So a Grimm and a Blutbad Walk Into a Bar

“So, a Grimm and a Blutbad walk into a bar…”

Nick looked completely unimpressed. He sat on a stiff cracked bar stool with a bloody mary on the table. The bartender had switched him to virgin a few drinks back. How many he wasn’t sure.

He was sure the air was filled with the strong smell of tobacco and cigars. Nick was willing to bet his small detective salary that it was all illegal. The walls were made of a dark colored wood. At one time, it must have been polished. Now, it looked dull. The counter was the same. It was constructed of a bright yellow wood, one that he couldn’t help but say looked similar to a certain buggy. The wood must have made a fine counter at some time. Nick ran his hand over the wood. It was polished with crystal glasses sliding down the bar and shined with oily hands. But the air had a musty feel to it. It felt old and decrepit. It was a run-down bar.

Stupid Fuchsbau.

“Come on, Grimm, get your ass out. I have a lot of wesen comin’ through and I don’t want them scared off.” The bartender’s face changed. Fuchsbau.

No reaction.

“Nick?” Nick turned to the familiar voice. There was only one creature that knew his name, and it wasn’t on their hit list. He turned and saw Monroe.

“Dude, what are you doing here? This is a strictly wesen bar. No Grimms allowed.” Monroe’s big brown eyes greeted him.

“Monroe?” His voice sounded far away.

“Duh, who else? Whoa, dude…” Monroe stopped short of the Grimm’s bar stool. He reeked of alcohol. The blutbad “super sniffer” didn’t help. He waved a hand in front of the Grimm’s face.

“You are wasted,” Monroe dead panned. The bartender gave him an “are you retarded?” look.

“Yo, beard boy.” Monroe turned to the bar keep. The small man’s face flashed into a creature. And, then back.

“Fuchsbau,” Monroe noted mentally before changing his shape. He would have to check Nick’s wallet later. The fox’s face contorted into a look of confusion, or indigestion.

“Oi, you’re a blutbad?” The fuchsbau’s eyes widened a bit as he said it.

“Yep.” Monroe braced himself for the question every creature that smelled the Grimm on him asked.

“What are you doing with a Grimm?”

Silence.

“It’s a long story.”  (3/3/12)

He drove the wasted Grimm home. It was supposed to be his night on the town, the night he would avoid the Grimm. He even changed his number to get this night of peace. But, no, there was the Grimm at the only bar he thought the Grimm would never visit. The whole night was a disaster.

"You know, it is impossible to avoid you. I don't know if you are stalking me or something, but if you're lonely just place a call." A still silence greeted him.

He went on, "Better yet, talk to Juliet. She's all for the 'open hearts' and 'let's talk about our emotions', right?" Silence.

The Grimm must really be wasted to have no comment for that one.

"If you are going to throw up, tell me." No reaction.

"I don't want you tossing chunks all over my car. I just had this cleaned." That wasn't true but he needed a strong reason. Actually, now, it would have to be cleaned to get the Grimm's scent out of the interior. Still no reaction.

"Dude, are you alive?" A small heaving sound came from the passenger seat.

Okay, so the Grimm was still alive. Then, Monroe realized he had no idea where he was going.

"Dude, where do you live?" A mumble came from the seat. Monroe could faintly make out an address. Thank you, blutbad super hearing.

He noted the house was an hour away. Why was the Grimm so far from home? He just needed a couple beers right? No need to go the whole nine yards, or hour drive, and head to a little known bar on the opposite side of town. Then, it hit him.

Nick's hand hit him. Monroe stopped the car and opened the door, letting the Grimm tumble onto the side of the road. Not a second too soon. The Grimm threw up so much that Monroe wondered exactly how large the Grimm's stomach was. That, and how many drinks the idiot had.

"Boy, you hit that bottle hard." Nick retched again. When Monroe was absolutely sure the Grimm was done and had visited an all-you-can-eat buffet, he let the bloke back into his car.

"Ready to talk?" Another silence filled the car. Dang, the all too chatty Grimm was way too silent. He wouldn't be this silent, if he was dead. Oh, crap.

The Grimm was pasty. Scratch that. He looked like a vamp without the fangs.

"Are you gonna be alright?" Monroe knew Juliet worked a veterinary clinic. She could probably be able to handle a drunken Grimm better than Monroe could. "Juliet's home, right?"

For the first time since getting in the car, the Grimm spoke. "She's off tending to some Singa-something. Won't be back 'til morning." Monroe mentally face-palmed.

This Grimm couldn't have chosen a better day to get a case of alcohol poisoning. Well, that's what it smelled like. Monroe had inhaled that smell more often than not heading into a college party. Yeah, he partied a bit. It was way back when he and Angelina had been an item. Way back when he was the big bed. Way back before he had a Grimm bothering him every other day. Those were the old days.

Yep, the Grimm had great timing. Monroe gripped the wheel a bit tighter. His evening was gone. Yay.

Monroe pulled up in front of the house and whistled. It was a nice place. Big for one, but great for two, or a questionable three. No. There would be no little Grimm's running around Portland. One was wreaking enough havoc.

He put the car in park after determining that the Grimm wouldn't be able to make it up the driveway, let alone the steps and to his door. Monroe tried supporting him but the Grimm kept slipping.

