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Welcome to the Inaugural Meeting of the ‘I Know a Grimm, and I Maybe Don’t…
Hate
Him???’ Support Group
Part Three of the Mutually Assured… Series
Monroe’s house was a
trip
.
And a half!
As Adalind washed her hands after excusing herself so she could freshen up before leaving, she found that she couldn’t contain her giggles. In the privacy of the bathroom, she allowed her amusement to show, chuckling into the mirror as she smoothed down her hair and touched up her lipstick. After all, it wouldn’t serve her well if anyone realized she had needed a bracing glass of wine before setting out to accomplish her latest
task
.
More than the pinot, however, Monroe himself had helped Adalind recall her purpose and her resolve. No one could step foot in the Blutbad’s home without realizing that he was suppressing something. Even the windows that weren’t stained glass like that in the front door couldn’t allow in enough light to banish the shadows. As soon as she stepped inside, it had felt like she was somewhere else in the world - anywhere - besides Portland. The decor wasn’t just retro - no, it wasn’t cohesive or hopeful enough to aspire to mid-century modern; it was old fashioned. And the clocks! God, Adalind couldn’t understand how their constant ticking didn’t drive Monroe to madness. Or maybe they did, but it was a madness that distracted him from that which he was already pushing down and ignoring - the blood madness that, in one way or another, drove so many, not just Blutbaden, of their Wesen kind. If Monroe could do that, then surely Adalind could engage in a little harmless flirting?
Satisfied with her appearance - she looked dewy, and put together, and tempting… if she did say so herself, Adalind silently opened the bathroom door and moved out into the hallway. Before she could recognize the fact that she could no longer hear the rhythmic ticking of the clocks, she was instead listening to the voices - one of which was expected, because it was his house; the other her very excuse for dropping by - so she and Monroe could commiserate over their
grim
fates - and one that Adalind should have resented but, in fact, was pleased to encounter that evening - that were drowning out the metronome of Monroe’s unorthodox lifestyle. That, unfortunately - her pleasure in seeing, in being around, even in sparring with Nick again, just carried Adalind all the way back to her original problem and the reason why she had sought out both a friendly-
ish
face and a fortifying drink.
As she sauntered into the kitchen - yes, sauntered, because Adalind firmly believed in never letting anyone see anything that she was actually feeling, she was just in time to hear Monroe deny, “just so you know, Reinigen and Blutbaden are not exactly drinking buddies.”
“No, but apparently Hexenbiests and Blutbaden
are
.”
Nick’s remark was delivered without actually looking at Monroe, because he was too busy staring - daggers and, if she did say so herself, desire - at her. Perhaps that desire wasn’t necessarily born from passion but, instead, from jealousy, from a feeling of being excluded, but it was a potent emotion nonetheless, and Adalind could sympathize. Between… everything that came with knowing and sometimes working with Nick, to trying to find the best way to not only protect herself but to flourish in the war that was surely to come, and still balancing her allegiance to Sean… at least until Adalind decided once and for all which side to actually align herself with, she was feeling too much too strongly herself.
Coolly, she greeted, “Hello, Grimm.” It had been a while since she addressed him as his kind rather than himself, but Adalind felt like it was a reminder that
all
of them needed. Because they had certain roles to play, and their places in the world had long since been set by what and not who they were. Plus, the depersonalization would help her. Later.
“What are you doing here,” Nick demanded to know… like, just because they might be helping each other stay one step ahead and alive until she could figure out her best play, he had any and all right to know where she went, what she did, and who she did them with.
“I could ask you the same thing… if I actually cared
or
if I didn’t already know the answer to that question.” But Adalind wasn’t done yet, so, when Nick opened his mouth to respond, she talked over him. “And
that
- the fact that I know you’re here
yet again
to ask for Monroe’s help with your latest case - is why I’m here, which just makes this whole dynamic,” Adalind paused to wave her right hand between the three of them, “so sad and pathetic… almost as sad and pathetic as you not being able to handle a Reinigen on your own.”
“It’s not that I can’t
handle
the Reinigen; it’s that I don’t want to.”
“Well, that’s something we can actually agree on,” Adalind praised. While doing so, she went to cross the small kitchen. Her purse was on the counter next to her empty wine glass, electing to pass by Nick. Although there was plenty of space for her to slip by him, Adalind decided to have a little fun, turning her body sideways so that her back was to the butcher block island and her front towards the Grimm. As she passed through, she made sure to brush her body against Nick’s. The touch was light, barely a whisper - her belted black shirtdress barely grazing his sky blue button up, but it was also enough for Nick’s eyes to drop down towards her - her uptilted gaze, her glossed mouth, the gold crescent necklace just skimming the tops of her breasts. And then Adalind took another step, severing the connection, but the moment still hung heavy in the air between them.
