Archive of Our Own

"Nick," Juliette says when she pulls open the refrigerator door. "If I'd known being on your own was going to reduce you to this I would've set you up with a chef when we broke up."

"What!" Nick disagrees, sticking his head in beside hers. "This is totally fine! Look, there's mixed veg fried rice, vegetables, Juliette, see? And--" He pulls the top off a foil container to check. "--szechuan chicken! Choices!"

She isn't buying it. "Chicken, Nick! You can't reheat chicken! You can't even reheat szechuan sauce, gross!"

Nick sniffs the chicken and wrinkles his nose, casually turning to dump the container into the trash, ignoring the eyebrow Juliette raises.

"Seriously, my friend Darcy is a sous chef, I can give her a call--" She pulls out the vegetable dish and drops that in the trash too.

"I'm not looking, Juliette," Nick tells her again, closing the door of the refrigerator and turning away.

Nick really isn't interested in beginning a relationship right now, and he knows Juliette thinks it's her fault, can read it in the sympathetic widening of her eyes every time he shuts the conversation down, and maybe that used to be true, but it isn't anymore.

When they'd broken up he'd been too hurt and raw to think about anyone else, and then his Aunt Marie had come into town and blown all that out of the water, and now he can't think about it for other reasons. He doesn't have the time or inclination to begin anything new. He doesn't know how he would even start.

But he can't tell Juliette any of that, because he would have to explain it, and he can't do that either.

Her lips thin, and then her face brightens. "Well, if you won't let me introduce you to Darcy, the least you can do is come to my cooking class with me."

"Juliette," Nick says, shaking his head.

"No, really! It's easy, Nick! And it's useful. You need this."

"Juliette--" Nick sighs, but then he remembers that she has a date this evening, and he has nobody to have dinner with and nothing in the house to eat, and the last time he phoned his local Chinese delivery place the girl on the other end of the line recognised his voice. "Maybe--"

Juliette fistpumps, and that's how Nick ends up down at the community centre on Saturday morning, tying on a pink apron.

Nick is struggling with the strings, unable to do a bow behind his back, when a voice asks, "Need a hand?"

He looks up, startled. The tall man at the table next to theirs is giving him a friendly smile. Nick glances at Juliette, but she's two tables down, explaining that Nick is an ex, not a potential. For the fifth time.

"Ah--" Nick says, and the guy comes over and takes the strings out of his hands.

"So," he says, a second later. Nick is a little bit embarrassed he spent so long attempting to tie a bow. "You're here with Juliette?"

The guy's eyes are really blue, and he's very tall. Nick doesn't usually think of himself as small, but this guy is big.

"No," Nick says, and then, "Yes! Yes, I am. But she's--"

"Your ex," the guy says. "Yeah, she told me." He holds out a hand for Nick to shake. "Monroe."

"Nick." The guy's hand is firm and warm, and he holds on to Nick's for a moment too long. Nick doesn't mind.

"Juliette's mentioned you," Monroe says. "It's good to meet you."

"You two are friends?"

"Yeah." Monroe's smile widens. It's a good smile. Nick finds himself echoing it without meaning to. "Juliette is really great." Monroe's stock rises immediately. "And she says the same thing about you, so I'm sure we're going to get on like a house on fire."

Nick laughs, pleased. "I wish I could return the compliment, but I'm afraid I haven't really been keeping up with Juliette's new friends."

"No better time than the present," Monroe says cheerfully. "That why you're here? You want to spend time with Juliette?"

Nick doesn't want Monroe to think that. "No," he says blankly, and at Monroe's surprised look, "I mean, I'm always glad to spend time with Juliette, but--" Looking at the neatly ordered instruments on Monroe's table, Nick suddenly really doesn't want Monroe to know that he's here because his ex-girlfriend felt so bad at the pathetic disaster he has become she just had to drag him along to her cookery class. And he definitely doesn't want Monroe to know that he might have agreed with her a little bit. "--but I just really wanted to take this class, because I love the food so much but I can't cook it at all, and if I'm going to be able to eat it all the time the way I want to, that has to change."

"You're vegan too?" Monroe asks, shyly pleased. "Juliette is interested, but she isn't actually vegan."

"Oh," Nick says stupidly. "I guess you could say I am vegan."

It isn't a lie: you can say that; Monroe just has.

"It's going to be so nice to have somebody else around who feels the same way I do about this," Monroe says earnestly. "The other people here mean well, but they don't really understand."

Pleasure brightens Monroe, turns him hopeful and glowing in front of Nick. He's glowing at Nick.

"Crap," Nick bites out, and closes his eyes. When he opens them again, he says, "I just lied to you, I'm not a vegan."

"Oh," Monroe says, and his face goes blank with disappointment.

"I just said I was because I feel like I'm a vegan at heart who just happens to eat meat, still," Nick finds himself saying, because he's an idiot. "I just need to find the discipline to change my external reality and actions until they're acceptable to my inner self."

"Oh," Monroe says thoughtfully.

"I'm hoping this class will help me achieve that," Nick says. "Which is why I said I was a vegan. Because I will not allow the possibility of walking out of here any other way."

"Yeah," Monroe says, cheerily. "I can definitely help you with discipline."

Crap, Nick thinks, heart sinking to the soles of his shoes as Monroe's small smile spreads.

Juliette returns to their table, and Monroe says, "Nick is such a great guy, Juliette! I don't know know why you didn't bring him by sooner!" and turns back to his own table, pulling out a zucchini and slicing into it. Juliette picks up a zucchini of her own and frowns down at it disapprovingly.

"So," Nick mutters tightly. "When you invited me here, did you really want to improve my diet, or was your intention to induce me to fake veganism in a doomed attempt to get back in the saddle?"

Juliette laughs herself sick.

"Still waiting for an answer," Nick tells her, returning Monroe's puzzled smile.

*

So that's how Nick ends up pretending to possess an ambition towards veganism.

"You would not have believed the bullshit that came out of my mouth," he tells Juliette as she drives them to the park, where several members of the class are meeting to dine al fresco with the dishes they've just prepared. "Apparently, I am an imaginary vegan." He presses the palm of his hand to his heart and widens his eyes sincerely. "Not in practice, but in the depths of my black soul, and apparently Monroe thinks that counts! Who the hell is this guy?"

"Oh, Nick," Juliette says. She's clearly struggling not to laugh in his face again, so Nick settles back into his seat, staring out the window. He isn't sulking, but only because he doesn't sulk, and even if he did, he can't right now, because this situation cannot take one more iota of ridiculousness.

"You're supposed to have my back, still," he moans. "You're supposed to stop me doing these things!"

"I turned away for two minutes and there it was!" She waves a disclaiming hand at him and bursts out laughing. The car's trajectory wobbles.

"You're driving! Pull over so I can arrest you for reckless endangerment!"

She trails off into chuckles and says, "Monroe is a really nice man. I'm sure if you explained the situation--" She squints dubiously. Even her optimistic outlook can't come up with a happy ending for that one.

"No," Nick says firmly.

"No," she agrees. "But maybe if you told him you didn't realise I'd brought you to a vegan class and you panicked, and you didn't want to give offence--"

"I'm should just stick with the lie I'm already committed to," Nick decides as they pull up behind Monroe's car in the park.

"Simpler?"

"Yeah," Nick says. "Plus he likes it."

She starts laughing again, so he grabs the tray of food and leaves her to it. But then he has to wait for her to lead him to the picnic area, so it isn't as effective a statement as he would have wished. It does give him a chance to google veganism on his phone, though.

Monroe is sitting on a blanket in the middle of the clearing, spooning out his salad for a woman from the class called Susan.

"Wait a second," Nick tells Juliette, frantically trying to finish the wikipedia article, but when she leans over to see what he's doing she snorts, which draws Monroe's attention.

"Juliette! Nick!" he calls, beckoning them with his ladle. "Pull up a seat!"

Nick shoves his phone into his pocket and joins the group.

"What is this?" he asks Monroe, leaning forward to peer into his bowl.

"Spicy papaya and jicama salad!" Nick doesn't even recognise one of those words. Monroe is holding out the ladle eagerly. "Try it!"

"You'll love it," Susan's friend coos at him. It's alarming, particularly as she'd spent the whole class having increasingly vitriolic disagreements with Susan. Nick doesn't trust her good humour.

"It's actually really easy to make," Monroe says. "But it's Ellie's favourite, so I couldn't resist."

She coos at Monroe, which is a relief for Nick.

"Stop hogging the salad," Hap tells her. "And try my burritos, I want to know how they turned out."

Ellie is staking a low-voiced claim to the salad, so Nick leans in to grab a burrito. The stretch sends him across Monroe's body, and he stays down on his elbow to eat. Monroe doesn't move away.

"This is really good," Nick says, though it isn't. Hap and Juliette both snort, so Nick feels totally justified in smiling up at Monroe and adding, "Not as good as your salad, though."

"Nothing is as good as Monroe's salad!" Ellie exclaims, before subsiding back into her minor argument with Susan.

Monroe's skin is turning a faint pink behind his whiskers. It's kind of adorable. "It's really embarrassingly easy to make," Monroe rushes out, sounding a little blustery. "I'd hate you to judge my ability based on that!"

Nick puts a hand on Monroe's knee so he can push himself up, putting his face closer to Monroe's than is probably appropriate for such a short acquaintance.

"I'm willing to try anything else you've got," Nick says quietly, enjoying the hectic flush of colour that spreads over Monroe's cheekbones, the new brightness in his eyes.

"Hah!" Juliette explodes. "Seriously?"

"I'm trying to eat over here, dude," Hap complains. "Do not be getting up on my bro like that."

Nick knows Hap is Monroe's friend and he can't actually bring the full weight of the Portland Police Department to bear on getting him to shut the hell up, but he considers it anyway. He has to do something while he's pretending he doesn't know Juliette.

Monroe is leaning away from him slightly, and the colour in his face is due to embarrassment now, Nick thinks, so he eases up, shifting until he's sitting pretzel style. Monroe relaxes beside him.

"Try a burrito, man," Hap says. "They're good."

Hap is a strange friend for Monroe to have, all schlubby, seedy good nature next to Monroe's bright, eager precision. Friends are friends, though, and Nick doesn't judge. He supposes he and Juliette might look like a pretty unlikely pair to outsiders too.

Monroe bites into a burrito, chews, chokes, and spits into a napkin.

"No," he says, wiping his fingers.

"It was good, your dude said it was good!" Hap looks between Nick and Monroe, bewildered.

"Ah--" Nick says awkwardly.

"It is not good," Monroe announces. "And I will not be consuming it. Try again."

"This is my third thing," Hap moans.

"Hap is staying with Monroe," Juliette explains, mouth quirking.

"And he is going to earn his keep, so help me God," Monroe vows.

Nick thinks this might be a lost cause.

"I don't care if you helped with my pasta, you don't get to steal my salad," Ellie shrills. "Nobody even wants to try your tofu mess!"

"You should just give him a list for Whole Foods," Juliette suggests gently. "Not that we're not delighted to have you, Hap! People who have no skill and no desire to learn how to cook vegan meals are obviously perfectly welcome at our vegan cooking group."

She doesn't look at Nick when she says it, but then her mouth twitches and her eyes slide towards him, so he has to say, "That's true. I really don't know what I'm doing. I'd be really appreciative of any help--"

He's looking at Monroe while he's speaking, watching Monroe decide to offer his assistance as he opens his mouth, so he's surprised by Juliette's amused, "Wow. From not interested to getting back on the horse like it's a bucking bronco in one class--"

"I don't care if we're friends," Nick tells her seriously, "I will have you arrested, I will arrest you right here--"

He can't keep a straight face when she dissolves into giggles, but when he turns to Monroe to share a giddy smile, Monroe is frowning. "Are you a cop?" he asks.

"Uh, yeah," Nick says, still smiling, but when the creases in Monroe's forehead deepen he hastens to offer reassurance. "But I really don't care about your teenage transgressions, Monroe. I'm not going to come after you because you tagged the side of a building when you were sixteen or anything." He looks at Hap, who stares back at him with glazed eyes. "And I'm perfectly happy to remain entirely unaware of any minor legal infractions you may be committing now."

"Gotcha," Hap rumbles, staggering to his feet. "Lemme just check the car."

Nick's face contorts, but Monroe's expression is so apologetic he has to let it go.

"And that lug is still not hardly as much of an idiot as you are!" Susan grits out.

Monroe leans in so that he can whisper in Nick's ear. "Sorry," he breathes out.

"It's okay," Nick responds quietly.

"Are you really--you're really a cop, what do you do, are you--"

Nick frowns, but Susan blares, "At least that addled moron is his friend!"

"Hey!" Hap protests from somewhere in the trees.

"And at least the new guy managed to figure out that he's gay!"

"Can we take this down a notch?" Nick asks authoritatively, but that's when Ellie picks up Monroe's salad bowl and throws the remaining contents over Susan's head.

Monroe surges to his knees beside him, and Nick is placing a restraining hand on his arm when his face flickers, remakes itself, and smoothes back out of the woge.

Nick is staring, but he has reason; he doesn't know why Monroe is staring at him.

And then Monroe says, "Are you--you smell--" and leans in to scent Nick's neck.

His senses aren't as heightened when he's in his human form, so Nick can get to his feet and say, "Let me handle this," and turn away, and know that Monroe has no idea what he is.

He can't know. He doesn't.

By the time Nick has the combatants returned to their separate cars, Monroe is back at his own, waving an awkward hand Nick's way.

"See you next week!" he calls. "You too, Suzanne! And--" His face twitches uncomfortably, but doesn't change. "--Ellie."

Nick watches as he drives away with Hap, and when Juliette says, "Guess you'll be sticking around," he agrees quietly, because he can't tell her anything else.

*

When Juliette drops him back to his apartment building, he waves her off from the entryway and then jogs out to his car so he can drive out to Aunt Marie's trailer. He'd kept it in the parking lot for a while, but his neighbours had started to complain, and he didn't need to be drawing that kind of attention.

It's a hassle to drive out there every time he needs to do some research, and some nights he jerks awake on the musty parchment of an old book and just puts his head back down on the table because he has no reason to go home.

He considers moving into the trailer sometimes, saving on rent, but the thought is too depressing to seriously contemplate. His new apartment doesn't feel like home, though, not like the house he'd shared with Juliette had, and he doesn't know what to do about that.

He has to page through several books before he finds Monroe's face. Some of the information is in German, but he thinks he picks up the basics.

Blutbad.

He shuts the book with a snap and sets out to check things out with his source on all things Wesen.

Nick says, "So what do you know about Blutba--" and has to shove his arm into the door to stop Bud from slamming it in his face. He pushes into the hall. "I don't want to force my way into your home."

"So leave!" Bud points an anxious finger at the door.

Nick tries to ignore the nervous twitching of Bud's nose as he reassures him. "I just need some information, I don't want to make trouble."

Bud groans. "You're asking me to talk to you about Blutbaden and you say you don't want to make trouble. You're going to get me killed!"

"I'm not going to get you killed," Nick says, though sometimes he has his doubts. He doesn't want to do this to Bud, but he doesn't see what other choice he has. "Just give me the information and I'm gone."

"I don't even know what to tell you! I didn't know there was a Blutbad in town."

"He lives here."

Bud looks doubtful. "Are you sure? I think I would have noticed. They tend to leave quite the trail of blood and guts and corpses, lots of chewed up corpses of poor little Eisbibers like me. Although sometimes there are no corpses, because they swallow us whole!"

"I'm not going to ask you to have him over for dinner, Bud," Nick says impatiently. "He's definitely been here a while. He's taking a class with my ex-girlfriend."

"A class? Where?"

Nick doesn't want to tell Bud. He doesn't want Bud to know who Monroe is. But he says, "A vegan cooking class, of all things."

There hadn't been anything in the book about Blutbaden enjoying their greens, but maybe the parts in German were recipes based around vegetarian sausage, who knows.

"Huh," Bud says, and the frantic twitching of his nose slows. "They do say there are some of them who are on the wagon, but that's a myth. My Aunt Rachel knew one, but she's my Aunt Rachel, she doesn't count, she's wild."