Monroe let loose a string of German curses after the umpteenth attempt at getting the Grimm to stand. He had run out of English ones a few tries back and soon he would have to move onto French. Who said high school French was useless?

This time he got the Grimm up. Now, to the door. (03/06/12)

Nick retched again. And this time he actually made it to the toilet. Monroe stared on. How could this guy throw up that much? Monroe hadn't seen someone upchuck this much since… since… well, he couldn't remember when. But that didn't matter. This kid was throwing up all the contents of his "black hole" stomach.

It was akin to watching a dancing water show in Vegas. Just when you thought he stopped, he was hobbling unsteadily to the trash can again. Monroe was at a loss for words. So he stood there, for the tenth time, silent.

"Nick, I'm going to get you something to drink." He took another look at the ashen pallor Nick's skin had taken on. "Try not to drown in your vomit, 'kay?" Nick waved a hand that Monroe took as a "yes".

Monroe was halfway down the stairs before he blinked. The bathroom smelled like a combination of hydrochloric acid and a protein-carbohydrate hot pot. Oh wait, that was what it was. He shook himself off as he rustled through the cabinets.

Nick was the worst at caring for his health. Juliet wasn't much better from the looks of it. He found six bags of chips and three gallons of ice cream. What were they going to do? Throw a party? Don't even get him started on the three different kinds of bacon he found. It was enough to tempt the strict "diet, drugs, and Pilates" guy into taking a bite. But, he held strong. Nick was the one in trouble.

Monroe managed to get some water into a cup and back upstairs. He held it up to Nick's mouth. The Grimm took a few tentative sips before all but snatching the cup out of Monroe's hands.

"Dude, slow down." Monroe pulled the cup back. "You're dehydrated. You have to take it slow or you'll be in for a hell of a different kind." When the Grimm calmed, Monroe passed him the cup.

Nick started drinking slowly. When Monroe was sure the man wouldn't disobey the order, he let go of the shoulder he didn't know he was gripping. Nick would have a few bruises in the morning.

The retching had finally subsided. Monroe was glad to note his original assumption was wrong. Nick hadn't passed out from intoxication yet so he didn't have alcohol poisoning. He just drank more than normal. For anyone.

Now, Monroe had the time to admire the restroom tile. Yes, it came to that. They were a lacy eggshell colored tiles partnered in a checkerboard with sky blues. There was the basic shower curtain and porcelain sink with silver fixings. Juliet must have found it pretty but to Monroe it all looked very nondescript. It looked like it came out of a cheap TV show. The kind where you saw the same restroom redecorated in all the TV shows that had a bathroom on that channel. But hey, who was he to judge? He fixed clocks not interior design.

"Hey, Monroe thanks." Nick's voice was a bit rough around the edges but it was the familiar one. Not the "I'm-a-cop-and-you're-a-suspect" voice, it was the "can-I-get-a-beer-while-we-watch-the-game?" voice. Nick was tired and after throwing up everything in his stomach, probably hungry.

"Let's get you something to eat." Nick shakily got to his feet and tossed one arm over Monroe's shoulder. Monroe inhaled the scent so distinctly marked in his mind as "Nick". It was the smell of after shave, coffee, dirt, Grimm, and, Monroe was quite proud, blutbad. So, this rubbing off thing wasn't only one sided.

They got to the kitchen and Monroe checked the refrigerator again. He was not feeding Nick any of those trans fats and high fructose corn syrups. The man was just tossing chunks. Monroe didn't want to see another round.

He spotted a smidgeon of green against the take out boxes crammed into the refrigerator. When he finally unearthed it, Monroe found a glorious head of lettuce. So they weren't a lost cause after all. Then he found a few tomatoes and the rocket in his head shot off.

He sliced lettuce and tomato while Nick sat in the dining room, head sprawled on the table. Then he proceeded to cook the three different types of bacon while pinching his nose. When Monroe finally finished the masterpiece, he set one in front of the Grimm.

Nick raised his head enough to see the sandwich in front of him and take a bite. Monroe smiled when the Grimm heeded his warning and ate it eagerly, but slowly. Monroe took a bite of his own BLT minus the B. Then, Monroe saw the time.

"Where's Juliet? It's almost five." Nick's head shot up so quickly Monroe was sure he heard a crack.

"Is there something you want to tell me?" he asked. Now, Nick was just being suspicious.

Nick did the scratching-the-back-of-the-neck-while-changing-the-subject routine. It was too obvious. Even a genre blind Reinigen like Roddy could see it.

"What happened?" Monroe waited for heart-wrenching, teen-angst worthy story to follow.

"We broke up." And that was it. And, it explained everything. Nonetheless, he gave Nick the look. The "dude-you-can-totally-tell-me-about-the-gruesome-crime-scene-because-I'm-a-blutbad-and-I've-seen-my-family-do-worse" look.

"Okay. She hated that I missed our anniversary. That I was never home. That I spent more time with Hank and you than with her." There was the angst.

Monroe put a reassuring hand on the Grimm's shoulder. He had been there. Well, not exactly there.

"Nick, whatever you need, whenever you need it, call me."

No words. The look on Nick's face was worth it.

"So, a Grimm and a Blutbad walk into a bar…" (03/09/12)