of grandfather clocks in dozens of living rooms had to be refurbished in time for the festivities; even the huge clocks on top of churches and town halls needed to be checked over and readied for their New Year's Eve countdown. Monroe worked hard in those months so he could take the second half of December off and play with the Märklin to his heart's content. Still, it was no excuse.

"I was fine.. I didn't think that.. all this time, I've been.. fine.."

Well, you're not fine now, Nick thought, but what he said was:

"I'll get you some on the way home."

"Don't go..", Monroe whispered, still looking to the floor, and it tied Nick's heart into a knot. He could hardly bear the thought of leaving him alone like this, yet he had his responsibilities, he knew Hank really needed that file and he wouldn't let his partner down. Hank was probably really pissed at him already, having had to drive everywhere with Wu in Nick's absence. By now, Wu had probably given him a detailed account of all the home made dinners he'd cooked his cats this week..

The detective knelt by the sofa, taking Monroe's face in his hands. He didn't feel completely at ease touching him, and still, he was craving to, he needed to Monroe to feel him close.

"I'm sorry, I have to. Hank needs something from me. I won't be long."

The Blutbad raised his eyes at him, warily, like a barely tamed animal.

"Upstairs should be ready by now.. go take your bath, and before you know it I'll be back, okay? You won't do anything stupid while I'm gone, okay?"

There was a cautious nod.

".. okay."

"Promise?"

".. I promise."

"Alright." Nick got to his feet, stretching out a hand. "Give me your key."

"Huh?"

"Your key. I'll have to lock you in. I'm sorry, 'Roe."

The clockmaker stared at him in shock and Nick thought he was going to snap at him again and resist, but after a few moments of hesitation he reached into his pocket and handed it over.

"You're right. Take it."

Nick took the key and told Monroe he would see him soon, then went upstairs to lock all the windows, and back downstairs to give the patio doors the same treatment before stepping outside, locking the door behind him. He now had a whole pocketful of keys and felt awful about it. He was telling himself he needed to protect Monroe, but deep down, he also knew he needed to protect Portland from Monroe. He had no idea what the Blutbad was capable of in this strange, unhinged state. He'd never seen anything like it before, but the fact that Monroe would attack him, his own boyfriend, did not bode well.

Nick got the portable siren out of the boot and stuck it onto the roof of his car. Yeah, he really wasn't supposed to do that when off duty, but he needed to get there and back as quickly as he could. He kept dialing Rosalee's number on the way to the precinct, but all he was getting was the damn mailbox. Finally, he gave up and called Hank, who said he was down in the canteen, so that's where Nick met him. The place was nearly empty by now, it was gone five o'clock, so a lot of the supporting staff had left, and whoever was involved in an urgent investigation was probably bent over their desks, scanning profiles and whatnot. Hank was stood at the far end of the hall, pouring himself a coffee from the machine, so Nick walked over and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Oh hey! How did you get here so quickly?"

The Grimm shrugged and decided not to elaborate on his MO.

"How's it going over here?"

"Don't worry, man, I'm keeping Portland going in your absence."

Nick gave a forced chuckle.

"Good. Here. I'd completely forgotten about it."

"It's fine, buddy, you've got other things on your mind", Hank took the file, looking at it briefly. "Speaking of which, how's Monroe?"

"Well.. not great", Nick admitted, "so I need to get back straight away, I'm sorry. See you later."

He was about to turn around and leave when his partner stopped him.

"Nick, did you get into a fight or something? Wesen related?"

"Huh?"

"You didn't have that when I last saw you", Hank pointed to his own cheek, then Nick's face – that was starting to turn bright red. He didn't even realise Monroe had left a mark. He should have known, he bruised so easily. Which in his line of work was really annoying.

"It's nothing", he made another attempt at escaping, but this time Hank stopped him with a hand on his elbow. Instantly, Nick was regretting he'd said something stupid like that instead of just inventing some believable story to feed to Hank. He wasn't a bad liar, but somehow he'd been getting more and more unhinged himself as this awful day went on.

"Why can't you tell me?" Hank questioned him, suspiciously. And then, with a sudden mixture of realisation and disbelief: ".. Monroe?"

Nick forcefully pulled his arm out of his partner's grasp and said nothing. His partner was a clever guy.

"Monroe hit you?!" Hank's tone was growing increasingly angry – and so was Nick. "I can't belive it! Monroe! What for? How did this happen?"

"It was a misunderstanding, alright?"

"A misunderstanding?"

"He didn't mean it! He's in a really bad place right now!"

"I can't believe you're saying this, Nick!"

"What's your fucking problem?!"

"My problem? That's exactly what we've heard in every single domestic abuse case we've ever come across, remember? You're the one who always said you don't get these women, why they protect the guys."

"I'm not a woman!" Nick snapped.

"That doesn't matter. Has he done this to you before?"

"What? No! Of course not! It's not like this. It's.."

