Drifting In Shadows, Waiting For The Storm

8.

Monroe was in his house, piling random things into a duffel, then throwing more into a large box. His mind was spinning and this time not from thought of the regnant. It was about his own inability to keep himself in check.

He finally sank onto the couch and buried his head in his hands.

"I'm totally screwed," he whispered.

Because he liked Nick more than was healthy for a blutbad.
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The next few days were a nightmare. A real nightmare. Monroe quickly got used to living in a different house. Slipping out when Nick was asleep to mark his new territory helped. Blutbaden moved, too. They could adapt. Just the fact that this wasn't really a move, that it was a temporary extension of what Monroe saw as his, made it a little unusual. Nick had given him the guest room, which was as big as his own bedroom, and things from Monroe started piling up on the available surfaces and inside the closet.

He still followed his routine, though with a little different kind of Pilates each morning, then made breakfast. Nick slept a lot on the first real day at home, had some food sometime throughout the day, then slept again. When he managed to watch some TV, he fell asleep again.

It was almost cute.

Now his brain was going rogue on him! Monroe was having a hard time concentrating with the Grimm around, and it had nothing to do with Nick being a cop or a Grimm or anything like that. It was the small fact that he was Nick. And that Monroe now saw him 24/7 instead of the occasional evening for a beer and a chat, or a brief exchange of information on what Nick had seen or heard.

It was way more intense. Condensed. It was purely Nick in so many ways, and it didn't make Monroe crave him no less than before. Actually, he was growing used to the man in leaps. His smell, his sight, his manners…

Damnit!

He didn't need this! He really didn't!

He tried to tell himself it was a rebound fantasy because of Angelina. She had fired him up and her actions had doused him quickly in cold water again.

The argument didn't stick.

Because this had started before Angelina's return. The whole mess was just getting worse and worse, and Monroe was getting deeper and deeper into it.
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When Hank dropped by, Monroe made himself scarce. He could smell the man coming and he usually beat a hasty retreat. He was upstairs, on the bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the two men talk. It was a soft murmur, but if he wolfed out just a little bit, let his senses take over, concentrated only on his hearing, then he could listen in.

Cop shop talk.

Going over the shooting.

There would be a trial and Nick would be a witness, just like Clari. There was no set date yet, but Monroe felt unwell thinking about it happening while the Grimm was still injured. How would he be able to justify his presence in a room full of lawyers, prosecutors and cops?

Well, he would have to think of something if the trial happened any time soon.

Hank left after a beer, promised Nick to bring over a bunch of DVDs before the other detective could die of boredom, then he was gone.
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