"Really?"

"She left her job as a librarian to open her own bed and breakfast in New York State!" Bud whispers. "New York State!"

"About the reformed Blutbaden, Bud."

"Oh. I don't know, I've never met one."

"You would have met one if they existed, right?"

"Blutbaden definitely exist," Bud tells him with a puzzled frown. "But am I ever glad I've never met one, because if I had--" He draws a finger across his throat and makes a vivid death-noise.

"You're not going to meet one," Nick says firmly, turning away. "Thanks for your help."

Bud puts a restraining hand on his arm. "Be careful," he says urgently, face flickering between states.

"I can look after myself." It might be a lie, but it isn't something Bud can help him with.

"He'll know you're a Grimm," Bud tells him, all beaver now. "He'll be able to smell it on you. Just don't--"

"Bud?" his wife calls from upstairs, and Bud pushes Nick outside and shuts the door.

Nick turns up his collar against the rain and goes to work.

*

Hank is in the break-room with Wu when Nick gets in, so he has time to call Juliette and find out Monroe's first name, and then he abuses his position to get an address and a phone number.

He should have made a note of Monroe's license plate, but he'd been a little distracted.

The phone rings eight times before Monroe picks up.

"Hello?" Monroe sounds breathless.

"Did I interrupt you?"

"Nick!"

He closes his eyes against the delight in Monroe's voice. "I need to talk to you," he says.

"Sure, buddy," Monroe agrees easily. "What about?"

He can't discuss this over the phone. "I didn't interrupt you, did I?"

"Not really. I was just working on a clock."

"A clock."

"I'm a clockmaker, yeah."

"That's--interesting."

Monroe laughs. "Yeah, I know. I like it a lot. And it's very therapeutic."

Nick tries not to read anything into that. "Can we meet up before the next class?"

Monroe's voice is shy and pleased when he asks, "Meet up?"

Nick knows why Monroe sounds like that, but he isn't thinking that anymore, and he can't pretend he is.

"I was hoping you could give me those lessons. I don't want to embarrass myself."

"You weren't that bad," Monroe says kindly.

Hank sits down at his desk and taps his watch. Nick grins and swivels his chair away slightly, attention on Monroe.

"I really was," he says wryly. He smiles, because people can always hear that in your voice over the phone. "I was hoping you could help me change that."

"Sure," Monroe says, flustered. "Sure. My place?"

"Sounds great. Tonight?"

"Uh," Monroe hedges. "Hap's in." Nick doesn't respond. "Sure. Sure, why not. Eight thirty?"

"I can do that," Nick says, then bites back a curse. "Probably. I'll call you if anything comes up at work."

"Right." There's surprise in Monroe's voice, which Nick feels is unfair. "Cop, right. Yeah, call me. We can make dinner together, okay?"

"Perfect," Nick says wistfully, and hangs up.

Hank is smirking at him. "Hot date?"

"Something like that," Nick says, and gets started on his paperwork.

*

That evening, Nick tries to ignore the stained-glass wolf adorning the front door while he waits for Monroe to open it.

Hap opens the door instead, stares at the pineapple in his arms, ignores his outstretched hand, and says, "Uh, lemme just--" He jerks an explanatory thumb over his shoulder and bellows, "Monroe, cop's here!"

Then he shuts the door in Nick's face.

Monroe opens it again a minute later.

"Sorry, sorry," he apologises. "Hap's just a little--" He breaks off to stare at the pineapple, and Nick frowns down at it. He's beginning to question whether it's actually vegan. He'd assumed all fruit and vegetables were vegan, but maybe there's some kind of hierarchy. "--suspicious of authority. Come on in!"

Nick puts his host gift down on one of Monroe's many whatsits and steps in front of it, hoping it will somehow slip Monroe's mind.

"Let me take your coat!" Monroe offers, tugs it helpfully off Nick's shoulders, reaches past him to hang it up and converts the move into a swivel that lets him grab the pineapple.

"Should I have brought wine?" Nick asks weakly. "I thought fruit might be more appropriate, and I thought maybe we could have this for dessert, but maybe I should've gotten a basket. I've never actually done that, but I'm sure it couldn't have been that difficult to figure out how."

"Oh, this is fine. Let's get it into the kitchen."

Monroe leads him through the sitting room, where they pass Hap, sprawled on the couch, staring with weird intensity at a cooking show on the television. The chef seems to be marinating steak.

"Hap," Monroe sighs, making a face at the small screen.

Nick is reviewing Monroe's place with a detective's eyes, taking in the care that has been put into this house, the character that permeates these surroundings. The dark wood is burnished and glowing, and it must have taken a significant amount of time to accumulate the knick-knacks and ornaments placed everywhere Nick's eye lights. It is precise and well-maintained. It's a home.

"Hey," Hap says lazily. "I am a fully paid-up member of dullsville over here, but that doesn't mean a man can't dream. I want honey ribs so bad I would rather eat your TV than whatever it is you're making. I'm not a hamster, man, I'm a--"

"Moving on!" Nick doesn't think Monroe means to shove him towards the kitchen, but that's what happens. "Sorry!" Monroe says, horrified, but then he prods Nick until he starts moving.

Nick watches Hap as they leave the room, but Hap is settling in lazily, looking like he's never going to leave, plumping cushions and tugging a neatly folded quilt from the back of the couch onto his lap. His face doesn't change, but it's slack with desire as he drools over the thought of dead meat.

"He sleeps there, but it's temporary," Monroe tells him reluctantly.

"I like your friend, Monroe," he says. It's a lie.

"It folds out," Monroe mutters. "I don't have a spare bedroom, because I work from home."

It takes Nick a second to clue into Monroe's concern, and he finds himself smiling helplessly. "I'm sure you're a wonderful host," he reassures Monroe. "I'm sorry I'm not a better guest. You hate the pineapple, don't you?"

"I love pineapple!" Monroe insists, eyes wide and earnest.

"Loves it!" Hap yells.

"I may have a pineapple and basil sorbet in the freezer," Monroe admits, lowering his head so he can look into Nick's eyes. He suddenly feels very close, though he isn't. Nick doesn't think he's even trying to flirt, so it's a little worrying that it's working so well. He lifts his chin to hold Monroe's gaze. "But I got a late start on it, so it might not have frozen by the time we're ready for it. This might be a lifesaver!"

The connection is broken abruptly when Monroe pulls away to grin approvingly at the pineapple, patting it's spiky hide affectionately before stepping away from Nick and continuing into the kitchen.

Okay, maybe it's more than a little worrying.

The pineapple is on the windowsill when Nick joins Monroe at the counter.

"I thought we'd start with something simple," Monroe tells him.

"I see that," Nick says, raising his eyebrows. "You chopped up the vegetables for me."

"Not for you." Monroe spreads his fingers repressively. "Just to save time."

Nick isn't buying it. "You don't think I can dice a carrot."

"A carrot, maybe," Monroe allows. "But knives slip, and you didn't seem too at ease with that zucchini earlier. How long've you been doing this anyway?" He continues before Nick has to come up with a lie. "Tomatoes are tricky little buggers, and I don't want you bleeding all over my kitchen floor." Monroe stares down at his neat little piles of vegetables, so Nick can take a good look at him, at his discomfort and awareness. "Not exactly how I pictured the night going."

Monroe's face is open and guileless, and Nick can't help poking at him a little, just to see what he'll do. "How did you picture it going?" he asks in a low voice, sliding in closer, not stopping until he can feel Monroe's breath on his face, whispering over his skin as Monroe's eyes drop to his mouth, and then Monroe takes a step backwards, smile full of the same cautious eagerness he'd displayed when Nick had come at him in the woods. He hadn't done anything about it then either, though Nick knows he'd wanted to, the same way he wants to now.

Nick doesn't, though. Nick can't want that.

He takes a step backwards himself, just to make sure.

"You smell--" Monroe moves hesitantly forward, smile dissolving into a frown. "You smell like--"

Nick laughs. "I was kind of in a hurry to get going tonight. I didn't want to be late. So, uh, I went for my aftershave and accidentally picked up a bottle of perfume Juliette left behind. And then I didn't have time to shower again, sorry."

"Wow." Monroe's nose wrinkles. "Strong stuff."

"I'll give it back to her the next time I see her." Nick had driven by a pharmacy on his way over and asked the salesgirl for something overpowering, doused himself in front of her, and left the bottle behind. He'd needed something to cover up the scent of wolfsbane. "Now stop avoiding the question."

The startled flush brightens Monroe's eyes. "Well," he says slowly, gaze travelling down Nick's face. "I try not to get ahead of myself, but I have to confess there've been some thoughts."

"Think away," Nick encourages. "Tell me."

"No point going down that road with my friend sacked out on the couch in front of Extreme Makeover," Monroe says ruefully, and then, seriously, "I try not to tempt myself with things I can't have."

Nick's mouth is open to reassure Monroe when the words hit him, and he keeps quiet, because he can't say You can have me when it isn't true and it isn't right and it isn't even what Monroe is thinking about anyway.

He watches Monroe push his piles of food to Nick's side of the counter so he can start dinner. "Are those sorted by colour?" he asks suddenly.

"Some detective," Monroe says, picking up a piece of pepper and holding it to Nick's lips. Nick can't taste Monroe when he licks them after it's gone, but the pepper is good. "They're sorted by taste. Tastes like red."

"Hmm," Nick says dubiously.

"You don't eat enough colours," Monroe informs him sadly.

"You're going to change that." Nick steals a leaf of lettuce from the table.

"Yeah," Monroe says, sounding pleased. "What's your favourite?"

"I'll have whatever you're having."

"Favourite colour," Monroe clarifies impatiently.

"Does it matter?" Nick asks, thrown.

Monroe waves an emphatic hand at the contents of the counter.

"Are those my choices?" Nick asks, squinting.

"The stuff already made? No."

"Colours found in nature," Nick corrects.

"Unless you want me to dye your food," Monroe says, as if Nick is stupid, and a hassle, and making his life difficult on purpose, and when Monroe exaggeratedly shakes his head Nick has to grin. "Do you want to observe or participate? Either's fine."

"Participate," Nick decides, rubbing his palms together briskly.

"Okay!" Monroe hands him a bowl of green. "You can tear the lettuce."

"Seriously?"

"And if you don't hurt yourself, there are beans to be shelled!"

"Are we going to be eating these beans, or are you just keeping my hands out of the fire?"

Monroe is considering his answer, looking conflicted, when Hap lumbers in.

"How are you going to teach me to cook if you aren't even willing to eat beans I shell?" Nick asks incredulously.

Monroe makes a guilty face. "It's not that I'm not willing," he says, but leaves it at that, blinking expectantly at Nick, who chokes out an amused sound.

"My buddy is willing," Hap says enthusiastically, slapping Monroe on the back. Monroe bats him away. "Big man here is raring to go!"

"And Hap is going, Hap is gone," Monroe says sternly, and hisses, "We discussed this!"

"Cool your jets," Hap drawls. "I'm not crashing, I just came to get my stuff."

"What stuff?" Monroe looks wary.

"You know, my stuff!" Hap makes his way over to a delicate cabinet standing in the corner, picks it up, rolls a glass bottle out from underneath with one foot, and puts the cabinet down.

"Hap," Monroe groans. "Schnapps, really?"

Hap retrieves his bounty. "Peppermint!" he protests. "That's a vegetable!"

"No--not--" Monroe pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head slightly. "Not the point."

"You don't have to worry about it. I'll have, like, carrots and hummus instead of jerky, it'll be fine!"

"Never mind," Monroe sighs, waving him off. "Try not to spill it on anything."

"Enjoy, dudes!" Hap raises a hand over his shoulder as he leaves.

"Okay," Nick says, eyes wide. "Awkward."

"Yeah." Monroe grins, but it's strained. "Hap's--"

"He's your friend," Nick says, because at this point that's all he can be sure of. There's no way Monroe would put up with Hap's chaotic, unruly mess if there wasn't some kind of intimacy there that forced Monroe to accommodate it. They're a mishmash of a mismatch, and though the most devoted couples sometimes are, Nick doesn't think they're lovers, now or in the past. He wonders if they're pack. They'd make more sense as pack than as friends. "I get it."

"He hasn't always been like this," Monroe says, distressed, turning absently back to his ingredients, pulling forward broccoli and walnuts and blueberries, hastily measuring quantities, then getting sidetracked, plucking the lid off a saucepan and peering inside. "He doesn't really know how to--"

Monroe picks up rather a large knife and embarks on a frenzy of chopping.

"There's clearly history here," Nick says, watching the silver blur of Monroe's knife. "You wouldn't be letting him impose on you if there wasn't. And you wouldn't be friends with him if he wasn't a good person, so--"

The knife goes silent, though Monroe's eyes stay on it.

"I met him in rehab," he says abruptly.

"In rehab," Nick blurts, startled.

"We were--not good people," Monroe says hesitantly. "We used to be really bad."

"And you went to rehab," Nick says blankly, imagining it, visualising some kind of reprogramming centre for wolves who don't like to kill their food before they start eating it, and shaking his head to clear the unwelcome images.

"You get kind of close in there," Monroe tells him. "Though you shouldn't, really. But we did it together, and I don't know if he's doing so well, and I can't--I have to help him, if I can."

Nick considers and discards several responses: a joke about the Schnapps, a joke about the peppermint, a sincere offering of the belief that Monroe doesn't seem like the kind of guy who's going to start drinking peppermint Schnapps again.

He considers telling Monroe that Hap isn't going to do that to him, if he's actually attending that damned vegan cooking class; and he considers telling Monroe that sometimes you just can't help people, no matter how hard you try; and he considers telling Monroe everything.

He says, "You're a good friend."

It's true.

Monroe brushes that off, unhappiness all over his face, in every line of his body. He throws his chopped ingredients into a bowl, dumps some other random vegan crap in with it, empties the contents of the saucepan on top, and starts tossing the whole mess into the air, letting gravity mix it all together.

"Looks good," Nick says, though he has no idea what this is or what it's supposed to look like.

"Oh," Monroe says dully, hands halting their movement. He stares at the bowl of food. "I was supposed to be teaching you this. I wasn't supposed to just make the whole thing."

"You were going to make me work for it," Nick says, and it isn't meant to be suggestive, but Monroe smiles at him anyway, so he doesn't take it back. "We ready to eat?"

"Yeah," Monroe says, and he still sounds muted, but as he grabs their plates and dishes up, he adds, "This is quinoa, and I tell you this because I know how new you are to all this, and you need me to be gentle," and his voice grows more spirited as he speaks.

Nick doesn't think Monroe means to be suggestive either, but he responds, "Hit me with what you got, baby," before he can think better of it, and it comes out low and husky, and the smooth movement of Monroe's hand stutters.

Nick shouldn't find that as pleasing as he does. He takes a seat at the table so he has something else to focus on. The quinoa is good; he lets his pleasure show but hides the surprise.

Monroe fiddles with his fork, watching Nick eat. He lifts a forkful to his mouth, puts it back, lifts it, drops the fork to his plate and leans forward across the table.

"You've eaten quinoa before, right?" he asks hopefully. "I mean, you're into this."

Nick swallows. "It's really good, Monroe," he says warmly. "I love it."

"It's important to me," Monroe says, and Nick nods automatically, because these things always are, but then Monroe continues, "When I got out of rehab my life had to change completely, and I have routines and relaxation exercises, and I do pilates every morning and I prepare this food and I eat it, this is all I eat, and all of it matters."

Nick swallows again, though his mouth is empty. "Yeah," he says gently. "I get it."

Monroe picks up his fork again, fingers tight on the steel. "This is who I am," he says quietly. "This is who I need to be."

"I know."

"This is who I want to be, Nick."

Monroe isn't looking at him, eyes on his food, and his face is shifting and uncertain and all too human, and Nick can't suppress the rush of emotion, doesn't even try. "You don't have to explain yourself to me," he says. "This is who I want to be too, Monroe. This is why I'm here."

Monroe relaxes by increments as Nick watches, and when he meets Nick's eyes again he says, "Not the only reason."

"No," Nick says helplessly, "not the only reason."

They eat.