He really wanted to tell Hank, to share his worries with his partner, like he usually would, but it just felt awkward talking about Monroe, at least in Monroe's capacity as his boyfriend. Hank had never quite gotten their relationship. Not that he didn't respect Monroe per se, but it still took him quite a while to get used to the fact that Nick was dating him. At first, he seemed to think it was some kind of premature – and seriously misguided – midlife crisis, Nick jumping into bed with a guy, and a Wesen at that. He had that concerned and mildly sympathetic look on his face when he reminded Nick that, true, a cop's life could be lonely at times, Hank knew everything about it, but still, given his looks, Nick shouldn't have to resort to that type of desperate measures. For a while it even affected them working together, the Grimm kept catching Hank giving him cautious, investigative looks, as if searching for hidden signs of gayness he must have missed before. Nick chose to ignore it though and carried on as usual, because he knew Hank would come around eventually. And he was right, after a couple of weeks Hank seemed to finally realise that no, Nick had not undergone some sort of radical personality change, and no, he wasn't going to start wearing black leather hot pants to work, or at all, and no, he wasn't checking out Hank's arse on the sly. So things went back to normal, well, mostly. There had been a couple of awkward moments still. Once Hank was staring after a pretty girl and was about to start gushing to Nick – when he cut himself off and apologised, at which point Nick rolled his eyes and noted that yes, they could still talk about girls, and she was hot, he hadn't gone blind, and by the way, he wasn't gay, he was bi, as was Monroe, but that was way too much for poor Hank to process. So Nick tried to keep his private life with Monroe exactly that, private.

And now he was less keen to discuss their relationship than ever before. He gave his partner a meaningful look, a look that told him to back off, in the friendliest terms possible. Thankfully, Hank understood, raising his hands in a 'hey man, it's your life' kind of gesture.

"Well, Nick, if I can help with anything, you know where to find me."

"Thanks, I appreciate."

And with that he was finally allowed to leave, though Hank's words stuck with him and kept spinning around his head as he drove. Was he wrong, should he have listened to his self-respect and left? But how could he, when it was so obvious Monroe needed help! Nick just had to work out what kind of help, how to solve this, everything could be solved, somehow, with the right combination of brains and dedication, not by running. He'd find a way to make Monroe go back to normal, he needed Monroe to go back to normal, if the tablets didn't work then there would be some kind of potion for Rosalee to come up with. Nick dialled her once again, in vain.

"Damn you, Rosalee!" He shouted over the Fuchsbau's pleasant voice asking him to leave a message. "Where the hell are you? I need you!"

He stopped by the Spice Shop on the way home but the sign on the door confirmed it was closed. Nick still banged against it in sheer frustration. So much for Rosalee being there for him! He had no one else to turn to, and driving all the way to the trailer to consult his books was not an option. Maybe the Captain would know something, but Nick wasn't going to resort to that. He was still unsure which side Renard was on – if any.

He got back into the car and drove to what didn't quite feel like home right now. Dark, dead windows were greeting him once again in some kind of fucked up déjà vu. Yet Monroe wasn't sat in the lounge this time. Nor was he in any of the adjacent rooms. Upstairs, the windows were still locked – and intact. The bath was empty. Nick was inspecting it when he heard a noise from below.

"Monroe? That you?"

No response. Nick rushed into the bedroom and pulled out his underwear drawer. He stared at the mess of socks and boxers. He rummaged through it. Monroe was the only person who knew where he kept his gun. The fact it was gone meant those weren't intruders downstairs. Just his boyfriend playing some stupid game with him.

"Monroe, what the hell's that!"

Lounge.

"Where's my gun?"

Dining room.

"Come out now!"

Kitchen. The ground floor had a circular layout. Nick tiptoed through the hallway and back into the lounge. He heard it clearly, light steps on the other side of the wall. A low growl. His Grimm senses told him he was being watched. Not by a pair of eyes. But by a predator's other senses. The Blutbad could smell the sweat at the back of his neck. Hear him breathe. Predict his every move.

"Stop it, Monroe!"

Nick turned on his heels and dashed in the other direction, hallway, kitchen, dining room.. When he was back in the lounge he stopped himself. He would not play hide and seek, he would not be hunted around his own house!

"You promised.."

He should have never left him alone, he should have never -

Nick's phone rang, again. A surge of relief washed over him when he saw the name on the screen.

"Rosalee! Where've you been, I've been calling.."

"Nick."

Just the way she said his name made all of that initial relief evaporate.

"You need to come here straight away, bring Monroe, if you can.."

"What? What did you find out?"

"I.. really hope it's not what I think."

It felt like an icy hand closing around Nick's throat.

"Please tell me.."

"Can you come over? We need -"

Nick did not get to find out what they needed. He was brutally tackled to the floor with all of Monroe's weight on top of his back, almost cutting off his air.

"That whore again?", the Blutbad hissed, wrestling the phone out of his hand. Nick caught a last earful of Rosalee exclaiming his name before the device was flung against a wall with so much force it shattered into pieces.

"I'm gonna teach you.."

Monroe's breath was hot in his ear. Through the panic clouding his mind Nick noticed that the Blutbad was naked, and even though he'd obviously washed there was still that strange animal smell about him.

".. teach you who you belong to.. Grimm."

A/N: Please review and tell me how you found this chapter.. was the smut too random and gratuitous?