Drifting In Shadows, Waiting For The Storm

7.

Of course Nick insisted to go home after breakfast. Monroe growled and grumbled the whole time, forced the man to wear a knit sweater over the other clothes, also one of his, and it didn't help. That Nick was huddled into the car's passenger seat, clearly not well and in no shape to do much, was equally not helpful. But Monroe drove him home and against his better judgment he went inside the two-storey clapboard that looked a lot better than his little hut. Then again, looks weren't everything. Looks were pretty much deceiving.

And no, he hadn't been checking the area the whole time, looking for a sign of threat; or the regnant.

Monroe had a lot of repairs planned for his home, small stuff that could be done inside in winter times, and he had already drawn up plans for the bigger outside things. While he would never paint his house in bright colors, he had to take care of the wood and that was something to do in spring. The plan to turn the storage room into a real spare room was on his mind. Add a bed, he told himself. For guests. For Nick.

And he wanted to bang his head against the wall.

What was he thinking?

But he really needed to sort through the stuff in there, paint the walls, maybe refinish the floor in some areas, declutter the closet… Lots and lots of things to keep him busy.

It was good to be busy.

He had never been at Nick's place, but it was immediately clear that a lot had gone missing. The house felt empty, cold, without a personality. Monroe followed the Grimm into the living room that looked clean and hardly lived in. The heating was on, but Nick was freezing because his body wasn't completely healed yet. He was already opening up the valves to let in more heat.

Juliette was gone. He had gotten that much from overhearing a brief conversation between Nick and his partner at the hospital, Nick's sudden appearance last night, and now this. It had been a separation in the making, ever since Aunt Marie's death. The Grimm part of Nick's life had taken over and he was hiding so much from his friends, Juliette had been the first to suffer the consequences.

Monroe walked into the kitchen and checked the contents of the fridge. Aside from a few beers and what looked like two glasses of jam, as well as a stick of butter, there was nothing. He didn't count the packs of ketchup and mustard. The cabinets yielded some useful boxes of instant food, but this hardly went as what an injured Grimm needed. Nick couldn't live off crackers, cereal and dried fruit.

"I'll be fine. I can call for take-out."

Monroe rounded on the other man, glaring at him. "You say that word one more time and you'll be banned from my place for the rest of your life!" he snapped.

Nick blinked. "What word?"

"Fine! You're not fine, Nick! You got shot! Twice! A bullet nearly took your stupid head off! You're just out of the hospital! You're vulnerable and whatever might have a grudge against a Grimm could come looking for you! You'd be easy prey!"

Nick's eyes had gone wide at the outburst and he stared at him in shock. Then something slammed down on his features, making them hard and unyielding.

"I'm not defenseless," he said coldly. "I'm a cop. And I can take care of myself, Monroe. I don't need a babysitter."

The wolf growled. He really growled. Before he knew it he was there, right in front of Nick, who was pushed against the wall, features briefly contorting in pain.