A/N: Wow, chapter eight! Can't believe I made it this far without embarrassing myself. Thank you to all those who review when I update; you guys keep me going! As to those who follow and favorite, it means a lot to me. To those guest reviewers I can't thank personally, thank you for sticking with this story! All of the fans of this story are amazing and I hope you still enjoy coming back each and every time I post! I love you guys!

So without further ado, the long anticipated chapter:

Previously on Cops and Robbers Don't Mix:

Nick rolled to his back, his breathing harsh and eyes clenched tightly. More sweat poured off him and he could feel his heart doing pirouettes and leaps, intent on working so hard that he thought it was going to leap right out of his chest.

The nurse grabbed the paddles while another, again, ushered Monroe, with a complaining Hank following close behind, out the door with a promise to come get them when Nick was stable.

"What the hell is going on?" Hank shouted and turned to Monroe.

"Hank, I need to tell you something." Monroe clasped a hand on Hank's shoulder and led him to the waiting room near the front entrance of the Intensive Care Unit.

It was time to tell someone about the red-headed nurse and how he thought it was related to Nick's problems.

"What the hell is going on, Monroe?" Hank repeated for the umpteenth time.

"Nick didn't fall down the stairs…" Monroe began.

"No duh. Why don't you start telling me what I don't already know," Hank said, the detective in him coming out, even though he felt like he wanted to scream and punch someone in the throat, preferably that someone who poisoned Nick.

"He called me late a coupla nights ago asking for help on one of your guys' cases. I went to his house and found him bloody and bruised, about to pass out in the middle of his living room, as you already know."(Hank didn't miss the bite in his comment. Monroe was definitely stretched beyond his limit.)

"He couldn't tell me what happened."

"After he was situated here, I fell asleep. . . I dreamed of a nurse. . ."

Hank raised an eyebrow at that.

"No! Not in that way. Jeez, what is our society coming to, nowadays?"

Hank just shook his head.

"Anyway, when I woke up (Monroe thought it best to not share the exact details of the dream where Nick was... not with them and where he was attacked by a female nurse) the same nurse was in the room. Same long red hair and everything."

"Are you sure you just hadn't seen her in the hallway before then?" Hank asked.

Monroe was feeling as though he was being interrogated.

"No. That was for sure the first time I had seen her."

"What did you do after you figured out it was the same girl?"

Yep, definitely being interrogated now.

"I asked her to get a new nurse for Nick. She had been in the room longer than any other medical professional; I didn't feel comfortable with her being there."

"Did you see where she went?"

"Excuse me if I was a little preoccupied with Nick and all," the Blutbad all but growled.

Hank had the decency to look mildly ashamed at that.

"I don't know if it has anything to do with Nick's predicament now, but I have a feeling it is," Monroe said. "I just want to find whoever did this to Nick, punch their lights out, and then hand them off to you so you can put them behind bars."

"Easy there, Tiger," Hank smirked at Monroe's conspicuous eye roll. At least he refrained from saying anything about a wolf. He was saving that one for later.

"Do you think it has something to do with Wesen?" Hank whispered, looking around him to see if anyone was listening in on their interrogation . . . er, conversation.

"Usually I can sense Wesen. I don't know though. Could be or they are just psychotic people trying to get back at Nick for putting them or family members behind bars because Nick sure does get a lot of that."

Hank didn't know what to think about all this. He was angry at Monroe for not sharing this beforehand, but then again, if Hank was placed in that situation and a civilian, he may be more concerned with his friend's health than alerting the police of a suspicious person. Hell, even being a cop that would have been the last thing on his mind. And, it wasn't like you could call up the local police and tell them why you suspected this person of suspicious acts.

Hank could imagine this conversation and it ended somewhat like, No; I am not a psychiatric patient.

He briefly wondered if Adalind was back in town. He wouldn't put her past poisoning Nick. She'd been there, done that.

"We need Nick to tell us what happened," Monroe stated after a few minutes of silence.

"Let's just hope he's coherent enough to remember," Detective Griffin bleakly said.

About a half hour later, Dr. Hanson came out to get them.

"How is he?"

