Disclaimer: I do not own Grimm, it belongs to NBC.

Summary: In the wake of 'Over My Dead Body' sorrow overtakes Monroe. He is all alone now – or is he?

Word Length: 1,999 (cutting it close!)
Contains: Angst, Spoilers for Episode 2x06 'Over My Dead Body', Male Friendship, GEN

Author's Note: This was written for the challenge on grimm_exchange fic-06 'What Gets You Through?' based during the hiatus, 2,000 word limit. Not beta-read!

Sorrow's Cup

As Monroe walked wearily up to his house he shivered for he felt cold; not from the night air, but from a far deeper-set chill that sank its talons into his bones.

It was the icy pall of loneliness.

Monroe couldn't shake it even as he hurried to a brisk jog to his doorstep. Fumbling his keys he glanced up at the sky and almost howled, for the heavens seemed to echo his state of being: the white stars shone starkly in the vast black sea, looking distant, reflecting no fairy-tale warmth or joy.

"Get a grip Monroe," muttered the clock-maker as he finally succeeded in opening his door and pushing into his house. Darkness closed in on him as he shut the door and Monroe allowed his eyes to glow scarlet as he used his superb vision to navigate straight to his kitchen.

He did not pause to shuck his shoes, wet with dirt and mud as they were, or to brush his trousers free of the earth that clung to the material. Normally he would fastidiously clean himself and certainly brush his hair free of the leaves that were tangled in the depths and comb order to his beard.

This evening he did none of these things and instead sought the bottle he knew he had stashed carefully in the fridge.

In the black quiet of his kitchen he drank. Yet he found no comfort in the beautiful vintage he usually so adored and painstakingly tried teaching Nick the finer aspects. It was if the fine liquid had turned to ash and Monroe clenched his eyes shut so tightly that he saw stars.

Was there no relief? No balm to his raw, throbbing wound?

As if in answer the scent of leather tickled his nose and laughter echoed in his ears: cruel, mocking but wonderfully joyous. For a single second the phantom press of a slim body, wild with abandon arched against his and Monroe truly believed with every fibre of his soul that he only had to embrace this ghost and she would be there.

Angelina.

Claws sprung from his nails and Monroe's eyes snapped open. Emptiness met him.

Angelina wasn't there. Couldn't be there. She was gone like the rest, like Rolf, like Hap.

The last of his old friends was dead.

He was all alone now.

A huge swell of grief at this terrifying acknowledgement rose within him until Monroe did what he couldn't fully do in the forest.

He collapsed onto his kitchen floor. Glass flung to one side and shattered into pieces, Monroe bent over and wept.

He cried for the friendships he once had, the pleasure the four of them had shared and he gasped through violent heaves of sorrow for the love he had once surrendered to with Angelina.

Angelina.

She had been wild and dangerous, a Blutbad worthy of the fearsome tales of the Grimms.

She had been everything he had come to hate and despise, yet Monroe had been unable to stop loving her.

Angelina had been his companion in their hunts – oh the sensation of running and leaping through the ebony nights, the wind in their hair-fur, scenting the blood and sweat of their prey; of savouring the fresh kill and howling in unity.

Their passion was like a spark to dry bracken, consuming Hap and Rolf in the undying thirst for the chase.

Monroe panted, the pinpricks of his fangs tearing his lips as he struggled to breathe. When he had cast aside their lust for flesh, he had thought to purge his hunger for Angelina, but no, he loved her still even though she was like an imperfect clock in need of tuning.

Now she was dead and with her the love he harboured for her, leaving an aching dark cavern within his chest that now fermented loss and loneliness.

Amidst his sorrow Monroe heard the distant ringing of a doorbell and then distantly the frantic thudding of someone slamming their hands against the smooth wood of his door. Monroe blearily titled his head to one side and sniffed, nose twitching.

A familiar scent touched his nose and through his grief Monroe wasn't sure whether to feel angry, happy or bewildered, or a mixture of all three.

Knowing the blatant disregard his visitor had for the private abodes of others – well, Monroe's at any rate – Monroe wasn't surprised when he heard a key in the lock and footsteps hurrying.

Light flooded the kitchen next and Monroe snarled ere he could restrain his emotions.

He saw Nick's alarmed expression and guessed he had Woged.

Typically, the stupid Grimm wasn't warned and threw himself down beside Monroe and actually grabbed his shoulders. Monroe officially gave up on hammering self-preservation into Nick.

"Monroe?"

Nick's distressed voice surprised Monroe and he blinked away tears to focus on Nick.

Monroe simultaneously inhaled and listened.

Nick's usual aroma was tainted with panic and concern and his heartbeat was fast like a bird's.

"Nick?" Monroe grimaced, his voice sounded as he had eaten the rocks he had piled on Angelina's grave.

Nick relaxed only barely and he stared with a pale face at Monroe. "I came as soon as I could." He hesitated and when Nick continued Monroe wanted to flinch at the guilt saturating his friend's every word.

"I had to check on Juliette to see if she was okay. I figured that while you were busy with…with burying Angelina would be best since you said you wanted to do it the Blutbaden way."

Nick's nails dug into his shoulders. "I came as soon as I could. I'm so sorry Monroe."

Monroe smiled tiredly. "Sorry? What for Nick? You never liked Angelina."

Nick recoiled as if struck and Monroe was amazed. It roused him partly from his stupor of loss. He did not think his frankness would cause hurt. It was the truth after all, a truth they both acknowledged.

Nick slid around so he was pressed against Monroe's side.