It was the sound of Monroe snorting and then taking a loud, greedy gulp of his beer - apparently, he drank wine with Adalind but beer with Nick… which seemed appropriate to her - that brought them all back to the reality of not just the room but also their association.
Clearing his throat slightly - there was a satisfying blush to his otherwise pale and, alas, regrettably sill entirely too clean shaven cheeks, and Nick even shuffled his feet, further amusing Adalind, the Grimm turned to her and said, “you might not want to have anything to do with rats, but you would fit right in with Sarah Jessup, her family, that school, her friends, and that neighborhood.”
“I’m going to take that as a compliment - you calling me a prodigy - but let me stop you before you take this ridiculous idea any further.” Adalind might not care about Nick’s case, but she did care about Nick… at least as much as his presence in Portland impacted her life, so she paid attention to strange happenings, and a professor at the Von Hamelin Music Institute getting attacked and murdered by rodents certainly fit that bill. But neither rats of the sewer nor the Reinigen variety were a big enough problem to concern her. Because, if Nick couldn’t deal with this Wesen issue on his own, then he had already decided for her which side of the coming battle she would be on… whether she liked it or not. “Because, even if I was so inclined as to help you… which I’m not, by the way, I can’t.”
Scoffing, Nick taunted, “what, big plans tonight? Who are you trying to kill this time?”
“Unless you consider having dinner with me to be murder, then I’m sorry to disappoint you, Detective, but we won’t be playing with your handcuffs...
this
evening.”
Monroe laughed out loud, and Nick turned his glare upon the Blutbad. “What,” Monroe defended, shrugging. “That was funny.”
“You, don’t encourage her,” the Grimm ordered the reformed wolf, complete with pointed index finger. “And you,” he barked at Adalind. “Maybe not murder, but a meal with you would definitely count as torture, especially if you’re cooking.”
“Dude, she’s a Hexenbiest,” Monroe argued, brow furrowed with incredulity towards Nick’s willful obliviousness when it came to her. “If she can read and concoct a complicated, powerful spell, then I think she can handle boiling some pasta.”
“When I poison someone, Grimm,” Adalind told him in a conspiratorial whisper, leaning forward to add to the effect. “It’s intentional
and
with a potion.”
“If that’s supposed to make me feel any better or trust you, it doesn’t.”
Folding her arms over her chest, Adalind denied, “not my problem.”
“Except it is,” Nick contended, taking several steps closer to her. He stopped well short of actually touching her, though. The move was meant to intimidate, but all it did was make Adalind even more aware of him - his size, his strength, his power, his scent - than she already was, and none of those things about Nick were turnoffs for her. “Because we’re supposed to be working together: you giving me information about my cases, and me keeping you safe, while we both learn to have faith in each other.”
“You’re right.” Any satisfaction Nick might have felt by her concession was short lived. “In light of that, I should probably tell you who I am having dinner with tonight and why.”
“Ooh, and where,” Monroe piped up, sounding eager. “Clarklewis. It’s sustainable and organic. Plus, I love that whole open flame thing they have going.”
While Monroe had been waxing on, Nick, hands on hips, observed the Blutbad closely - first with disbelief that he was practically offering them a Yelp review and then with the weight of realization. By the time he whipped his head towards Adalind, there was fury in his gray gaze and an accusation bubbling forth off of his lips. “That’s where Hank and Wu are having drinks tonight.”
“And it’s where, after I feign being stood up for a business meeting, Hank will be having dinner with me, per suggestion from my... associate.”
Incredulous, Nick asked, “why would your boss care about Hank? He’s not a part of… any of this!” To emphasize his point, Nick swept his arms around the kitchen, indicating not only the three of them but also seemingly their Wesen world.
God, sometimes Adalind would swear that the Grimm wasn’t just inexperienced; he was also willfully ignorant. “But he is a part of
you
. He’s your partner, your friend. Kehrseite or not - hell, maybe especially because he’s a Kehrseite, that makes him valuable to… the person I work with.”
“Man, this is exactly why I told you it wasn't a good idea to date a human.”
“This has nothing to do with Juliette, so leave her out of this,” Nick snapped at Monroe, though he never looked away from Adalind. The Blutbad just rolled his eyes in response, unwilling to take back his very astute and valid point. “No, this has to do with Adalind targeting someone who is completely vulnerable to her. And just how far exactly are you supposed to take this date? Are you supposed to manipulate Hank, seduce him, make him fall in love with you?”
For now, Sean had simply said to
befriend
the Kehrseite cop… whatever exactly
that
meant. Knowing the half Zauberbiest, however, Adalind wouldn’t put it past him to want her to eventually do more. But this - what Sean would insist she do in regards to Hank - wasn’t what she found interesting. No, what was intriguing was Nick’s reaction. “Are you worried about a Hexenbiest going after your friend, or are you mad that
I’m
going to have dinner with Hank… and not you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous!”