It's much too easy to spend time with Monroe, and when Nick finds himself leaning across the table to catch something Monroe is telling him about the lifecycle of the butterfly, he stops himself short. He's involved in the conversation, but he's starting to feel fuzzy with tiredness, and he wonders what time it is. Their plates were pushed aside long ago, and Nick's forearms are on the tablecloth, sleeves rolled up like he's working, like he's making some kind of effort, though he isn't doing either of those things.

He'd thought he might have to work here tonight, but he doesn't, and he won't. He can let himself relax. Shoulders shifting comfortably, he leans back in his chair and yawns, and when his eyes drift open again, Monroe is staring at his body.

Nick considers doing something about that.

He considers what it would take to be able to do something about that.

Monroe remembers he was telling a story, and finishes, "And my Great-Uncle Abraham says, 'If I'd known they were going to ruin Martha's stew like that, I never would've let them in the house!'" Nick laughs blearily. "Who knew your meat could grow wings and fly away? But my aunt and uncle ate strange things. Eventually my parents stopped letting them feed us."

Monroe's reminiscent smile turns to a rictus when he processes what he's just said. Nick doesn't want to deal with it right now. He's relaxed and happy, and he wants to stay that way.

So when Hap wanders back into the kitchen and complains, "Dudes, I was promised eating if I left you alone. Where's the grub?" Nick takes that as his cue.

"I should probably get home," he says, shoving to his feet and stretching. The movement feels good, working out the kinks and jolting tired muscles awake; it feels better to know Monroe is watching him again.

"Yeah," Monroe agrees, though he doesn't sound all that sure about it. He gets up anyway, ignoring Hap's delighted exclamation when he discovers the remains of the quinoa.

"You made my favourite! I knew you loved me, man. I knew it!" He's eating from the serving bowl when Nick slides past him, lifting his chin in a goodbye. "See you soon, Nick. Monroe is not going to let tender new meat like you get--"

Monroe shoves the spoon into his mouth, garbling his speech.

"He thinks he's doing me a solid," Monroe tells Nick, eyes wide as a frightened rabbit's. "But with friends like him!"

"Hey!" Hap protests.

Nick keeps walking, because he isn't sure what else to do. He opens the front door and turns around to say goodnight to Monroe.

"I'm sorry about this," Monroe says.

"It's fine," Nick says comfortably. The earlier contentment is clinging to him and he's still feeling pretty easy.

"I didn't want this to be awkward," Monroe continues. "Was this awkward? I knew we should have gone up the clock tower at the station! There's a great restaurant right across the street, and we--"

Monroe stops speaking when Nick leans in to rest his forehead on Monroe's shoulder; he's just tired enough that he can let himself get away with it. He thinks Monroe would let him away with it no matter the time, but he feels like he needs the excuse.

"--we could have eaten there and avoided dealing with other people entirely," Monroe finishes wryly. "And it would've saved you driving all the way out here."

Nick breathes in deeply, rubbing his skin against the soft flannel of Monroe's shirt. "I didn't mind," he says, and when he lifts his head, blinking himself alert, Monroe kisses him lightly.

Nick is taken by surprise, and by the time he shakes the stupor off, Monroe is pulling away.

"Was that--" Monroe is frowning; that isn't right. "Did I just make things awkward? Everything was fine and I just made it all awkward, didn't I? I didn't mean to do that--"

Nick cuts him off with a kiss. His tongue presses into Monroe's mouth and his fingers dig into Monroe's shoulders, and Monroe pulls him closer. It's strange to be kissing somebody, strange to want somebody to kiss him back so badly that it's all he can think about. Monroe feels warm and eager against him, but his hands are hesitant on Nick's back, hovering where Nick wants them to land. He doesn't know what he'll do if Monroe doesn't touch him, if Monroe doesn't kiss him back; and then Monroe does, and Nick melts into him, hand curling around the back of his neck, keeping him right where Nick needs him.

It's been a long time since Nick has wanted much of anything, longer still since he's wanted anything he thought he might be able to have, long enough that the reality of desire is the strangest thing about this, and it's a competitive field.

Nick groans, and it startles him into disengaging from Monroe. He wants to get back to what they were doing, but Monroe is straightening, smiling down at him, hand curling around Nick's where it's clenched on his shoulder.

"Sorry," Nick says sheepishly, though he's pretty sure Monroe left a bruise or two of his own.

"I hope you aren't," Monroe says. "But--"

"I should go," Nick agrees, stepping back reluctantly. "Yeah."

He lingers on the porch because he can't bring himself to leave.

"See you soon," Monroe says, fingers tightening around the edge of the door.

"When?"

"Saturday," Monroe says softly. "Class."

Nick laughs into the night air. "Tomorrow," he corrects giddily. "Private lessons."

"Spoiled," Monroe huffs, but his pleased face is the last thing Nick sees as the door closes.

*

The next day, Nick tries to put some time into objectively considering the Monroe situation, but he can't stop thinking about the pleasure in Monroe's eyes as he'd told Nick his stories, and about the scrape of his whiskers against Nick's skin and how much he's looking forward to feeling that again.

Do wolves have whiskers? Monroe might be insulted if he heard Nick call them that. Nick wastes some time coming up with other descriptors.

So thinking this thing through is pretty much a lost cause from the get-go, because whenever Nick tries to think about Monroe he just ends up thinking about Monroe.

He doesn't even make it to lunch before he breaks and calls Monroe to set up something for the evening, and Monroe sounds so happy to hear from him that Nick gives up the ghost and resigns himself to daydreaming about Monroe every spare second he gets.

Even Hank's teasing can't burst his bubble. Nothing is bringing him down today.

At least not until he's on his way to Monroe's, and he finds himself parked by the side of the street, running late for his date so he can try and figure out what the hell he's doing.

But it isn't as if he hasn't met decent Wesen before; he's pretty sure he and Bud would be something like friends if he wasn't constantly forcing Bud to provide information about scary monsters Bud doesn't want to cross, forcing him to be the closest thing Nick has to a creature CI. It's a role for which Bud is entirely unsuited, but most days Bud doesn't seem up to the task of being Wesen, let alone helping Nick navigate their world.

Nick needs the help, though, and Bud is the best he can do.

He thinks about calling Bud right now, just to check in, just to check and see if Bud would tell him this is the worst idea anybody has ever had, but he doesn't bother, because he knows Bud would.

And imaginary Bud might be right, because Nick knows there's a difference between a Blutbad and an Eisbiber or a Reinigen; he isn't stupid, and he does know the risks he's still running, here.

But he knows what Monroe is doing, and although he can see Hap struggling with it, he has to believe it's possible. He has to believe that the new darkness he's dealing with every day is leavened by decency, is as varied as the darkness he's accustomed to in the human world. If it isn't -- if all he has to look forward to in this new reality is Jagerbars and murderous Mauzhertz and predatory Ziegevolk -- he doesn't know if he can keep doing this.

Some long, late nights it isn't a question: he doesn't think he can. He wonders how long he'll last, and sometimes he imagines his own death, but sometimes he imagines running away to Alaska and becoming a lumberjack.

He could bring Monroe with him now; Monroe already looks the part.

He starts the car, because if thinking about Monroe yodelling timber as a tree falls is the highlight of his day, there's really no point pretending he's getting out of this.

Monroe opens the door this time. "Come on in," he invites cheerfully. "Hap is elsewhere."

He grins widely as he leads the way to the kitchen, but Nick feels good about Hap's absence too, so he isn't judging.

"I got started on the prep," Monroe tells him. "But you're actually making something tonight, no weaseling out of it."

"What've you got for me?" Nick asks, rubbing his hands together as he looks at the diced vegetables on the counter.

"Guacamole," Monroe says brightly.

"Aw, man," Nick complains, poking at the small cubes of tomato and onion. "Really?"

"You need to get the basics down before we move you on to the advanced stuff." Monroe's grin is sly, and he's so earnestly inept at this that Nick is helpless against it.

"I'm not sure it's supposed to work like this," Nick says. "Shouldn't I at least try cooking something?"

"But you know how to cook," Monroe scoffs, and then double-takes when he sees Nick's expression. "You don't know how to cook?"

"No need to sound so shocked," Nick mutters. "I just never had to learn, because I always either had people to cook for me or access to a wide range of take-out menus."

"Oh, I am not cooking for you!" Monroe says insistently.

"I'm taking a cooking class!" Nick protests.

"You screwed up slicing your zucchini in half."

Nick gapes. "Juliette said it was fine!"

"I don't know if you've noticed this, but you're kind of cute and adorable as a basket full of puppies? People want to spare your feelings, even when those people happen to be your ex-girlfriend."

"I'm making guacamole!" Nick feels this is the essential point that wins him the argument, so he turns triumphantly to the ingredients laid out on the counter, and then slides his eyes sheepishly to Monroe. "As soon as you tell me where to start."

Monroe seems to like ordering Nick around, and the guacamole is good. Nick knows it was foolproof, but Monroe seems genuinely pleased with him, so he allows himself to bask in his minor success.

When they're loading the dishwasher, Monroe asks, "So you've never really been alone before, huh?"

"I guess not," Nick admits uncomfortably. "But after my parents died I never really had many people either. Just me and my aunt keeping each other company. I never really wanted to end up like her." His smile is wry, though there's no way Monroe can guess the reason. "I don't like being alone, no."

"Me either," Monroe tells him. "Truth be told, I was kind of relieved when Hap showed up on my doorstep, hot mess that he is."

Monroe's voice is affectionate as he abuses his friend, and Nick thinks it's sweet. He's a little relieved, too, because Hap is not the only person Monroe is dealing with who does not have their shit together. Nick hopes Monroe will be as indulgent with his peccadillos.

"You don't have any family in the area?"

Monroe's face clouds. "No." He comes up behind Nick, caging him in.

"I am down with this change of subject," Nick says, grinning up at Monroe as he turns in his arms.

"You smell like Axe," Monroe says, nose dropping briefly to Nick's neck. "You really, really do."

Nick flushes. "Sometimes I go heavy on the bodyspray," he says, trying for lightness. "Too much?"

"Huh," Monroe says thoughtfully, but then he kisses Nick, and Nick forgets they were saying anything at all.

He's pushing slowly closer when Hap says, "I'm happy you're getting some, but do I have to watch?"

Monroe looks incredibly frustrated when he pulls away, but he pulls away nonetheless.

"Yes," Nick says vindictively, and goes on his toes so he can get his tongue into Monroe's mouth one last time, a quick slide that's all tease.

"Gross," Hap says, wandering over to the fridge.

Monroe's back is rigid and his hands are deliberately loose on Nick's hips, so Nick is pleasantly surprised when Monroe ducks down for another quick kiss while Hap's head is in the fridge.

"Yuck," Hap complains again, when he emerges with a hunk of tofu and sees their pleased faces. "Get a room. You have one."

"Ah," Monroe says awkwardly, suddenly looking over Nick's head instead of into his eyes.

"I have to run," Nick says easily. He wonders what Monroe would be like in bed, wonders if Monroe worries about it; he wonders if he should worry about it. He doesn't. He kisses the underside of Monroe's jaw instead. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"You will?"

"I will," Nick says cockily, and shows himself out.

*

Nick is at work the next day when his phone rings. "Burkhardt."

"Oh, Nick, hey," Monroe says.

"You sound surprised it's me." Nick grins as he shoves his notes towards Hank.

"No, because I rang you," Monroe says, still sounding faintly nonplussed. "I just wasn't expecting you to answer, because you never have before."

"I've been out interviewing witnesses," Nick says, desperately trying to ignore Hank's insinuating eyebrow. "Do you not have my cell? You don't have my cell, I'll--"

"So I was thinking I could take you to Portobello tonight," Monroe rushes out. "If you can stand taking a break from the dicing and the slicing."

"Oh," Nick says, lifting his head. "You want to take me out. On a date."

"Problem?"

Monroe's voice is tight, so Nick hastens to say, "No, not at all." He turns away from Hank's amusement. "It's just that the last time I was out on a date with a guy it was pizza in a dorm room."

"I think we can do better than that."

"Wouldn't be difficult," Nick tells him ruefully. "He made me go halves and then wouldn't even let me have any of his anchovies."

"We should get half-portions," Monroe suggests enthusiastically, "so you can try a wide range of food."

"Sounds great." Nick is trying not to smile too broadly, but he can't stop himself. He feels foolish.

"Okay," Monroe says with satisfaction.

They make arrangements to meet at the restaurant before Nick has to let Monroe go. He braces himself and swings his chair around to face Hank.

"So," Hank drawls.

"Shut up," Nick says.

"This something? Because this is sounding like something."

Nick shrugs uncomfortably. "Going that way."

"So you're going on a date tonight." Hank doesn't make any comment on the unprecedented nature of the event, for which Nick is grateful. "That's good. All you do is work and sleep." This is truer than he knows; Nick doesn't sleep as much as Hank thinks. "What are you going to wear?"

"This," Nick says, then, "Stop looking at me like that. This is fine, this is totally--what's wrong with it, why are you looking at me like that?"

"I'm not saying you don't know how to handle yourself," Hank says, which is patently untrue.

"I know how to handle myself!" Nick protests.

"Or dress yourself, most of the time." Nick looks down at his outfit in astonished outrage. "But I have been married four times!"

"Four times!" Nick exclaims, and his tone is somewhat less triumphant than Hank's.

"I know how to close a deal." Hank puts his hands behind his head and leans back in his chair in satisfaction. Nick is opening his mouth to protest when Hank adds, "And you definitely need the help."

Nick's mouth shuts with a snap.

"You're going to thank me," Hank assures Nick, barely suppressing the relish in his voice at the thought.

Nick doubts that, but then his eye catches on Hank's shirt.

"Hey," he says absently, "have you ever felled a tree?"

*

The universe decides to settle down and cooperate with Nick's plans for the evening, so Nick is only a couple of minutes late when he gets to the restaurant, tugging at the collar of Hank's shirt as he walks through the door.

Nick isn't sure how into aesthetics Monroe is, but he's considering making sure Monroe and Hank never meet, just in case. One of Hank's ex-wives made him chop down their Christmas tree one year, so Nick definitely can't compete in the lumberjack stakes, and Nick has the horrible conviction that Monroe is going to thoroughly approve of Hank's clothing. It's the only reason he's wearing it; Hank is wider across the shoulders, and the shirt hangs a little strangely on him.

He still looks good, so he's pretty sure Monroe's going to be admiring him more than his choice of outfit. And he doesn't really put much stock into sharing the minutiae of another person's life; he has no interest in knowing Monroe's favourite colour, or whether he thinks tomatoes are a fruit or a vegetable or whatever, but he knows Monroe likes it when Nick shares his interests, like veganism and plaid.

Nick needs to google clockwork.

"Hey," Nick says, when the Anna-the-waitress leads him to their table, putting a hand on Monroe's shoulder to keep him in his seat and leaning down to place an absent-minded kiss on his cheek. "You don't want to move to Alaska, do you?"

"Uh--"

"Because I thought I might, but now I'm pretty sure I just really don't want you moving to Alaska. There are so many men in trees and plaid!"

Monroe looks bemused, saying, "I don't think it's on the cards--" before his face twists and he leans forward over the small table, staring at Nick suspiciously. "You smell--" he says, breaking off to inhale another lungful of air.

"Are you--" Monroe is scenting him. "Smelling me?"

Shit. Nick had forgotten to slather himself in something overpowering to distract Monroe's nose. He tenses, draws a breath to explain, trying to think of what he's going to say, how he can make Monroe understand.

But before he can speak, Monroe shoves to his feet and leans over the table to bury his nose in Nick's neck.

Nick's skin prickles and his fingers spasm on the edge of the table. He can feel Monroe wogeing against him.

"Hey," he says quietly, turning his face into Monroe.

"These aren't your clothes," Monroe says calmly, and when he pulls away from Nick his eyes are the only part of his face that aren't human.

"Oh!" Nick feels a rush of relief. "No. I was informed my working attire was not suitable for an event such as this, so my partner forced me into his instead, though--" Nick realises he's about to insult plaid and stops speaking.

"Your partner made you wear his clothes," Monroe repeats slowly.