Nick's voice was soft when he spoke, "I didn't want her dead Monroe. I," Nick halted, sighed in frustration and tried again. "I would've had to arrest her, but I wouldn't try and kill Angelina, unless…"

"Unless you had to. I know Nick. I'm okay with that, really." Monroe truly was. "I'm a Blutbad Nick, our lives can be harsh. Angelina…she was many things, yet I can admit that she wasn't good. If you had to kill her it would be because you had to, not because you wanted to."

The words pained Monroe, for he had loved Angelina once – stupidly, fervently – and admitting that she deserved to be arrested or killed still seemed like a betrayal.

Monroe sensed how agitated Nick was, the tremors from his body vibrating where their shoulders, arms and knees touched.

"You would have forgiven me?" Monroe marvelled at the fear contained within the question and wondered when they had reached the point where a Grimm dreaded the rejection of a Blutbad?

"Yes, eventually." Because even as his sorrow threatened to devour him, Monroe had always been capable of seeing reason – after all, he had become a Wieder Blutbad, reason was no stranger.

Nick's twittering heartbeat calmed and Monroe was surprised to feel a slight warmth seep into the aching chasm of his chest.

For a moment silence descended and Monroe recalled when he had woken to Angelina literally breathing life into him. He had been powerless to breathe life into her ruined body.

"Angelina, Hap and Rolf…You and they formed a pack right?"

I'm all alone.

"Yeah…but-"

"Packs aren't good news for Blutbaden," finished Nick.

Monroe said nothing to Nick's statement.

Instead he listened as Nick shifted, clothing rustling as he turned. Curious, faced Nick. Nick's grey eyes were dark, perspiration beading his forehead and all of a sudden his heart rate was pumping like Nick was doing one of their exercise runs.

"I know I've been a bad friend – racing off with Hank lately and well…the whole ordeal with Juliette, but Monroe…"

Monroe wanted to cry again.

Seriously?

Nick was apologising for spending time with his girlfriend when she was suffering amnesia? Still, a chunk of him couldn't help but feel slightly buoyed by Nick's genuine concern for his friendship with Monroe. It was small dose of happiness in his currently bleak world.

Monroe did not have the strength to offer comfort beyond a few words, the aching emptiness within him was too powerful.

"Nick, I'm not angry at you for being tied up with Juliette or acting like an excited puppy with Hank. Man, it's so rare for a human to realise the truth of our world and cope, it has me constantly astonished."

Nick was clearly not convinced. "Sure Monroe. I just wanted to say that I know I haven't been there for you lately and I'm sorry. I've been a terrible friend."

Monroe looked at Nick, reserves depleted. He was raw from loss and having Nick actually present felt too soothing to spend arguing, when a small part of him did feel the lack of his friend. Suddenly, Nick moved closer.

"I understand she meant a lot to you and with her the last of your pack died, which is a pretty big deal as you've mentioned and ah, so have my books." Nick paused, his breathing heavy.

Instead of speaking as Monroe fully expected Nick slid down a little and leant in. Gently, awkwardly, Nick brought his head underneath Monroe's chin and rubbed. Slowly, with Nick's entire body shaking as if Nick was terribly cold, Nick moved so that his cheek was resting on Monroe's shoulder.

Monroe was sure his head would explode.

Loss and grief welled within him. Nick began to move his head back and forth, cheek rubbing his shoulder and Monroe was assailed with comfort.

Nick's heat and earnest determination were fiery brands to Monroe's sorrow. Overcome Monroe shuddered and then growled as Nick's warm nose was under his chin, scraping over his beard, the raspy noise filling Monroe's world.

Doubt was a pungent stench to Monroe and he hissed as Nick paused upon feeling Monroe's shivers. Not willing to lose this Monroe titled his head and allowed his cheek to press on Nick's bent head. Nick's hair was soft and smelled wonderfully solid and real to Monroe.

Relief blossomed between them and Monroe growled as Nick started once more, his concern and friendship vibrant sensations. Monroe snorted as Nick insistently pushed up at his cheek with his head until Monroe raised his head.

Instantly Nick was nervously draped on him, hands feverishly, uncertainly seeking handholds as he slid their cheeks together. Monroe responded and Nick breathed "yes".

Monroe wanted to laugh yet could not for Nick was messy and hot all over him, alternatingly rubbing his nose over Monroe's forehead, cheeks, mouth and nose.

Flustered, Nick even attempted nipping in a sea of embarrassment that was at once a claw to Monroe's heart of ancient memories, yet also sweet reassurance and the hope of something new.

This was how wolves showed affection.

It broke Monroe to realise how much he must mean to Nick to do this, to ignore the restraints of society, of being a Grimm, to indulge in these displays of ties and bonding.

It also remade Monroe to comprehend the depth of importance that their friendship signified to Nick.

"We're pack now," whispered Nick as he paused in his endeavours. Monroe drank in the sight of Nick flushed red, his face showing beard-burn and wells from Monroe's nips, a smear of blood also from where Monroe's had bitten his lips ere Nick arrived.

"I won't fail again."

Monroe wanted to howl then, not with sorrow, but with amazement. Nick's vow of their friendship suffused him with a hope and warmth he hadn't felt since his last pack shattered.

He wasn't alone anymore.

"Neither will I Nick."

Monroe knew then that sorrow, while terrible, was fleeting and worth drinking if such joy would follow.

Author's Note: This fic was inspired by the events of 2x06 and a conversation with a friend. I wanted to capture Monroe's emotions afterwards and also explore Nick's response to Monroe's sorrow.

Concerning wolf affectionate behaviour – I am not an expert and for the purposes of this fic expanded on what I read in a few online articles.