“The only thing ridiculous right now is your response to my latest directive,” Adalind countered. In that moment, it didn’t matter to her that she, too, had been experiencing unease with the task at hand. She was taught at a young age that it wasn’t just her mind and her powers which were weapons; her body was a weapon as well. And Adalind had no qualms about targeting an unsuspecting,
vulnerable
to use Nick’s words, completely human man if it meant that she would be able to exercise more control over not only her own existence but also the Wesen community. But she didn’t
want
to manipulate, or seduce, or even spend time with Hank. It had nothing to do with a lack of interest in playing such games and everything to do with wanting to play them with someone else. “Because we both know it could have been a lot worse than a mere
dinner
or a simple
befriending
.”
Folding his arms across his chest, Nick argued, “if you would just tell me already who you work for, then you wouldn’t have to follow any of his orders,
and
Hank would be safe.”
“Would Hank be safe, because you’d take out my boss, so I wouldn’t need to go after Hank any longer, or would Hank be safe, because, once you get a name out of me, you’ll take
me
out, and I’ll no longer be capable of going after Hank?” Adalind didn’t give the Grimm a chance to answer her, because, frankly, she didn’t want to know his answer, and she probably wouldn’t believe him anyway. “No, we have a long way to go together before I give you the only real card I have left to play… and that’s only
if
I ever decide to burn that bridge and side with you.” Finally picking up her clutch, Adalind held it in front of her like a shield as she said, “until that day, I have to do this - I have to make nice with, and smile at, and maybe even beguile the insignificant, human cop into my bed - in order to avoid suspicion. Because if my associate figures out what we’re doing here?”
“Hey, do not make this a ménage à trois,” Monroe protested, holding his large hands out in front of him in denial and refutation.
Both Adalind and Nick ignored him. “Then he’ll definitely be dead,” she nodded towards the complaining Blutbad. “At best, I’ll no longer be in the know. And you’ll be out a very powerful and influential potential ally, which take a look around you, Grimm,” it was a rhetorical command, but Adalind still feigned scanning the room. “It’s not exactly like there’s a line of Wesen begging for the opportunity to have your back in the battle that’s coming.”
“Says you.”
“No, says anyone who knows anything,” Monroe countered. “I’ve been asking around, and…”
“Around where,” Nick queried, interrupting.
“You know,” Monroe narrowed his dark eyes, tilting his head to the side and nodding pointedly. “
Around
.” After a pause, he continued, “nobody seems to know what exactly is coming, but everybody agrees that something is. And that it’s big.”
Nick sighed, lifting his right hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I don’t want Hank hurt.”
“I know this will come as a shock to you, but I don’t want to hurt him.” At the Grimm’s disbelieving gaze, Adalind petulantly defended, “I’m not a sociopath, Nick! I do what I have to do in order to take care of myself, but I don’t sit at home and plot ways to destroy Kehrseite.
For fun
. You harm me, you threaten me, I’ll end you. I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty. I refuse to back down from any fight, and I’ll even attack proactively if I think it in my best interests. But Hank is nothing more than a means to an end. For some reason, the other person I work with wants a connection to your partner, and I’m in a position to give that to him. Until it becomes more than just a connection, I don’t see the harm in playing along.” With all of that said, Adalind was willing to give Nick at least one concession. “If my assignment escalates, if I’m told to take this
friendship
to a place where Hank could get hurt, then we can… revisit… this discussion.”
“And
the discussion about you telling me who is giving you these orders?”
“You know, I really don’t appreciate how you refer to him - like he’s my employer, and I am subservient to him.”
The Grimm smirked. “But aren’t you?”
“I prefer to look at the
relationship
as a partnership… much like ours,” Adalind stated. If her words, and her tone, and her near constant flirting with Nick alluded to more than just business between both her and Sean
and
her and Nick, then so be it. The first was accurate… or, at least, it once had been, and the second? Well, only time would tell.
Soberly, Nick denied, “we’re not partners, Adalind - not in any sense of the word.”
“Not yet.”
“Not ever,” he countered resolutely.
But she just shrugged, smiled, and then sashayed past him, the extra swing in her hips that she got from bantering and bickering with the Grimm present and proudly on display. As she showed herself out, Adalind tossed a farewell over her shoulder towards an amused and annoyed Monroe, a curious combination he had obviously quite mastered. “The next meeting of our support group is at my place, Blutbad. I have better wine. And taste in decor.”
Twenty minutes later as Adalind was walking into Clarklewis, she would swear that she could still hear the hellish clicking and clacking, snicking and tapping of all of Monroe’s clocks. And maybe she could. But the countdown wasn’t of the hour but of a whole different, more ominous kind. Her time to decide, to pick a side and either survive or go down fighting with it, was quickly running out.
Tick tock.