"He didn't think I knew what I was doing," Nick admits sheepishly. "He was right."

Monroe sits back down, and the redness fades from his eyes. "You're doing all right."

Nick's mouth twitches in acknowledgment, but he doesn't really believe that. "I'm doing it," he says.

"Are you ready to order?" their waitress asks desperately. "Please just tell me what you would like to drink."

"Sorry!" Monroe blurts. He orders what sounds like enough food for six people, and then asks, "Wine?"

"Yes," Nick says, and it's only when the side of Monroe's mouth slips up that he realises there was more required than a positive response. "Oh--"

Monroe orders their wine too.

"You're doing well," Monroe tells him while their waitress flees the scene.

"I will," Nick says. "I'll get there."

He didn't mean to seek reassurance, but Monroe's face changes in a way that suggests he's about to offer it. "So you don't like the plaid?" Nick asks disingenuously.

Monroe ignores his attempt at diversion, reaching across the table to touch Nick's hand briefly before withdrawing. "Is it weird?" he asks. "Being out with--with a man. If you haven't done anything like this before, or since college, I mean, I get that the adjustment might present some difficulties--"

Nick is shaking his head. "No," he says firmly. "It's not because you're a guy." He hesitates, but Monroe is regarding him with steady solemnity, so he forces out, "This is the first time I've been out with anybody since Juliette."

"Ah," Monroe says, straightening, reaching for the glass their waitress deposits in front of him and drinking deeply. "More," he instructs, crystal clinking as he replaces the empty glass on the table.

Nick's hand moves anxiously towards Monroe, but Monroe is all the way across the table, not within reach. "I didn't want this to be weird," he says plaintively.

"Wine?" the waitress asks shrilly.

Nick waves in distracted agreement. "But I was with Juliette for a long time, and it is weird."

The waitress finishes pouring and skedaddles.

"Juliette is my friend," Monroe says, and Nick's expecting a follow-up, some kind of explanation of the relevance of that comment, but none is forthcoming.

"Mine too," he says, baffled.

"I don't want to get involved if there's something to get involved in," Monroe tells him seriously.

It takes a couple of seconds for Nick to make sense out of that, so he takes a sip of wine while he translates, and then he has to cover his mouth so he doesn't spray it all over the table.

"There's nothing to get involved in," he tells Monroe flatly, kind of horrified at the thought. He reaches across the table and grabs Monroe's hand without thinking about it, pulling it closer so they can stay comfortably curled together. "You can get involved," he says, urgency shaking him. "I want you to get involved."

It takes a second for Monroe's hand to curve around his, reciprocating the intimacy of the touch, but Nick watches the tension leave Monroe as it does and exhales gustily. "This is ridiculous," he says lightly, eyes wide. "We are ridiculous."

The laugh Monroe lets out is short, but it sounds genuine. "This is difficult," he says, and his hand tightens on Nick's, pressure more reassurance than anything, just enough to hold Nick's attention. "Are you sure about this? With who we--" He breaks off while the waitress speeds by with rolls. "With everything that's stacked against us, I'd understand if you didn't want to do this. There are legitimate reasons not to bother trying."

"Do you not want to?" Nick asks sharply, the fear taking him by surprise. "Because I want to!"

Monroe takes a minute to think about his answer; Nick spends it trying not to bruise Monroe's hand with the tightness of his grip. "I want this," Monroe tells him eventually. "I want you enough to do this. But this is going to be difficult, Nick. We need to be really sure about this, and we need to be really careful."

"This is going to be fine," Nick says confidently, feeling sure of it for the first time, in spite of all the reasons that should be telling him otherwise. Monroe is a Blutbad, and a man, and someone new, and Nick doesn't care about any of that.

Monroe's head tilts to the side, and his face is still calm, but it's quizzical now, too. "You really believe that," he says cautiously, checking.

"I can handle this," Nick says with complete certainty, and it is true, and it is terrifying and freeing and wonderfully new to know that, but the best thing about it is that Monroe seems to believe him.

His hand relaxes under Nick's, and it's Monroe who tangles their fingers together.

All in all, it's a great date.

Right up until they're kissing against Monroe's Beetle outside the restaurant later on.

"Hey," Monroe says, pulling out of the kiss and tilting his head back so Nick can't distract him with more kisses. But Nick has Monroe pressed against the door, so although the keys are in the lock, Monroe isn't going anywhere, and Nick doesn't have to pause before his mouth moves down onto Monroe's neck, sucking hungrily at the bare skin until Monroe groans, putting his hands on Nick's shoulders and pushing him back to get a little space.

"What's wrong?" Nick asks, leaning forwards so he can brush his lips over Monroe's jaw. The hair tickles, and Nick laughs and does it again.

Monroe is smiling fondly down at him when he pauses so he can listen, but he says, "I should get home," which is not what Nick wants to hear.

"I should come with you," Nick says hopefully, inching closer and sliding his hands around Monroe's waist, stealing another brief kiss.

Nick hadn't planned to do this yet; he'd thought they needed to put more time in before they risked this, thought they needed to be honest about who they are, but he knows Monroe and he feels like Monroe knows him just enough in return. He wants to tell Monroe who he is, but he doesn't know what that would change, and he doesn't want anything to change. And really, none of this seems all that significant in the face of everything he wants, all of this and more; Monroe taking him out for dinner, and taking him home to bed, and making him breakfast when they wake up together in the morning, all the time.

"You really shouldn't," Monroe says. He sounds reluctant, so Nick knows he can convince him, and he puts his mouth back on Monroe's skin so he can start. "I think we should take things slowly, given the cir--" Monroe's strangled voice trails off into a whine when Nick bites gently down. "I really think--" Nick likes the sound of Monroe's voice. He should ask Monroe a question about clocks, so he'll keep speaking for a while, even as Nick gets things moving. "I want to take things slow."

"Oh," Nick says, disappointed. He stops what he's doing and takes a second to school his face before letting Monroe see it.

Monroe looks horrendously uncomfortable, which makes it easier for Nick to smile at him.

"It's not that--"

"It's okay."

"It's not that I don't want to." Nick hadn't thought that was the reason, but he appreciates the reassurance nonetheless. "I just think we need to be really careful, you know? With everything that could go wrong--"

That's probably true, although Nick isn't worried about it. Monroe's face is unhappy, and deep frown-lines are furrowing his forehead. Nick pulls Monroe's head down to kiss them quickly.

"Okay," he says. "We should do that, we do need that."

"Really?" Monroe asks, looking so sceptical that Nick has to kiss him again. He makes it last, because he knows it's really a goodnight kiss this time.

"This is only the second date," Nick tells him brightly, when he finally pulls away.

"First," Monroe corrects, opening hazy eyes.

"If I wanted to be exacting I could claim third, because I'm pretty sure a picnic lunch counts by any standard."

"First," Monroe says obstinately, and Nick holds his hands up in surrender, stepping away.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Nick says, watching Monroe to make sure he will.

Monroe's relief is obvious. "Okay," he says, opening his car door and folding himself up like a pretzel so he can climb inside. "Tomorrow."

"Can't come soon enough."

Nick backs away until Monroe starts the car and leaves the lot, waving at Nick as he goes, and then he drives out to the trailer to search the Blutbad book for information on the sexual behaviour of the species.

For future reference.

*

They meet at a food truck by the park for lunch the next day; Nick manages to get away from work a couple of minutes early and reach the location first. Monroe ambles up a minute or two later, and when he sees Nick his face lights up.

"Hi!" he says, and leans in to kiss Nick awkwardly on the cheek. Nick turns to catch his mouth, and Monroe is much more assured at expressing desire than affection, but he only lets a couple of seconds go by before he straightens and asks, "So what are you having?"

Nick shrugs. "Falafel."

"Boring! Didn't last night do anything to expand your horizons?"

"Less than I would've wanted," Nick says regretfully, letting his eyes track down Monroe's body before turning to join the short queue in front of the falafel truck.

"With the variety of food you tried, how can you run right back to falafel?"

Monroe seems personally offended by Nick's lack of appreciation of quality vegan cuisine, but Nick still thinks street falafel is quality vegan cuisine, and gets to watch Monroe splutter when he tells him so. "Plus, I barely remember most of what I ate." This is true: after a while everything just became a homogenised mass of vegetable. He fronts like he's teasing, though, because he doesn't want to upset Monroe. "I think you need to run that by me again."

"They do lunch!" Monroe informs him eagerly, but then they reach the front of the queue and Nick orders. He chooses a bench nearby and leads Monroe over. "This is so boring," Monroe says, while taking a huge bite.

"Staples are staples for a reason," Nick says firmly. He's never actually eaten falafel before. It's pretty good. Nick thinks he might be able to make a go of this whole vegan thing.

Monroe is silent while he eats, and when he's finished he says, "That was okay. I guess. There's a much better falafel truck over by the Bank of America on--"

Nick holds up a hand to forestall the inevitable argument over the superiority of pet food trucks, because he doesn't have any pet vegan food trucks. "You can introduce me to it next time."

Monroe is happy with that.

"So," Nick says, screwing up his napkin and trying to suppress a sly grin, "are you an ethical vegan?"

Monroe chokes on air, but his smile widens, and Nick can't help letting his own loose.

"I suppose I am," Monroe says, delighted at the thought. "Technically." The startled pleasure on Monroe's face increases as he watches Nick bask in it. "I do--care about the--living creatures that might be harmed by my appetites," Monroe explains earnestly. "That's why I became a vegan to begin with, because it wasn't enough just to change my life, to make the decision--"

Monroe keeps speaking, but Nick has spotted Juliette across the park, and he loses the thread of Monroe's speech as he tries to decide what to do. When he tunes back in, Monroe is saying, "So that's why I think it's really important to keep things relaxed, let events unfold at a natural pace, because instincts can be--"

"We should say hi to Juliette," Nick interrupts, gesturing over to where she's joined the queue for another truck.

"Oh, yeah," Monroe says, blinking blankly, and then his brain kicks into gear and he yells, "Hey, Juliette!" He waves cheerily when she turns and sees them. "Come on, stop dilly-dallying, let's go," he upbraids Nick, making a rolling hurry-up motion with his hands. Nick scrambles to his feet and falls into step beside Monroe. "So you agree with me?" Monroe asks. Nick stares at him, baffled. "About--everything? Taking things slowly, keeping things under control so--"

"Oh," Nick says vaguely. "Yeah." He does agree with all of that, even if Monroe doesn't realise Nick understands the impetus behind it. "You're not still feeling weird about Juliette, are you?"

"No!" Monroe scoffs, but Nick thinks he looks a little uncertain, so when they join Juliette in line he says, "Hey! I'd say I was sorry you didn't get here in time to eat with us, but I'm counting every outing Monroe and I go on as a date, so this has actually worked out really well for me."

Monroe elbows Nick, but his manner is more relaxed.

"Three," Nick whispers to Juliette, "but we've decided to take things slowly, so I've changed my mind about jumping him behind the food truck."

"Wow," Juliette says, eyebrows shooting up in amusement, politely ignoring Monroe's red face. "Things are going well!"

"I think so," Nick says, and smiles at Monroe like an idiot while Juliette orders her lunch.

"We should totally double-date! Or maybe I should just drag Ryan along to the cooking class. That would count, right?"

"Things went well the other night?"

"Not as well as you two. We're not moving as quick--at as speedily a reasonable pace as you guys, but we're meeting up again on Friday."

"That's great!" Nick says, and Monroe chimes in with, "Yeah, but you should bring him along to class so we can check him out for you."

"How many dates will it have been by Saturday?" Juliette asks, and Nick starts to count the tally, but gets distracted by all the assumptions going on here. "You don't mind that I'm getting the burrito, do you?" Juliette asks Monroe, reaching out to accept her Korean barbeque. "I know they do quesadillas, but sometimes you really just need some--"

"I don't need to go to class anymore," Nick tells Juliette, ignoring the looks of polite puzzlement he receives. "Monroe keeps cooking for me, and I've eaten so much vegan food in the last few days I think I should count as an actual vegan now taken purely on the math! There's no reason for me to go to class."

Juliette and Monroe turn to stare at each other and burst out laughing, and Nick looks between them in bafflement for a second or two, but until recently he had in fact been in a fairly successful relationship for a significant number of years, so it doesn't take him long to realise what this means.

He knows where he'll be Saturday morning.

*

He makes it the next couple Saturday mornings; work picks up, but he manages to attend the class each week. It's an efficient use of his time, because he gets to see Juliette while pleasing Monroe. Plus, he's actually learning a new skill, even if it's kind of an inadvertent byproduct of his attempt to be a good boyfriend.

He hasn't had that conversation with Monroe yet, but that doesn't make it any less true.

"Hey," he says, gazing proudly at his spicy tofu tacos, which are not a complete disaster. "I'm getting kind of okay at this, huh?"

"Hah," Ellie says in a loud voice. "No." Susan makes an apologetic face, and Nick gives her a grimace that he hopes will pass as a smile.

"Yes," Monroe says thoughtfully. "Kind of!"

"High praise," Nick says sheepishly.

"No, this is really good for somebody who's as much of a beginner as you are! You know what? We should host a dinner party!"

"Uh," Nick says. "What?"

Ellie looks torn. "You shouldn't let him in your house, Monroe," she says. "But I would love to come to your dinner party!"

Monroe is nodding happily, like this is settled.

"Uh, wait," Nick tries. "This is the most ridiculous thing I have heard in--" He pauses, thinking back. It's harder to pinpoint a timeframe than he had expected, because he hears so many ridiculous things on such a regular basis nowadays.

Monroe takes wicked advantage of his ill-judged silence to smile hopefully at him, and that's how Nick finds himself agreeing to co-host a vegan dinner party.

*

Things are so busy at work that Nick doesn't have as much time to see Monroe as he'd like to. He drops by whenever he clocks out at a relatively reasonable hour, but even then it isn't as often as he'd wish, and when he swings by one evening he's sitting at the kitchen table watching Monroe do something with breadcrumbs and asparagus, and then there's wood under his cheek as he blinks sleepily, and then he's waking up in Monroe's bed. Monroe is sitting on the floor, evidently having begun his pilates routine while Nick was still asleep. Nick tries to watch, but the motions are rhythmic and lulling, and his eyes are heavy, and he's asleep again before Monroe finishes.

He starts spending the night at Monroe's more often after that, though the agreement remains unspoken. They never go to bed together, but sometimes they wake up that way, though Monroe immediately rolls to his feet and launches into his routine like he still thinks he has to control himself around Nick, like he's afraid of what will happen if he doesn't.

Maybe it's a good thing that Nick is mostly too exhausted and distracted to focus on beginning a sexual relationship with a Blutbad right now; Monroe is still skittish when things get intense, and Nick doesn't want to push. Well, that's a lie: Nick does want to push; he just doesn't want to make Monroe uncomfortable, and he definitely doesn't want Monroe to push back. He wants to get closer, but he doesn't really know how to do that.

Nick understands Monroe's hesitation but doesn't share it, and he wants to tell Monroe that his fears are baseless, but he can't tell Monroe he knows he's a Blutbad without revealing his own secret, and Nick does have his own fears. He's afraid Monroe will be angry that he's a Grimm, angry that he's hidden it so long, angry enough to end this thing developing between them.

Nick is building a small collection of clothes here, leaving things behind in a series of planned accidents; he goes directly from Monroe's home to work most days now, and he has no intention of doing a walk of shame when he has nothing to be ashamed about, and more importantly, when he isn't even getting any. He has a toothbrush in Monroe's cup, and his gun has a regular resting-place in Monroe's bedroom.

It should bother him how comfortable he is with all this, but it doesn't: he just wants to be allowed this comfort, wants this to be his by right rather than something he's stealing and sneaking and conniving to get.

He knows he can't have that without going through the difficult bits first, and he's too afraid to risk it, because this is so much of what he wants already.

Nick has had to cancel a couple of dates, and Monroe suggests postponing their dinner until things have calmed down. It's nice, not to be the one to suggest it, not to have to feel guilty.