"We need to figure out what kind of poison this is and fast. We can't keep guessing on whether the medications we give him are going to interfere or not. He is stable for now, but still critical; he is in quite an amount of pain, both from whatever the assailant gave him and his injuries. We are trying to make him as comfortable as possible, but I am afraid that if we don't get some sort of information or antidote, he won't make it through the day. (It was like one A.M.)"

Hank stiffened and Monroe inhaled loudly. This couldn't be happening.

"Can we see him?" Hank asked cautiously, almost afraid of what he was about to see.

"Yes, but I must warn you, your friend is very sick right now. Don't stress him out; a sudden change in blood pressure or heart beat could be fatal."

The doctor walked back up to the nurse's station and set down a thick chart, then motioned for Monroe and Hank to follow him back to Nick's room.

It felt like the first time Hank saw Nick after he was poisoned except worse. Monroe and Hank were more like gasping whales rather then gaping fish.

"Nurses will be in here periodically to assess and record his vitals. If you have any questions or concerns, feel free to find a free nurse or myself. I will check in around six if anything doesn't need my immediate assistance."

Dr. Hanson looked at the grim faces of the two men.

"We are doing everything we can possibly do to keep your friend alive. Just keep up the hope."

He didn't add that he was currently grasping at straws as to what to do to keep Mr. Burkhardt alive.

Nick's face was a sickly grey with a tinge of rose around his cheeks; his fever was certainly rising now and definitely was a cause for concern. His eyes were squeezed shut, no doubt due to pain, illness, and queasiness. Both men wished Nick was asleep, even though they wanted to talk about what happened. They simply wanted him to escape his misery for a little while and didn't want to put him through the stress of trying to tell his tale, but their prayers were unanswered when Nick spoke.

"…D'you… miss me?" Nick grunted, smirking.

"Not even a little bit," Hank deadpanned.

"'m glad you can . . . still b-be kind at a time like. . . this," Nick vaguely gestured at himself and the room until his hand returned to gripping his stomach.

A few minutes slipped by in awkward silence until finally Monroe asked the much-needed question.

"Nick, we gotta know what happened to you."

The younger detective sighed. This was inevitable after all. They had the right to know, but truthfully Nick only remembered bits and pieces of what went on that night.

Nick opened his eyes and focused them on Monroe and then on Hank trying to get his bearings and his facts straight.

"I-I. . . only remember certain things. I. . . think I blacked out. I went outside to-to take the garbage out . . . an' someone attacked me from behind. We struggled and. . . I got a few good punches in before he . . . hit me over the head with something. That's when I th-think I blacked out."

Nick stopped talking and closed his eyes, taking deeper breaths to quell the pain and nausea. It seemed like he was doing that more often than not.

Monroe felt bad for making him talk knowing that it was difficult to do, but they desperately needed to know in order to find the people who did this to him.

The sick man sighed again and continued. "I woke up when he dislocated my shoulder. . . I remember him kicking me in the chest and then leaning down to whisper something in my ear. I—I don't know what he told me. . . I- can't remember that part. He smiled, patted my cheek and then he left. I think I passed out after that. When I woke again, I pulled myself up from the ground and limped back up to the house. . . I don't remember anything after that."

He coughed into his good fist and it seemed he sagged deeper into the mattress.

"'m sorry I can't 'member what he said. I keep tryin' and tryin', but it doesn't come . . . it jus' doesn't come . . . sorry. . ."

Nick's heart monitor increased its frequency a tad bit at that and he whimpered (and if anyone asked it was not a girly whimper, it was a manly whimper; if you could even define a whimper as manly…) closing his eyes again while a large tremor ran through his body.

"It's okay, Nick. Just relax, okay? Was there anything weird at all? Do you know if he was Wesen?"

It took a few moments for Nick to well up enough energy to answer.

"I had a weird dream," he mumbled. "Someone was holdin' me under water. He . . . might be Wesen. He was—was the one 'ho poisoned . . . me."

Hank and Monroe quickly glanced at each other.

"Did you see the person who held you under water?" Hank asked. He wouldn't say he was excited, but he was thrilled to have a bit more to go on and he could possibly put two and two together.

". . . No," he said groggily.

"Can you identify the guy who attacked you and poisoned you?"

"Mmhmm," Nick nodded. His stomach kept up its intense alternation of cramping and burning. He felt like he was going to vomit again. He didn't like this.

