Nick is one of the worst house guests ever. This is a lot, considering that Monroe comes from a family of Blutbaden, and your average Blutbad isn't really a stickler for etiquette, but Nick takes the proverbial cake. Hello, Nick! Please, barge in uninvited. I wasn't busy and, even if I was, your problems take precedence anyway because you're a very important person and all. Have a cup of coffee. Use me as your own personal Grimmopedia, never mind that have an actual grimoire that you could be reading instead. Want me to risk life and limb for you again? No? Are you sure? Maybe next week, then. Run off to save the world now, leave your coffee unfinished, it's not as I made it especially for you.

Still, Nick has some redeeming features, such as his ability to buy back his way into Monroe's graces with gifts of alcohol. One evening he shows up on Monroe's doorstep with a very nice bottle of Riesling and an ingratiating smile. "I figured I owed you one," he says.

"Is that a 'thank you for your help on this week's case' or a 'sorry you got beaten up on account of me'?" Monroe asks, dragging him inside. "Because I reckon you still owe me for that one."

Nick looks guilty, even more so when Monroe looks up and down the street and then bolts the door. "Any news?"

"Nothing on that front," Monroe says, heading for the kitchen. It's been two weeks since he was attacked and his mysterious assailants seem to have disappeared into thin air. The bruises faded quickly, but the paranoia is still there. "Can't be too careful, though."

He searches for the corkscrew while Nick takes two glasses from the cupboard. Monroe opens the wine and pours. "A toast?" he asks, raising his glass. "Here's to not being killed in a painful and gruesome way."

"I can drink to that," Nick replies, tilting his own glass and drinking.

For a while nobody speaks, which is a blessed relief because sometimes Nick's questions drive Monroe up the wall. He tops their glasses again.

"Listen," Nick says, all of a sudden. "If it gets too dangerous, I can get you protection. I can tell the police that you're my informant, you'll be put in the witness protection program. That way nobody will be able to find you."

"I'm not sure about that," Monroe says. "Those guys knew who I was and were I live and how to get me. If they want to find me again, they will." Also, he doesn't trust the police nearly as much as Nick does, but he doesn't want to argue about that.

"Just think about it," Nick says, leaning against the table.

"I have thought about it," Monroe replies, because he has, he's been this close to just packing his bags and running away for so many times in the past few weeks. It's what he always does when it gets too dangerous. It's his survival instinct kicking in. His instinct also told him to rip off Nick's head on their first meeting, though, and instead here he is, standing next to the sink and drinking a rather excellent Riesling with a Grimm. Screw instincts. "This is my home. I'm not leaving," he says.

It's the first time he's stayed in the same place long enough for someone to learn where he keeps the glasses.

"I've got something for you," Monroe says, just as Nick is about to leave. He takes a cream-colored folder from the coffee table and hands it to Nick.

"What's this?" Nick asks, curious, opening it. Inside there's just a bunch of loose sheets of paper. "Once upon a time, in a land far far away," he reads from the page right on top of the pile. It looks as if it's been written using an old typewriter, which is at odds with the whiteness of the paper.

Monroe looks away when Nick stares at the writing. "Yeah, sorry about that," he says. "It's the traditional phrasing. Nobody really uses it nowadays, I could've done without it."

With a frown, Nick starts flipping through the pages. There's no names and at first he doesn't get it, but then it dawns on him. "Those are my cases," he says, staring at a paragraph about the killer bees in the warehouse. "You wrote down an account of all my cases that involved supernatural creatures!"

"Someone had to!" Monroe snaps back. "Do you really think your big Grimm book is just for show? You're supposed to write down an account of all the creatures that you meet, to help out your successor." Then he whines and takes his head in his hands. "And now I'm not just helping you, I'm also helping future generations of Grimms," he mutters. "Great."

Nick hadn't really thought about that, but it makes sense. It's strange to read about things that he did, even though Monroe never used names, he just wrote 'the Grimm' and occasionally 'the Blutbaden' when he couldn't help but mention the part that he'd played in the events. "It reads a lot like a fairy tale," he says.

"Where do you think fairy tales came from?" Monroe replies. He shakes his head. "Seriously, do I have to teach you everything? Just update the book already."