So Nick is an easy mark when Monroe brings a cone filled with rice and red beans to his desk one afternoon when Nick can't get away for lunch and says, "So Juliette was making noise about going out with her and Ryan again--"

"Sure," Nick says, clicking away at his keyboard even as he pours beans and rice directly into his mouth.

"You're an animal," Monroe says, wrinkling his nose. "Didn't your mom teach you any manners?"

Nick watches Monroe dig through his brown bag of deliciousness, because he doesn't quite know what to say to that, and when Monroe resurfaces with fritters and offers one to Nick he takes it and holds it tightly as he forces out, "Yeah, she did, but my parents died when I was twelve, and the aunt who took me in was less likely to notice if I ate at all, so."

"Oh," Monroe's fritter is frozen halfway to his mouth. "I'm sorry. I should have thought--"

"I told you about her, I think, the aunt who died a few months ago. I only had one. Aunt Marie was great," Nick says. "Just, you know, less maternal than Mom. She never had any children of her own, so it makes sense." It does make sense now in a way that it never had before; a lot of things do. Nick realises that the fritter is oozing pineapple all over him and forces his fingers to relax.

"You like pineapple, right?" Monroe asks, worried. "I'm sorry about your parents. And your aunt."

Nick had waited three months to tell Juliette this, and it had been just as agonising then. "Thanks. And thanks for getting me pineapple."

Hank butts in, because he is the best friend that Nick could ever hope to have.

"How come I don't rate pineapple? I want fritters, man. I don't even get a--" He makes a cone-shape with his hands, staring at Nick's half-eaten lunch longingly.

Monroe grudgingly tosses him a fritter.

"Thanks, man," Hank says happily. "We are so swamped with this fight club thing that I was gonna have to see if I could make time to stop by the vending machine."

"Fight club?" Monroe asks. "Swamped? Is this not a good time to arrange something with Juliette, because--"

Reaching for another fritter, Nick casually lets a file fall open on the table in front of Monroe, and Monroe stops speaking as he looks at the images that spill out, gory Wesen deaths depicted in technicolour. Nick can't ask Monroe if he knows anything about the Lowen, but he can't help but think Monroe might be able to help him.

"It's a rough one," Nick says. "I told you about it, remember? But with the first rule of Fight Club we're having trouble getting a line on anything."

Monroe drags his eyes away from the photographs, and they're slightly dazed when they meet Nick's. He shuts the folder.

"I don't know what you mean," Monroe says blankly. "Fight club?"

"Never mind," Nick says, trying not to be disappointed. It was a long shot, but he's already shaken down Bud on this one and come up with nothing, and he doesn't know what he's going to do.

"I don't know anyone who's into this type of thing," Monroe says hesitantly.

"Why would you?" Hank asks, finishing his fritter and breaking out the puppy-dog eyes.

Monroe doesn't notice Hank's eyes. "I might know this bookie who could give you something, though."

"What?" Hank asks incredulously as Nick's head pops up hopefully.

"Not personally," Monroe hastens to add. "There's a friend of a friend who might be into wagering--air--on events of this nature, and I could probably get you his bookie's name."

Nick shoves a pad and a pen towards Monroe, but Monroe waves him away, saying, "I need to make some calls, man, I don't just hang out with these guys in the thug corner at the ice-cream social."

"Soon as you can," Nick says tightly, not doing a very good job of reining in his eagerness.

"Yeah," Monroe says, staring at the closed folder with obvious discomfort. "This is bad news, Nick. You need to be careful."

"Always am," Nick reassures him, mind already racing ahead to what he's going to do with the information Monroe provides.

"Yeah." Monroe sounds a little unhappy, but Nick is too distracted to deal with it. "So about this thing with Juliette--"

Hank is reaching for the folder, blood up with even the potential of a break in the case. "I need to check out the owner of that warehouse," he says eagerly.

"I can do whatever, as long as work doesn't--"

"Great," Monroe says, getting back up and moving towards the exit, tossing Hank a pity fritter on his way out. Nick takes another mouthful of cone. "I told her Friday at eight."

Nick tries to protest, but his mouth is still full of red beans, so he keeps chewing and lets Hank laugh at him. Hank finishes his fritter before Nick finishes chewing, so he says, primly, "I don't see you with any lunch," and remains steadfast in the face of Hank's attempts to get him to share, finishing off his cone and smacking his lips in satisfaction.

When Monroe calls with information on the bookie, Sauly, he cautiously asks if Nick needs any more help with this one, and Nick tries to consider it, but kneejerks into telling Monroe he'll be fine before he works the angles through.

And that's how he ends up in a cage a couple of days later, with Bud cowering behind him while the crocodile-Wesen circles them with his whirling mace. The cringing and squeaking emanating from Bud is kind of distracting.

Possibly not Nick's best decision ever.

Nick attacks, for all the good it does him. It draws Demitri away from Bud, allowing the Eisbiber to scurry to the farthest point he can reach and strain through the bars hopelessly. Demitri is terrifyingly good with a mace, and really, who knew people still knew how to use those? Nick can't dwell on the unfairness of that for too long, though, because he needs all his attention to combat Demitri's advances. Nick's shield is a good defence, but every time Demitri's weapon connects, Nick can feel the impact slam through the metal and into his bones. His arm is getting numb, and he's a little worried a hard enough blow to the shield will cause a reverberation strong enough to fracture bone.

He doesn't know how he's going to get out of this one. He's glad Monroe isn't here to see this.

He can hear Bud whimpering distantly; mostly, he's just really glad Monroe isn't here.

"I have three children!" But cries shrilly, as if that is going to matter to anybody here but Nick, and Nick already knows, because But insists upon mentioning it every time Nick--okay, every time Nick forces him to risk his life, but Nick has priorities, okay, and he can't just let people get killed. "I'm the sole breadwinner for my family!" Bud wails. "They'll starve out on the street in a snowstorm if I die!"

And there's that.

So when Hank rolls up with the cavalry right as Demitri is standing over him, waiting for the turn of the Lowen's thumb before bringing his mace down on Nick's head, Nick isn't really capable of feeling anything more than a sick relief, and it's that emotion that prompts him to turn to Bud and pat him on the shoulder, saying, "You're done, buddy. Buddy-Bud. Bud-buddy-Bud-Bud."

This seems to perplex Bud, but his nose quivers eagerly, and when his face collapses back into its human form the grateful relief it displays does its own part in sickening Nick.

It isn't until he's driving away from the warehouse that he remembers he and Monroe were supposed to have dinner with Juliette and Ryan tonight. He curses silently as he dials Monroe.

"Hey, Nick," Monroe says, and Nick winces when he hears the false cheer in Monroe's voice.

"Hey, Monroe. I'm sorry I missed dinner, but we just wrapped our case up."

"Oh, yeah?" Monroe asks sharply. "How'd that go?"

"Good," Nick tells him, trying to decide if that's a lie. "It was good. It's over. How was dinner? Was Juliette mad?"

Monroe doesn't sound mad when he says, "No. We kind of waited for you, so Ryan got his sister to bring food home from work, and Nick, Ryan has a great place, but he lives with his sister, man, I'm not sure this is going to work out for Juliette."

Nick tries not to laugh. "So Ryan doesn't live up to the potential of his hearth?"

"The dude's totally fine," Monroe says disdainfully. "He's just such a sheep, you know how it is."

"Not Juliette's type?"

"She can do better," Monroe opines. "But I don't think there's going to be any telling her that. Not to cast aspersions on the wild and crazy ride you took her on, but I think she's kind of enjoying the pace."

Nick would correct Monroe's assumptions about the level of excitement inherent in a relationship with Nick, but he doesn't want to strip him of his illusions at this early stage. "We'll have to reschedule," Nick says, rubbing a tired eye. "You had a good time?"

"Yeah," Monroe sighs. "You should come over. I brought a doggy-bag home, and Hap was asleep when I got here, so it's still intact."

"I shouldn't--" Nick blinks when he realises the road he's on isn't one that's going to lead back to his apartment. He isn't sure how he got here. He doesn't think he should have left. He thinks Hank said something about driving him home. "I'll be there in fifteen."

"See you soon," Monroe says, and hangs up, and Nick spends the rest of the drive trying to let the silence drown out his thoughts.

He arrives more quickly than he had expected, but he's too pleased to see Monroe to let anything bother him.

"Hey," he says punchily, leaning in for a kiss and practically falling through the front door.

"Hey," Monroe says, hands warm and steady where they're holding Nick up. "Hey, come on, come on."

Nick isn't quite sure how he makes it to the kitchen table; the next thing he's aware of is the clatter of crockery hitting the table in front of him as Monroe says, "Did you drive here?"

Nick isn't sure what he eats, but once it's gone, Monroe begins to strip him. Nick lifts his arms obligingly, but that doesn't please Monroe, who bats them back down and snaps, "Would you stay still?"

And then the shirt is gone, and Nick can stay still with Monroe's hands on his chest like this, touching him so carefully, the smooth, easy pressure making him shake. The undressing has stopped, so Nick reaches for his own zipper, but his fingers are clumsy and he can't get it undone. Monroe says something, but Nick's face is resting against Monroe's stomach, against the rough fuzz of his cardigan, and listening doesn't seem very important, not until Monroe grabs his chin and yanks his head up and says, "Seriously, Nick, did you get checked out at the scene? Do you have a concussion?"

"No," Nick says defensively, and then, more honestly, "I don't think so," and then he wakes up in Monroe's bed.

Monroe's empty bed in his empty bedroom.

Nick rolls out of the clinging warmth onto the hardwood floor. His body sends up distress flares, and when he levers himself onto an elbow he sees that there are bruises all over his torso.

He doesn't really remember getting them.

It's an easy path down to where Monroe is waiting in the kitchen, but it's far more difficult than it should be to walk it.

"Dude!" Monroe protests when Nick stumbles in. "You're supposed to be resting! I called your partner, and you are in trouble, idiot."

Monroe's voice is affectionate, and the hands attempting to hold Nick up are comforting. Nick doesn't need the support this morning, but he lets Monroe help him into a chair anyway.

"You talked to Hank?"

There's surprise coffee in front of him, which is particularly welcome today.

"He said he turned his back on you for two seconds and you vanished like a ninja, dude. You totally Chuck Norrised it."

"Huh?"

Monroe makes a face at him. "Chuck Norris? It's the concussion."

"I don't have a concussion."

"You could!" Monroe says, looking anxious. "I had to wake you up every two hours to check."

Nick doesn't remember that. He doesn't really remember deciding to leave the scene, either. He doesn't want Monroe to know that, so he says, "Thereby proving that I don't."

"Well," Monroe says in a tone of dissatisfaction. Nick raises an eyebrow. "Not that I want you to suffer a concussion! I'm just kind of worried that crap always happens like this for you and you've never actually learned that actions have consequences--"

"Not something you need to be concerned about," Nick says, and Monroe seems to take him at his word.

Nick does realise that actions have consequences: getting into that cage last night meant he prevented a friend's death while getting his ass handed to him; and getting into his car with what actually might have been a minor concussion meant that he might have done some serious damage, but instead ended up in Monroe's bed, presumably with Monroe though he has no recollection of it; and ending up here, now, means he gets to stretch lazily and say, "So can I stay with you a while?"

Monroe pretends he wasn't watching Nick stretch, and says, "Uh. I."

"I have enough clothes here for a few days, right?" Nick kicks himself; he isn't sure they're ready to acknowledge what they're doing. "Until I'm feeling better? "

That distracts Monroe from the fact that Nick hasn't spent a night at home in a couple weeks, as Nick had known it would. "Are you feeling bad? You're not getting dressed!" He frowns at Nick's uncovered chest, which was not really the reaction Nick had been looking for, but he'll take it. He rubs a hand lightly over his bruises; Monroe's eyes track the motion. "Do you want tiger balm? Hank said something about a prescription--"

"Got any advil?"

"Drugs react unpredictably with my biology," Monroe tells him.

"You have allergies?"

"Not exactly," Monroe starts, and Nick can estimate the length of a lecture by the depth of Monroe's interest in the word 'exactly', so he heads this one off at the pass.

"I think a massage would do it," he interrupts innocently.

Monroe stares at him suspiciously, but he can't refuse the comfort to his wounded-in-the-line-of-duty boyfriend.

"Fine," Monroe says gracelessly.

His touches start off too rough, agitation jarring Monroe's usual precision into something more uncontrolled. He responds automatically to the cues of Nick's body, backing off when Nick flinches, thumbs pressing deeper where he feels the pressure forcing Nick's tightly wound muscles to uncoil. Nick has never felt Monroe's hands on him like this, although he isn't counting last night, because he was so out of it he can barely recall the sensation. He isn't sure he's going to be able to count this either; not when Monroe is so unexpectedly good at it, beyond the pure pleasure of contact and connection; not when Nick is unravelling so quickly, slumped over on the table, closer than he cares to admit to drooling.

"So things are really over?" Monroe asks. "No more fun and games?" Nick starts, though he hadn't quite been asleep. "You have three days off, Nick. You should go back to bed."

That seems like a really good idea, but Nick is enjoying this too much to let it end. "You're not done," he instructs Monroe.

A low laugh rumbles over his skin as Monroe presses his lips to Nick's shoulder-blade. "I'll still be here when you wake up," he says, palm rubbing reassuringly over Nick's spine, settling on the small of his back.

Nick stays in the moment for as long as he can, contentment relaxing him more than anything Monroe has done.

Then Hap rouses and shouts, "Dudes, I was going to eat there!"

So Nick gets the hell out of dodge and back into Monroe's bed.

And when he wakes up, Monroe has advil.

*

He spends most of the first day drowsing in Monroe's bed with Monroe popping in now and then to check on him. He brings Nick soup and orange juice and constantly takes his temperature with a palm, like that's a real thing that really works. Nick doesn't mind, though, because Monroe's hands are gentle and relaxing, and when he's satisfied himself yet again that Nick hasn't caught the flu from his beating his hands slip around to cradle Nick's skull, and Nick is always asleep before Monroe leaves the room.

He remembers things like this, but only from television, and stories his childhood friends told, not his own life. His mother had been the best mother anyone could ever have had, but she hadn't been that kind of mother, and Aunt Marie had been Aunt Marie, and Nick had never needed to be coddled. He doesn't need this now, but it's nice.

When Monroe climbs into bed beside him the curtains are half-drawn against the dusky sky outside and the moon is beginning to glow. Nick throws a leg over Monroe's knees and tries to shake off the languor so he can make some kind of move, because it feels like a crime to let this opportunity pass, but Monroe's breath tousles his hair as he breathes, "Go to sleep, Nick. Worry about it tomorrow," and Nick finds his face falling into the crook of Monroe's shoulder, his hand creeping around Monroe's waist to find the pocket of heat between his body and the mattress. It's beyond his control, but it's what he finds he wants most now anyway, so he lets himself have it.

Monroe's beard trails down his throat to where Nick's forehead is pressed against his skin, and the brush of the rough hair is unfamiliar and comforting, and Nick breathes out hard against Monroe's plaid pyjamas and falls back asleep.

It's early when he wakes, birds singing outside the window in the thin light of morning. He feels alive this time. Monroe's chest is rising and falling under him, lifting Nick with every inhale. It's been a while since Nick has woken up like this, warm and close and happy about it.

He stays where he is for a while, but he gets bored quickly.

"Entertain me," he says with a grin, poking Monroe in the side. Monroe grunts but doesn't awaken. "It's your job," Nick tells him, propping his chin in the centre of Monroe's chest, digging through the soft flannel of his pyjamas. "Do it!"

Monroe has hair on his chest, right by Nick's mouth; he drops his nose until the curls brush it, breathes in deeply, then tugs sharply on a handful of hair.

One of Monroe's eyes slits vengefully open. It takes him a minute to work up to speech, and when he does, he says, "Jurghhh," clears his throat, and tries again. "Good morning."

"Morning." Nick rubs his knuckles over Monroe's skin, just to get the feel. Monroe rolls towards the floor, but Nick hangs on, keeps Monroe under him in the bed.

"I need coffee," Monroe whines. "I can't be expected to speak to anybody before I've had my first cup of sweet tar."