Hank waited for Nick to elaborate and tell him details of the criminal, but he didn't. Nick was out of it and wouldn't be thinking like a cop right now.

"What'd he look like, Nick?"

The response was Nick curling up as much as he could without detaching any of the wires he was connected to; a surprising feat that left both Monroe and Hank's heart strings pulling every which way. He gripped harder at his abdomen and groaned loudly, holding his breath as long as he could. On exhale, he coughed hard and groaned again.

Suddenly, his face went slack and his hand unclenched a little; he had finally passed out.

Thank God. It was painful to watch him try to get those words out, Monroe thought as he glanced at the monitors making sure his vitals were normal . . . well more normal then on-the-edge-of-death vitals. It made him sick to his stomach to think that he actully wanted him unconcious.

Hank swallowed hard and pinched the bridge of his nose. Partner, you're going to be the death of me one day.

"Well, we figured one thing out today. These dreams definitely have something to do with each other," Monroe said trying to uplift the spirit of the room. It fell flat on its ass.

Around 3:30am, Hank managed to coax Monroe into going home and taking a shower and grabbing some shut-eye (if he could even with his best friend on the brink of. . . Don't jinx it). He promised to call if anything changed.

Once the Blutbad left, Hank grabbed Nick's less injured arm currently not being supported by a sling.

"Paperwork; once you're out of this hell hole, you are helping me catch up on the stack I currently have piled on the corner of my desk. Least you can do after worrying the less clumsy one of us in this partnership."

Nick mumbled something that oddly enough sounded like "Zip-lining," and settled back down, merely breathing, but he couldn't be sure if that was what he wanted to communicate. He was after all exhausted, probably incoherent, but the pain kept him from getting that healing sleep he definitely needed.

Hank chuckled. Of course Nick wouldn't let him live that one down. How do you even hurt your ankle zip-lining? It was possible as Hank experienced it firsthand, but quite an odd injury.

Ten minutes later, a nurse walked in to record Nick's vitals (while Nick went on breathing and trying to sleep) and Hank squeezed Nick's hand reassuringly and let go to give the nurse access. He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes until his vision was assaulted with a kaleidoscope of blacks and whites swirling nauseatingly. He wanted to go to sleep right there in the hospital chair and of course, punch a wall.

When the nurse decided her patient was doing rather well, considering, she left the room with a small sympathizing smile to Hank, and shut the door softly behind herself. Hank sank lower into his chair, clasped his fingers together, took one more look at Nick to make sure he was still there and breathing, and then leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

The lights flickered on and off. A basement was illuminated in small bursts of light every few seconds; revealing a figure standing off in the far corner. He was was creepy and the scene belonged in a horror film.

"You want to know what I told your friend?"

Hank stepped from the shadows of the stairs.

"Who the hell are you? What do you want?"

"Oh, Detective Griffin all will be answered soon enough. Just be patient. Now, do you want to know what I told your Grimm or not?"

"What did you tell him?" Hank growled out.

"Tick . . . Tock . . . Tick. . . Tock . . ." He said in a sing-song voice. Hank could see him waving his index finger back and forth with each word he said when the shadows temporarily dissipated.

Hank didn't know what to say. The room spun and the lights suddenly went out. He desperately tried to see in the dark, turning his head to look side to side and behind him. He couldn't see anything! He blindly started walking towards where the figure was standing. Yeah, it wasn't his smartest plan, but he was running out of options. He took one more cautious step forward and felt something scrape his side.

He jumped into action, instantly trying to quell the invisible attack. He needed to invest in some night vision goggles.

A sticky substance was plastered to his side. He tentatively placed two fingers into it and lifted his fingers to his nostrils. It smelled like some type of adhesive.

The lights flooded the basement burning his retinas, he felt like he was falling . . .

. . . And the next thing Hank knew, he was waking up in Nick's hospital room, his heart racing.

Now three dreams . . .

What does it all mean?

What the hell was going on . . .

A/N: Hope you guys liked this chapter! Please review if you have the chance! They mean so much to me. Unfortunately, school starts up in a couple of days, so updates will be more difficult, but please be patient! I will try my hardest to get you an update!

Again, REVIEW!

Have a fantastic day!

~S.A.N.e-but-inS.A.N.e~