"You don't need to speak," Nick says playfully, fingers digging into Monroe's biceps and dragging down his arms until he can link their hands together, pressing Monroe's wrists into the mattress.

Monroe shifts, testing Nick's grip without trying to break it. His bright eyes are on their joined hands as the tension leaves his body, and when he says, "I mostly never need to speak, but--" Nick kisses him.

"You need to recover," Monroe gasps, tearing his mouth away from Nick's.

"I'm recovered," Nick tells him, lips drifting down Monroe's neck, into the v of his top. "Are you not really warm?"

"Really warm," Monroe says, voice garbled. "I should turn on the air-con."

Monroe moves to leave the bed again, so Nick lets his weight drop onto him. Monroe makes a winded sound, but Nick doesn't think he's enough to give a Blutbad pause. He wonders if Monroe feels cold in human form, without his fur, thinks about asking but just laughs into Monroe's mouth as he slides their bodies together.

"Nick," Monroe moans, but his hands are sure on Nick's back, curling around his hips firmly, and Nick can feel how much Monroe wants it, can feel Monroe hard under him even as Monroe's head goes back and his eyes close.

Nick doesn't know where to start, but he has to start, he has to start somewhere. He has to start now. So his fingers push through the placket of Monroe's pyjamas, spreading out on the skin underneath; and he shifts his position on top of Monroe, curling his legs underneath himself so he can rock them together, drawing a deep, rich sound from Monroe; and his nails dig into Monroe's chest as his mouth comes to rest on Monroe's throat; and when Monroe's stomach jumps and his cock hardens and a rumble shakes loose from his chest at the scratch of Nick's nails, Nick bites down.

And then he's blinking at the pillow, and Monroe is dragging on his pants all the way over by the bedroom door.

"Coffee?" Monroe asks, red fading from his eyes.

"Uh-huh," Nick says absently, settling back down into the warmth Monroe has left behind.

"I'll bring it up to you."

"Thanks," Nick says quietly, then, "We've been dating for a month."

Monroe makes a face that says he knows that too, thank you very much. "Bagel?" he offers.

"Yeah," Nick says easily.

There's pumpkin spice cream cheese on the bagel when it arrives. "It's February," Nick informs Monroe.

"So? Every month is pumpkin month!"

Nick does like pumpkin. "Do you have any gingerbread for the coffee?" he asks hopefully.

"Bite your tongue!"

"So speaking of biting--"

"Please let's not."

"--I guess you don't like it?"

Nick doesn't figure that's what's going on, but he doesn't know how to get a real answer without being really obvious about knowledge he isn't supposed to possess.

"It isn't that I don't like it," Monroe tells him breezily. "I'm just afraid I'll take it too far."

"Oh." Nick is surprised Monroe admitted that, but he's to pleased to quibble. "Well, you won't."

"You don't know that."

"I do," Nick says, sure. "I trust you."

"I don't, sometimes." Monroe's eyes are too serious, and too sad.

"Monroe," Nick says, putting his coffee-cup on the bedside locker and reaching for Monroe's hand.

Monroe shrugs stiffly, folding his arms, holding himself apart. "I don't. I can't."

"You can," Nick says warmly. "You won't--" He isn't sure how to reassure Monroe that he isn't afraid Monroe will flip out and eat him without sounding like he's willing to participate in some seriously kinky stuff. "You wouldn't do anything I didn't want you to. I know you wouldn't."

But Monroe is shaking his head. "I wouldn't want to." His voice is distressed. "But I might--"

"You wouldn't," Nick says, sliding out of bed so he can tug at Monroe's elbow until he opens up, until he lets Nick take his hand. "I know." Monroe doesn't look like he knows it. "We can be careful. We can keep things slow. But we're going somewhere, Monroe, and you need to understand that."

It takes a minute, but Monroe grinds out, "Yeah. Okay."

It sounds grudging, but Nick knows it isn't, knows it's just a difficult thing for Monroe to believe, and he throws his arm over Monroe's shoulders in a gesture that turns quickly from a hug into an embrace.

Nick isn't sure how he ends up on Monroe's lap, making out like kids, but he isn't complaining, not when Monroe is pulling him closer, not when Monroe is responding to every touch of Nick's hand on the back of his neck, letting this build, feeding their hunger. His hands stroke up Nick's bare thighs right as Hap walks past the open bedroom door on the way to the bathroom. He doesn't even see them, but Nick can't help laughing, and the moment breaks.

"Yeah," Monroe says ruefully. "I'm going out to work today."

Nick wonders if Monroe is second-guessing, running away, but he keeps his voice light and asks, "Leaving so soon?"

Monroe seems to hear the anxiety Nick is trying to conceal. "I'll be back," he says, hand warm on Nick's knee.

"All right." Nick stands, stretching. "Do you think I could get away with--"

"No!" Monroe blares.

"You don't even know--"

"You're not going into work, Nick."

Nick subsides unhappily. "I could come with you! Or, hey, does Hap work?"

Monroe freezes, mouth open. "Hap does not work," he admits. "He will be leaving the house today."

"And I can leave with him!" Nick says brightly. "Great!"

"I'm not leaving him alone with you." Monroe wrestles a sweater over his head and plunges out the door, bellowing Hap's name.

Monroe makes Hap drive him to the jeweler he's visiting to try and source some timepieces.

"I am not a cabdriver," Hap complains on his way out the door.

"That would have more validity if you were anything but a sponging wastrel who's going to expire on my couch fifty-five years from now."

"Accurately unkind, bro," Hap protests, and the door shuts behind them with a slam.

Nick has two more days off, and at first, he isn't sure what he's going to do with the unaccustomed leisure. He likes being in Monroe's home, but without Hap and Monroe here too it's almost as lonely as his apartment.

He wanders into the kitchen and goes through Monroe's fridge methodically. Monroe has a lot of food; Nick's pretty sure he can work with it. He decides to try replicating some of the food he's seen other members of their cooking class make. It doesn't go so well, but then he stumbles across a recipe book in Monroe's place-setting drawer, and he ends up with a serviceable Mexican bean salad and a renewed faith in his veganing skills, even if he would kill for a steak.

It's been almost a week since he's eaten meat, and he's feeling an unaccustomed sympathy towards Hap's television-induced drooling. He's still too banged up to go out and grab something.

The recipe book has a folded sheet of paper inside the front cover that falls out when Nick replaces it in its drawer, and when he unfolds it and sees a list of phone numbers, he remembers how bored and capable he's feeling.

"Hi, Susan," he says when she answers. She's surprised to hear from him. "No, Monroe's fine. No, I didn't--No--None of that happened, stop panicking!" He takes an audible breath in the suspicious silence that falls. "Do you have any plans tomorrow night? I was hoping to get the gang over for that dinner party Monroe wanted."

She doesn't reply.

"He was looking forward to it so much," Nick says, not quite mendaciously. Monroe had been looking forward to it, but Nick's pretty sure he's forgotten about it entirely by now.

"Where did you get my phone number?" Susan asks waspishly.

"I also have Ellie's number, but I was hoping not to have to use it, so if you wouldn't mind."

"Fine," she sighs, "I'll see what I can do."

"Great!" Nick says enthusiastically. "Great. Also, I'm doing all the cooking, bring whatever, see you at eight at Monroe's!"

"Does Monroe even know this is happening?" Susan screeches as Nick hangs up.

One down. Two. He's totally counting Ellie in. He cracks his knuckles and turns back to the list, but Juliette is next, and he relaxes into a happy smile.

"Are you insane?" Juliette asks. "Wait. Are you still pretending to be vegan?"

"What!" Nick objects. "You've known about this since it happened and you have a problem with it now?"

"You're dating him now! I expected you to come clean at some point before you ended up here!"

Shaking his head, Nick says, "There's plenty of time! We haven't even--hosted our first dinner party together yet! Telling somebody you lied about being a vegan is way less important than that!"

Juliette exhales noisily. "And Monroe's okay with this?"

"It was Monroe's idea," Nick says, opening the refrigerator to take note of the remaining contents.

"He's never had anyone over to his place before, where does he live? Oh wait, Ellie just texted me the address."

Nick squints at half a kiwi and tries to decide if he can use it for anything. "How does Ellie know where he lives if she's never been here?"

"She works at the DMV," Juliette says. "This is such short notice, and you can't cook at all. You won't be any help!"

"I'm doing the cooking!"

"Monroe's really okay with all this?"

"Oh," Nick says, remembering. "Monroe doesn't know about this, it's a surprise. Tell Susan and Ellie!"

There's silence on the other end of the line. "I'm bringing Ryan," Juliette says. "He won't want to miss this."

She hangs up.

Nick looks at the phone and shrugs, placing it back in the charger. Three--four down!

By the time Monroe and Hap get home, everybody is sworn to secrecy.

"Hey," Monroe says, dropping his keys on the counter. "Did you make dinner?"

Nick had forgotten about that.

"Yeah. Your fridge is empty, sorry."

"Don't apologise for making me food." Monroe turns to Hap, pointing authoritatively at Nick. "See? Do you see this?"

"He is deliberately trying to make me look bad," Hap asserts, as Nick's jaw drops, unable to come up with any defence to such a ridiculous charge.

"He doesn't have to try," Monroe tells Hap kindly. "He just does."

And then they sit down to eat, and there isn't a single Mexican bean left by the time they're done.

So Nick is feeling pretty good about his day even before Monroe dupes him into going to bed early so they can kiss and kiss and kiss on top of the covers.

Nick's lips are bruised when he starts thinking about trying to get rid of some clothes. He works on Monroe's shirt, but Monroe is close to him, arms around his waist, and he won't stop kissing Nick, so Nick reaches for his pants instead, undoes the zipper and reaches inside to pull out Monroe's cock.

"Fuck." The word is bitten off as Monroe finally releases Nick's mouth so he can bury his face in the pillow beside Nick's head.

"You're fine," Nick says, one hand on Monroe's cheek, the other flexing on Monroe's dick, testing to see what kind of pressure Monroe will respond to. He knows he has it right when Monroe's head comes up, face woged, mouth open and gasping. "That's it. You're fine."

"Nick," Monroe groans. His hands tighten on the cool, white sheets, quilt long ago kicked to the floor. They're still human.

Nick would like to see Monroe fully transformed, but now is not the time he would choose. Monroe is fairly controlled; his face flickers from human to Wesen, but nothing in the change is wild enough to worry Nick.

He kicks off his jeans, then pulls Monroe back into a kiss, letting Monroe take control, giving him something to focus on while Nick's hand starts moving, tightening when Monroe's breath catches, playing carefully with the flesh around the head until Monroe growls warningly, letting himself get caught and dragged under as Monroe shakes and claws and comes apart all over him.

Nick and Monroe are both trembling when Monroe shudders back to awareness and works his way down Nick's body. Nick forces himself up on an elbow so that he can see what Monroe is doing, but what he sees is Monroe's come all over him, on the tails of his shirt, his thighs, his dick. He groans, and then Monroe's mouth is on him, warm, wet pressure, and he groans, arm slipping out from under him, head dropping back to the bed.

"You taste good," Monroe mutters. Nick doesn't know whether he likes the taste of skin or precome or maybe just the taste of his own come all over Nick. He's licking at Nick's hard dick, not really paying enough attention to merit the reaction Nick is giving him, small whines and moans as his hips roll helplessly up, begging for more.

Monroe doesn't give it to him, tongue moving in broad swipes over Nick's skin, ignoring the tiny quivers rushing through Nick's body. He does seem to like the taste of Nick, lapping roughly again and again over the head of Nick's cock until Nick is shouting and sinking his fingers into Monroe's thick curls.

"Monroe," he says, dazed. "Please."

But Monroe has stopped, nose rubbing through the hair at the base of Nick's cock, scenting him, Nick thinks, though he can't--he can't be sure, he's too--

"Please," he says again, nothing but desperate.

Monroe's face is human when he looks up at Nick, and then his mouth comes down on Nick again, taking him in this time, wet and hot and perfect, and Nick is trying to fuck deeper into his mouth, but he's beyond that, beyond anything but crying out and clenching his hands in Monroe's hair and coming.

"Fuck," he says breathlessly. His stomach muscles hurt, but he's arced off the bed, still frozen in midair, so that isn't a surprise.

His fingers hurt too, but they're still clawing at Monroe's scalp, so Monroe must hurt more.

"Are you okay?" he asks distantly, forcing his body to unwind so he can relax onto the mattress.

Monroe is still licking at him absentmindedly, but he's moved on to a patch of skin below Nick's navel. He stops when Nick speaks, putting his cheek on Nick's belly and looking up at him.

"You do taste good," he says, and Nick laughs.

"Good. That's good, babe."

"Let's have a shower before bed," Monroe suggests happily. "That should give me enough time to throw a wash on."

"Okay," Nick says vaguely, happy and helpless with it, with everything, and he doesn't really want to get out of bed and into the shower, but Monroe makes it worth his while.

*

When Nick drifts awake the next morning, Monroe is still unconscious beside him, one long arm thrown over Nick's middle, legs tangled with Nick's. He rubs a hand down Monroe's side, grinning as Monroe grunts out a protest and moves nearer.

"Hey," he says, nudging his head under Monroe's chin until he stirs.

"Morning," Monroe grumbles.

"Not a morning person, huh?"

Monroe mutters something about killing with fire and pulls the pillow from under Nick's head, depositing it on his own face to block out the world.

"I was going to offer to make breakfast," Nick teases.

Monroe finally surfaces. "I don't think I want breakfast," he says brightly, hands wandering, smile growing at all the naked flesh he finds. "I think I want to stay in bed and have sex all day."

"Uh," Nick says blankly, because he definitely does not disagree with the sentiment, but he has plans.

He overlooks Monroe's morning-breath so that he can kiss him while he tries to think of a response.

Then Hap clears his throat loudly outside the door. Monroe ignores him, moving on to Nick's chest, but Hap yells, "Coming in! Eyes closed!"

The door opens and Hap ventures cautiously inside with a hand over his eyes; he walks into the doorframe and curses, snatching his hand away so he can glare at it.

"Yes?" Monroe demands. "We're ever-so-slightly busy here, Hap."

"I realise that," Hap says grumpily. "I realised that all night. I just came to say that since we're going out to Eugene today I want to stop by that place in Salem again, because that guy had some good ideas, Monroe, pink beer for chicks is an untapped market, and I want in on the ground floor."

"We can go to Eugene tomorrow," Monroe says.

"Class tomorrow," Nick reminds him.

"Ugh," Monroe says, and leans in for another kiss.

"By the way," Hap says, pointing an accusatory finger, "Nick, dudebro, totally uncool. I'm not one to throw stones, but be less loud! Rude!"

"I'll buy you earplugs," Monroe says, "Or, you know, you could maybe, just a suggestion here, get your own place!" And he throws the pillow at Hap, driving him out of the room.

They have to get out of bed eventually, and Nick waves Monroe and Hap off before running to the market to stock up for dinner.

He comes home and starts with the parts he's sure of, which is to say chopping and dicing, and then he takes a break for lunch and heads over to Lardo for a sandwich. He texts Hap while he's airing out the car like he's a secret smoker, instructing him not to let Monroe get back before ten to eight.

why thats dumb Hap replies, but Nick sends back, Because otherwise your couch wants to see some action and wins right there.

When he gets back to work, the amount of chopped vegetables seems a tiny bit daunting, so he phones Juliette for a pep talk.

Juliette laughs at him.

"I told you what a terrible idea this was!" she says.

"You did! That is so helpful, thank you."

"Where are you in the recipe?"

"I'm--I bought the ingredients before deciding what I was making," Nick admits.

Juliette laughs so long and hard that he hangs up on her.

If he throws out half the crap he spent his morning working on, he has the makings of a couple of dishes from Monroe's recipe book. It's tougher than he expected to make more than one thing at once, and Nick can't really remember the last time he voluntarily used a stove alone, but twenty minutes before the guests are due to arrive he has several acceptable options and several more that appear edible, so he calls it a day and rushes upstairs to hop in the shower.

Monroe gets back five minutes later, while Nick is still drying himself off.

"Nick!" he yells. "What's going on?"

Nick tumbles down the stairs, struggling to get his towel around his waist, before realising it's a face-towel.

"Clothes!" Hap cries. "Clothes, Nick!"

Nick holds the towel strategically in front of himself; it's the best he can do. "Monroe, hi. You're early."

"It's a quarter til eight," Monroe says, checking his watch.

"So I invited our friends over for that dinner party you wanted! Everything's ready!"

Nick beams at him, but Monroe does not look pleased.

"You invited people into my house?" he asks incredulously.

"Yes? I thought that was the idea of a dinner party."

He stretches out a hand to Monroe's shoulder, but Hap says, "Towel, dude!" and he snatches it back.

"Oh, I don't like people in my house, Nick," Monroe says. "It's my territory, it's mine, and you're totally fine, obviously--"

"And me!"

"--and Hap's okay, I guess--"

The doorbell rings.

"--but other people?"

"I have to--" Nick jerks a thumb towards the stairs. "Can you get that?"

"Ass!" Hap yells as Nick breaks for the bathroom and his clothes, and Nick isn't even sure whether he means Nick, or Nick's actual ass, which is waving in the breeze.

"Get the door, Hap!" Nick yells over his shoulder.

When he makes it back downstairs, he finds everybody standing in silence in the living room. Monroe's eyes are a little frantic, and Nick slides into the group beside him, slipping his hand up to rest on Monroe's back.

"Hey guys," Nick says. "You may already have noticed, but I didn't exactly clear this little idea with Monroe first." He makes a comically awkward face. "Sorry."

He laughs, but nobody joins in.

"Should we leave?" Susan asks.

"You're very welcome to stay, Suzanne," Monroe says.

"Suzanne!" Nick says, just getting it. He reaches a hand out for an awkward shake in a futile attempt to cover. "Nice to see you, Susan. Suzanne! I meant Suzanne!"

Suzanne nods dryly.

"I'm just not prepared for guests," Monroe continues. "And I'm not really used to them. But you're all very welcome."

Monroe's voice is stiff and reluctant, and his home is spotless.

"Can I see the kitchen?" Ellie asks eagerly. "I want to see the kitchen!"

"Hap, don't let her--" Monroe says, and Hap jerks after her, watching Monroe's confusing mixture of encouragement and negatory head-shakes and cut-it-out gestures as he goes. "They'll be fine," Monroe tells the group half-heartedly.

"Let's join them and make sure," Suzanne says. "I think we should all stick together."

Monroe relaxes at her words, slumping closer to her in the crowd as they move as one towards the kitchen. "You understand me so well, Suzanne," he says wistfully, and she pats his arm comfortingly.

Nick wants to pat Monroe's arm. He scowls at Suzanne.

Juliette grabs his arm, tugging him over. "This is Ryan," she says. "And this has been less fun than I expected. Sorry, Ryan."

"I understand our host's reaction," Ryan says, smiling gently at her, and then he woges in front of Nick's eyes. His face distorts, turns into something resembling a sheep, and then Nick blinks and he's nothing but smooth, bland handsomeness again. "I don't blame him."

"Glad to hear it," Nick says sharply, eyes boring into him.

Ryan appears surprised at the hostility. "He's been very polite, given the circumstances," he offers.

"How long have you two been dating?" Nick asks Juliette.

"A little while," she says diplomatically. "Ryan is an accountant."

"Is he."

"You're thinking of lawyers," Juliette informs him helpfully.

"Why are you talking about me like I'm not here?" Ryan asks. "I can see you, you know."

"Nick!" Monroe calls, and Nick has to leave the intruder to join Monroe, who's gotten himself cornered by Ellie. Nick needs to teach him some evasive manoeuvres; Blutbaden probably don't have much use for those as a general rule, given their customary aggression.

"And I just don't know why he would have done this to you," she's saying. "Calls himself a boyfriend!" She sniffs. "Well, I'm sure that's how he sees himself, but I don't and I'm sure you would never either."

"I would," Monroe tells her, seizing Nick's arm when he gets within range. "I do."

"He is kind of a bad boyfriend," Suzanne opines, sipping Monroe's chablis.

"Nobody asked you," Monroe says, and she shrugs amiably.

Nick moves closer to Monroe, for both their sakes.

"So what are we having?" Monroe asks, with ersatz cheer.

Ellie is already having the sun dried tomato dip, not even pretending to feel guilty about it.

"I made a bunch of stuff," Nick says hopefully. "I'm sure something is good."

Monroe gives him a reluctant smile. "It'll be fine."

"Yeah," Juliette says supportively. "You're much better than you were a couple weeks ago."

"Hello, convenient amnesia!" Nick says, but when she twinkles him a sheepish grin he can't help returning it.

"This dip is not quality," Ellie pronounces. "But the raw carrots are medium acceptable."

"Medium!" Nick says. "Thanks!"

She nods coolly, but then she says, "I have dinner waiting in the trunk of my car, just in case. I should probably bring it in now."

"No," Juliette says, abandoning her date to sweep in and pluck the dip from Ellie's hands, glaring formidably.

"Let's just sit down and get this over with," Monroe says firmly.

"We don't--" Nick starts, but Monroe cuts him off with a glance. "I'll get the galette," Nick says. He knows he's pronouncing that wrong, but he doesn't want to ask. "I made that and a bunch of desserts that people can take home with them."

"Oh!" Suzanne exclaims, her delight a welcome shock. "I love taking dessert home. What did you make?"

"I love dessert too!" Juliette chimes in. "Can we have, like, a tasting plate, can we have them all?"

"Go to town," Nick says, pushing Monroe into his usual seat with a hand on his shoulder. "Dinner first."

"Let me get it," Monroe says, rising irritably and crossing to the counter to cut portions. "Everybody sit down."

"Nobody is taking all my dessert home," Hap announces. "I live here, so I get first claim!"

The group debates the validity of this; there isn't much support for Hap's position, mostly because everybody else wants first claim too.

"You really like dessert, huh?" Monroe asks, serving Nick first.

"I thought you would," Nick says, eyes fixed on the tablecloth.

Monroe stands by him for a long moment before moving on to serve their squabbling guests.

The galette is a success; it had been the item Nick was most worried about, since it had been the only main course he'd made.

"Next time I'll host," Juliette offers impulsively when they're finishing up. "My place is tiny, but we should all squeeze in."

Nick isn't really paying attention, busy watching Ryan and Monroe and Hap woge at each other, but Ryan turns to Juliette to say, "We can use Anna's discount!"

"Oh, yeah," Juliette says eagerly. "I forgot about that!"

Ellie scrapes her plate, loudly proclaims, "Sub-par, Nick, but good effort," gives a subdued Monroe up as a bad job, and jumps up to raid the desserts.

Her defection serves as the starting gun, and everybody abandons the table for the plates strewn around the counter.

Nick touches Monroe's hand tentatively. "Do you want me to get you something?"

Monroe hesitates, but then he turns his hand and squeezes Nick's, pulling him to his feet and over to the group. "This was really nice," he says, studying his choices. "Thanks for doing this."

"It was fun," Nick says, mostly honestly. Once he'd gotten past his blinding panic and crippling disorganisation it had been nice to do something he'd thought Monroe would like. It had been nice to invite their friends over like that was something he could do, like they were a real couple and Nick had a place here and the right to share it with people. His hand tightens on Monroe's, balance shaken, and for a second he wonders if Monroe minds, if Monroe doesn't want to do this in front of--well, they're mostly Monroe's friends, really.

"Wow, you made a lot of dessert." Monroe moves down the line, bypassing the pear tart and the avocado, banana and chocolate pudding. "Did you find my old recip--"

Nick glances away from watching Ellie and Hap tussle over the raspberry thumbprint cookies when Monroe stops speaking. Monroe is staring down at the tropical salad, mouth slightly open.

"Do you want that?" Nick asks. "It's just fruit."

"You made that?" Monroe turns to Nick, lips curving into a grin, eyes bright and shining. "I don't even know why I'm surprised. You're such a kid."

"Hey," Nick protests, but he doesn't get a chance to properly defend himself, because then Monroe is kissing him. Nick hums into it, and it's only when his shoulders relax that he realises how tense he'd been. "You had it in your recipe book," he says when Monroe pulls away. "You called it fun and fruity! I know how old you were when you converted to veganism, okay, and I had half a kiwi to use!"

"You don't convert to veganism, it isn't a religion," Monroe says, "and I know how many kiwis it takes to make a palm tree, Nick."

"It might as well be a religion the way you practise it," Ryan says, passing them on his way back to the table with a slice of coffee cake.

Monroe snags the entire fun fruity tropical salad and joins him, leaving the rest of the group tearing through the pickings.

"Hey," Ryan is saying as Nick takes his seat beside Monroe. "Sorry for dropping in on you like this. I didn't mean to invade your space. Juliette just invited me to her friend's place for dinner, you know?"

"Yeah," Nick chimes in. "I'm sorry I did this. I just thought--"

"You thought I'd like it," Monroe says. "It's fine."

He seems to mean it, but Nick is still feeling guilty. "I should have thought--" He should have guessed that a Blutbad wouldn't like a bunch of people unexpectedly descending on his territory, but he can't say that to Monroe. "I should have asked first."

"I don't want you to feel like you have to ask." Monroe is looking into Nick's face, close and serious and intimate, and it's such a relief. "I just expected you to know how I'd feel about my home, and I shouldn't have assumed."

Hap takes his seat on the other side of Nick, sliding a sly hand out to try and grab a cherry from Monroe's plate, but Monroe slaps it away without taking his eyes off Nick.

"How'd you know how to make that?" Hap asks. "They taught us that in rehab. Did Monroe draw a picture?"

Ryan laughs. "You should copy it into your Blutbaden book," he tells Nick. "Suggested rewards for good boyfriends."

Nick freezes, staring at Ryan; he can hazily see Monroe's face out of the corner of his eye, so he can tell when it changes, when the smile slips away.

"What?" he asks blankly, and he tries to speak again, because he doesn't actually need Ryan to clarify, but his mind is full of useless buzzing and he can't come up with a thing to say.

"You know," Ryan explains. "Your Grimm encyclopedia thingy? Do you not have an encyclopedia anymore? Have you gone digital?"

"He has an encyclopedia," Hap says, sounding weirdly defensive. "Our man knows what's what!"

Nick chokes; Monroe's hand touches down on his back as he gasps for air.

"You okay, little dude?" Hap asks, worried.

"Wait," Nick says frantically, shaking under the soothing circles Monroe is rubbing onto his back. "You know I'm a Grimm?"

"My sister told me there was one in town," Ryan says. "She saw you two out for dinner a couple weeks ago, so I didn't know who I was coming to dinner with, but I knew who you were, and I saw you see me."

"Sister."

Nick doesn't mean it as a question, but Monroe says, "Our Seelengut waitress? How could you have missed her?"

Nick's eyes flick helplessly to Monroe, terrified of what he's going to see in Monroe's face, but all he finds is concerned puzzlement.

"I was watching you," he says. "I was trying--"

"Wait," Hap says slowly, drawing Nick's attention, "did you think we didn't know you were a Grimm?"

Nick blinks at Hap's baffled frown, but he doesn't actually care how Hap feels about who he is, so he turns back to Monroe, and he's expecting anger, but Monroe is speechless, eyes wide and dark with surprise, face slack.

"You didn't," Nick says, suddenly uncertain. "You didn't, right?"

Monroe's mouth works for a moment before he speaks. "How could I not have?"

His voice is high and hurt, but Nick can't deal with that; Nick can't deal with anything. "You knew," he says, bewildered, delight still tinged with terror. "You knew all along?"

"Not all along," Monroe says, and he's frowning. Nick doesn't know why he's frowning. "From our first date." Nick still isn't sure when Monroe thinks that was. "But when was the last time you wore Juliette's perfume in an attempt to conceal your scent?"

Nick thinks back. Huh.

"I'm not a bad Grimm!" he tells Monroe.

"I'm sure you're an exemplary Grimm," Monroe says defensively. "I haven't actually met any other Grimms, so I wouldn't really know."

This is not the most rousing testimonial, but Nick will take it.

"Nick wore my perfume?" Juliette asks, Ellie leaning over her shoulder, agog. "Is there something you want to tell me, babe?"

"I didn't steal your perfume!" Nick tells her. "It wasn't your perfume!"

"You should probably let Monroe choose the perfume," Juliette says, "since he's the one who's going to be smelling it." She's grinning at the redness in his cheeks. Nick is glad she derives so much amusement from his embarrassment.

"You told me," Monroe says, and Nick is startled by the anger in his voice now. His face is dark and contorted even when it isn't flashing wildly into its other state. "You said you understood why we had to do things this way, you said you agreed, you said--"

Nick stares, because he can now, because he wants to see Monroe like this, and he'd thought he'd get the chance when Monroe realised Nick could really see him, when Monroe realised he could let Nick see him, but apparently Monroe had thought that all along.

"You told me!" Monroe repeats.

"Think it's clear he didn't," Hap says awkwardly. "Your boy didn't have a clue you knew."

"Knew what?" Suzanne asks.

"Everybody take your desserts!" Monroe barks. "And take them home."

Nobody takes anything with them when they leave, and when the door closes behind the last fleeing guest, Nick turns to see Hap unlocking the back door.

"You stay here," Monroe tells him, and grabs Nick's arm, dragging him past their quiet friend, out into the dark garden.

The door shuts behind them, leaving them standing in the pool of yellow light spilling from the window.

"Monroe," Nick says, searching his face for a hint of how he can fix whatever it is that's gone wrong here. "You're not mad that I'm a Grimm."

"No!" Monroe explodes, hands windmilling frantically. "Why would I be mad that you're a Grimm!"

"Because you're a Blutbad?" Nick didn't mean for that to be a question. "I don't mind that you're a Blutbad!"

"So why would I mind that you're a Grimm!"

"Oh," Nick says after a beat, still dubious. "I guess."

"Why would you lie to me for so long? Why would you--move into my house and my life and--"

"I didn't--" Nick hasn't moved in, he just hasn't been back to his apartment in a while.

"--and come so far inside and lie to me all the while?"

"--I didn't mean to do that. I just wanted--"

"I thought you wanted to be here, I thought you wanted to be with me--"

"--you to let me--"

Nick's hands fist in Monroe's shirt, and he can hear laughter, but he's pretty sure it's just the noise of the television trickling out the open window, he's pretty sure Monroe wouldn't laugh at him now, and then Monroe is biting his mouth, and he knows it.

He opens his mouth to let Monroe in, the way he wants to be in, and he kisses Monroe through the taste of his own blood.

Monroe comes up hard against him, slamming him against the rough brick of the wall, hand behind his head then clawing at his dress shirt, digging until he tears, sends buttons flying so he can expose Nick and get his hands on skin.

"Let's go to bed," Nick says, but Monroe bites his mouth again, bites his throat, and Nick is gasping, aching and useless with how much he wants this.

Monroe pulls him away from the wall, and Nick thinks they're going back inside until they're rushing through the air instead, journey to the ground hardly long enough to make his pulse spike. But Monroe can do that all on his own, shoving between Nick's legs until he gets them pressed together and then he's jerking roughly and gracelessly against Nick, heedless of the harsh rub of Nick's jeans, the small wounded sounds Nick is making, Nick's trembling hands trying to direct him, ease him down, and still Nick's heart is beating like the wings of a trapped bird and he's straining up to try and catch Monroe's mouth and his cock is pulsing desperately, trapped and neglected.

They're lying in the shadows, and he can't see Monroe's face, just his silhouette against the light, so he listens to try and understand what's happening, what Monroe is thinking, but all he can hear is Monroe's constant low rumbling growl, and he doesn't even know what that means.

Nick's eyes close as Monroe's outline moves, his body a blur in the hazy light, and Monroe's growl gets louder and closer, and his teeth set against Nick's collarbone and his hands pull roughly at Nick's jeans.

Nick has to struggle out of them himself; Monroe's motor skills don't seem up to the task right now. Monroe puts a hand on his uncovered dick and Nick bucks up into it, hands tearing at the grass as his spine curves up, Monroe's teeth cutting into his skin with the movement. Nick barely notices.

But Monroe doesn't do what Nick wants, doesn't give him anything, just flips him over onto his stomach and pins him to the ground, caging him in until he's sure he has Nick where he wants him.

Nick is perfectly willing to stay under Monroe, but they're outside and it's starting to rain, drizzle falling on Nick's face, trickling into his open mouth, saturating his shirt and making it cling to his back. Monroe doesn't seem to mind, but Nick isn't sure Monroe is really himself right now.

Monroe releases one of his wrists, and he hears cloth rustle behind him, and then he feels Monroe's hard cock against his ass and he starts to shake.

"Yeah," he blurts. "Come on, come on, Monroe, fucking just--"

His body is arching desperately, trying to get more, trying to get Monroe to give him more, to give him anything, and then Monroe's heavy weight is on him, forcing him into the ground, and Monroe's cock is sliding over his ass, working its way towards its centre, searching blindly for his hole and catching on the rim, and Nick is frozen into trembling silence.

"Don't," he says suddenly, and it's a shock to feel so much relief when Monroe backs off.

Monroe starts growling again, and Nick can feel the reverberation through his bones until Monroe straightens. He reaches back and gropes for Monroe, wanting him back, needing him so much closer, but Monroe is pulling out of reach.

He's shivering in the cool air, in the misty rain still soaking him, and then Monroe's hands are on his ass, holding it open, touching his hole, and then Monroe is licking over him and Nick is shouting, hands digging into the earth, teeth clenching against the sensation.

"Monroe," he grits out, but Monroe is busy, licking and licking at him, tongue getting him wet, sliding into him, and then Monroe is sucking at the edges of his hole and Nick is putting his mouth against the grass so he can keep shouting, voice broken and raw.

Monroe's hands dig into his hips, and Nick knows there will be bruises, but everything feels good, everything feels perfect, and he doesn't think there's anything Monroe could do that he wouldn't welcome, that he wouldn't--

He's begging, he can hear himself, and he doesn't even know what he's asking for, because Monroe is giving him everything he could want. He wants it anyway, wants all of it, whatever Monroe has to give, all the things he can't even think of because he can't think about anything but this, anything but Monroe's nose nudging his hole gently and Monroe's tongue sliding roughly back in and Monroe's hand coming down hard on his cock and Monroe's teeth catching against Nick's skin, and then Nick can't think anything at all, because he's coming.

He's surprised by the darkness when he opens his eyes.

Monroe is covering him, though the rain seems to have passed. He's still hard, rocking against Nick, not trying for anything more, and then he slides closer, as near as he can get to the place he was just licking, presses the length of himself against Nick's empty hole, and Nick wants him in there, wants him inside as deep and close as he can go, but then Monroe is backing away and coming all over Nick's ass instead.

"Oh," Nick says, still shuddering.

It takes a minute for Monroe to regain speech, but when he says, "Yeah," it sounds pleased.

"I told you we should have done that in bed," Nick says fuzzily.

"We can do it in bed now," Monroe suggests, and Nick laughs.

"Give me a minute," he groans.

Monroe is nuzzling into his neck, but Nick twists under him because although it's nice here and he isn't too wet, it's totally going to start raining again and he doesn't want to stick around for that. Pleasant memory echoes through his body with every shift of muscle.

"Man," he says happily, "I didn't think anything could be better than that pork belly roll I had for lunch."

It takes him a second to come up with the reason Monroe has gone stiff and still and heavy above him, and then he remembers, and huffs a sheepish laugh into the chill of the night.

"Pork belly!" Monroe lashes venomously.

"Lardo," Hap's voice moans longingly, drowning out the low murmur of the television, and that's when Nick realises that Hap has been able to hear every single sound they've made from his bed in the living room.

"Damn it, Nick," Monroe mutters, scrambling to his feet haphazardly. He's still dressed. Nick considers attempting to retrieve his clothes from where they're strewn around the garden.

"We should go to bed," Nick says. "We can talk about this in the morning--"

"No," Monroe says. "You're not staying."

"What?"

This is the most surprising thing that has happened to Nick all night.

"Go home," Monroe says furiously, and sweeps indoors, slamming and locking the door behind himself.

"Monroe!" Nick yells, hammering on the wood, but the only answer is the sudden extinguishing of the light inside.

"Damn it," Nick mutters in the pitch blackness, trying to remember where he might have left his jeans.

Eventually, the rain starts to fall again, and he makes his way around the side of the house so that he can sleep in his car on the street outside.

It's early in the morning when Hap raps on his windscreen, startling him awake. He lets Nick come inside, though nothing comes for free. "I want barbeque ribs, meat-eater," he whispers menacingly. "Secret ribs."

"I don't need you falling off the wagon," Nick says cautiously.

"Hey," Hap says sharply. "Just because I don't know how to be now that I'm not myself anymore doesn't mean you get to tell me who I am."

That makes a pop-psychological kind of sense, so Nick nods, mildly impressed. "Barbeque ribs it is."

"Monroe's harder than I am," Hap says.

Nick can't help saying,"Yeah," and Hap must recognise the expression he sees on Nick's face, because he yells, "Ew, no, dude!" and Nick hears Monroe's feet on the stairs.

"I'll be in the kitchen," Hap says. "Eating whatever Monroe didn't dump last night."

There's soil under Nick's fingernails, a souvenir of their time in the garden last night, and he doesn't have time to clean it out before Monroe arrives.

"Nick," Monroe says huffily. He's dragging his pilates mat, dropping it at Nick's feet like any other morning, but then he whooshes Nick clean across the room before settling down into his usual cross-legged starting position.

Nick watches him relax and ready himself, and just when he should begin the routine he opens his eyes and glares at Nick. "Stop looking at me! Go away, Nick."

Nick thinks about calling Monroe on coming down to join Nick before starting his pilates if he doesn't want Nick watching, but habits can be hard to break. Holding his hands up in surrender, Nick says, "I'll make breakfast. We can talk when you're finished here."

"I don't want to talk to you!"

Nick's pretty sure it defeats the purpose for Monroe to get this worked up before running through his daily routine. "Calm down," he says, and winces even before Monroe's eyes widen in outrage.

"Calm down," Monroe repeats, unfolding his legs and climbing to his feet. "The carnivorous, lying Grimm is telling me to calm down?"

"It's bad for your blood pressure," Nick tries, knowing it's weak, but he can't tell Monroe it's bad for his control.

Monroe gets it anyway, because he wrathfully declares, "My blood pressure is fine," snatches up his mat and storms off to the kitchen.

"Oh, the tropical salad is still here," Nick says, pleased, and Monroe reaches out with his free hand and draws a circle through the fruit, making the cherry coconuts fall down to the orange grass and the yellow pineapple sun fly right off the plate.

"I can eat that now?" Hap asks, and does.

"Monroe," Nick starts, but Monroe says, "What, liar?" and that kind of thing has the tendency to blight a conversation.

"Okay," Nick admits, "that's true, but--"

"But what?" Monroe asks, yanking open the fridge and staring at the contents in disgust. "How often did you eat meat while telling me you were a born-again vegan?"

"I'm going to go," Hap says awkwardly. "I'm going to go not be here." He takes the salad with him.

"I didn't mean--"

"Oh, you didn't mean to lie and deceive," Monroe says. "Just a happy accident."

"I didn't think you knew," Nick says, ignoring Monroe's angry scoff. "And I didn't think you'd give me a chance if you did."

Nick stretches out a hand, places it on the small of Monroe's back, and Monroe relaxes into the touch like always before slamming the fridge door shut and turning around into Nick's body.

"I'm going to the park," Monroe says. "Move."

Nick stays where he is, boxing Monroe in. "I'm not going anywhere. You're going to have to deal with me eventually."

Monroe stares at him mutinously for a charged moment, then yells, "Hap! You're sleeping in my car tonight, Nick needs the couch!"

He shoves past Nick, taking himself and his pilates routine out the door, and Nick lets him go, because that's a start.

There isn't much food left in the house, so he steals some of the salad from Hap, and then they sit around watching a grinning TV chef braise what looks to be an entire pig. Nick is sleepy and miserable, face buried in his favourite cushion.

"Man," Hap says nostalgically, "Old times. Old, bad, awesome times."

"I should have noticed I'd moved in when I started keeping my gun here," Nick says, glum.

"Duh," Hap tells him.

"Monroe wouldn't make me--"

"Monroe wouldn't make you do anything, Nick," Hap reassures him. "He's never been bad like that, and I heard you last night, so I know you don't need to be made."

"No," Nick says. "I mean--Monroe's going to let me--"

"Let you what?" Hap asks.

Nick can't name all the things he wants Monroe to let him do. He tries not to think about the depth of his desire, because he's afraid he won't get anything he wants, and he's afraid of the way he feels when he lets himself, and he's afraid he won't ever feel this way again if Monroe wants him to stop. He wants Monroe to come home so they can have sex again; he wants Monroe to come home so he can sink down on top of Nick on the couch and kiss him and make everything better; he wants to believe this is their home.

He wants, more than anything, to believe that he can have these things with Monroe, but he can't even think about asking Monroe for any of it, can't let Monroe know what he wants in case the possibility goes away.

"Let me stay," Nick says. "Do you think he'll let me stay?" He stares at the colours flashing on the screen, body tense as a wire.

"Uh, yeah," Hap scoffs. "Obviously."

The sudden release of pressure is overwhelming. He forces himself not to bank too much on Hap's opinion. He just doesn't ever want to see his awful apartment again, that's all he's admitting to. "I wonder what Monroe's doing?" Nick asks wistfully.

"Pilates," Hap says flatly.

Nick doesn't respond, busy trying to recreate a recent routine of Monroe's from memory; Monroe had known he was watching, so his movements had been somewhat exaggerated, and Nick's remembrances are fond.

"Or maybe on his way to class," Hap says. "We should leave."

"Oh--" Nick isn't sure that's a good idea.

"You're coming to class," Hap tells Nick.

"I don't think he wants to see me there."

Hap grunts. "Monroe always wants to see you. And it won't be better later."

That's depressingly true, so Nick lets Hap haul him out of the house and down to the community centre.

Monroe is sitting at his and Nick's usual table when they arrive, staring sadly at his solitary jackfruit, and then he scents Nick and looks up, bristling.

Nick takes his seat beside Monroe.

"Hey!" Monroe calls out, "Nick isn't even a vegan!"

The teacher glances down the room at them, vaguely bewildered. "Being a vegan is not a requirement for this class?"

"Nick lied about being a vegan!" Monroe clarifies.

Juliette looks comically horrified, glancing wide-eyed at Hap's stoic face as he pulls out the chair beside her. "He knows!" she whispers, thrilling to the disaster.

"Wait, you knew?" Hap asks, befuddled and dismayed. "Lady, why didn't you tell me, I thought we were cookery class partners!"

"We--are," Juliette allows hesitantly.

"Sacred bond!" Hap pounds on the right side of his chest, where Nick can only assume he believes his heart to be located. "You have to honour the bond, pardner!"

Nick knows it's a bad idea, but he can't help laughing anyway. Monroe's resulting frown is more unhappy than angry, and Nick needs him to stop looking like that, so it gives him the push necessary to ask, "Are you seriously more mad because I faked being vegan than you are because I'm a Grimm?"

"Why would I be mad because you're a Grimm!" Monroe bellows, and it's the first time, really, that Nick believes him, believes that's okay.

"So now I feel dumb," Nick says.

"Nick's a what?" Juliette asks. "What's a Grimm?"

Hap pushes her hair aside so he can lean down and whisper in her ear; Nick watches her eyes widen and knows he should be concerned about that, but he has more pressing things to deal with.

Monroe turns to the group. "A grim bastard," he explains unconvincingly. "He has issues."

"I'm concerned about the potential lack of future dinner parties should everybody keep shouting," Ellie says carefully into the puzzled silence that falls. "That was the best night out we've had in years."

"Issues that lead him to lie about stupid stuff, like being vegan."

"It isn't stupid," Nick says, sure of this even now.

"It's stupid and ridiculous and it's ruined everything," Monroe says.

"It hasn't ruined everything." The words are small and urgent and terrified, and Nick forces himself to sound sure when he says, "It isn't going to ruin everything."

"Although I didn't even know about the vegan thing when I shoved you down into the dirt and tried to fuck you," Monroe says bleakly.

"Whoa," Suzanne says. "Did not think you had it in you. I'm impressed."

"Wouldn't been if you'd been trying to sleep," Hap says gloomily, head on his hands on his and Juliette's table. He's wogeing deliberately as Juliette stares at his face; Nick thinks she might be able to see him. "Nick is loud."

"Get your own place!" Monroe tells him.

"Taking that on board after last night, dude. I cannot be hearing your noisy sexin' every time I'm trying to get some shut-eye."

"I wanted everything you did," Nick says. "I want you. You were the one who went away."

The woman in the corner who never speaks or acknowledges anybody else looks up. "Who are you people?" she asks.

"I wish I didn't know," the teacher says. "Everybody please take out your jackfruit! I would like you to make some curry! Or at least shut the hell up!"

"You lied about being vegan!" Monroe says, puzzled disappointment twisting through the words, but he's looking at Nick, at least, looking like he's ready to listen. "Why would you even do that?"

"You needed it," Nick says desperately, though that isn't quite true. "You wanted someone who understood you, and I wanted to give you that."

Monroe is taken aback. "You do," he says hesitantly.

"I can do this," Nick says, soft and tentative and hopeful.

"You don't have to, Nick."

Nick gestures at the room, at Monroe's stupid jackfruit, and says, "I want to. I want this to be possible, Monroe, because this feels right, this feels--this feels okay, and it's the only time I've felt either of those things since my aunt died."

Cautious acceptance is lighting Monroe's eyes, but Nick isn't finished. "And this is who you want to be," Nick says quietly, nodding at the room, at everything it represents to Monroe.

"I don't need you to be this for me."

"But this is who I want to be," Nick says, touching Monroe's hand, and he means every word of it. "I want to be able to have this. I want to be with you. On everything."

"Oh," Monroe says softly, and when a giddy smile starts growing on Nick's face, it's only a reflection of Monroe's.

"I'm a vegan in training," Nick says faux-earnestly, though it's true. It's all true. "I'm an imaginary vegetable, a figment of the hungry vegan's imagination."

The amusement drains out of Monroe's face. "Sometimes I think that's true," he admits, and Nick aches for the loneliness he sees in Monroe's eyes.

"I know," he murmurs, pressing closer, brushing his cheek against Monroe's, all animal comfort. "I know, but it isn't. It isn't now."

When Monroe kisses him it's a rush of fragmented feeling, joy and relief and ecstatic terror, and the only thing Nick can latch on to is the certainty anchoring it all.

"I refuse to participate in a class that allows this to happen," Ellie says loudly. "What am I paying you for?"

"Not this!" the teacher says. "Class is over! Out! Get out!"

Suzanne pokes at Monroe until he releases Nick and starts moving. Juliette elbows him in the crush and raises her eyebrow. Nick has always tried to ignore Juliette's speaking eyebrows, but this one makes him grin.

The morning is crisp and sunny when they spill out of the building.

"It's too early for this," Hap says, squinting at the clear blue sky. "I only do this because there's food."

"Hey," Monroe says suddenly. "Wait. You really like plaid though, right?"

They're clustered in a loose group on the front steps, and Nick is trying not to let how unsettled he still is show, but Monroe takes a step towards him, warm and confident as he slides his arm around Nick's waist, and when Nick puts his hand on the small of Monroe's back Monroe melts into him.

"Can I?" Nick asks. "Will you let me?"

The corner of Monroe's mouth kicks up as he studies Nick's face.

"I'm not sure what you're asking," he says, and Nick thinks about trying to tell Monroe everything he wants, every last thing that he's asking for, that he's going to ask for, exposing every last piece of himself that Monroe hasn't already seen; and he doesn't know where to start, still doesn't know how he could say any of that to Monroe. "But the answer is yes."

"I still have dinner in my trunk," Ellie announces triumphantly, and somehow that turns into a happy squabble that drifts away as the group gathers around her car to share brunch in the parking lot, but Nick doesn't notice, because he's opening his mouth, getting ready to share something else.

end