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Working Late

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Monroe checked his watch and clicked his tongue. Nick wasn't home yet, which could only mean one thing. He was at the trailer, no doubt pouring over his ancestors' dusty books. Since leaving Juliette he'd split his time between Monroe's and the trailer. It was almost like he was trying to prove something by the amount of time spent on researching the Wesen lore.

The clocks in Monroe's house mirrored the time back at him; nearly midnight. Nick would have gotten so engrossed he would have lost track of time and it was pointless trying to ring him. Monroe knew Nick's phone would be on silent. Nick tended to turn it off when he was doing Grimm stuff.

Monroe sighed before getting up from the sofa and heading to the kitchen. He opened up a tub of tomato soup, placed the lid on top and put it in the microwave to heat up. Whilst it was heating he busied himself in making some cheese and gherkin sandwiches for Nick. Wrapping them up he took the hot soup out of the microwave and poured it into a thermos. Stowing the food in a bag, he threw on his jacket and headed out of the door.

Knowing Nick, he'd be working for easily another hour or so and the least Monroe could do was provide food. He knew at times he could be a little overbearing with the mothering routine but so far Nick hadn't complained and until he did Monroe would continue to do what he was doing. If nothing else, he would do it for the smile Nick gave him when Monroe surprised him with food. Yes, he was a sap and he knew it but he didn't care. Monroe locked the door behind him and headed to the car.




Nick rubbed his eyes, trying to focus on the page. Unfortunately, this particular ancestor of his had not been blessed with the gift of storytelling and he’d somehow managed to make the account of his encounter with a group of Hässlichen sound deathly boring rather than just potentially deadly. Nick was distantly aware that it was getting late and he should probably head home… To Monroe’s house. Which Nick was careful not to call ‘home’, not even in his own head, because that was a dangerous path to likely heartache.

As if summoned by Nick’s thoughts, there was a knock on the trailer door which swung open to reveal Monroe. Nick’s hand relaxed on the crossbow which he had instinctively reached for.

“I could’ve shot you!” he groused, pleased by the interruption but trying to hide it.

“And then who would bring you soup and sandwiches?” Monroe asked mildly, climbing in and starting to unpack the food, unceremoniously shoving books aside to make room for it.

“I’m perfectly capable of feeding myself.” Nick’s objection was somewhat muffled by the sandwich he’d crammed into his mouth. He was suddenly both ravenous and aware of just how stiff his body felt, having been hunched over the books for hours.

“Able, yes,” Monroe agreed, sitting on the couch nearby to watch him eat. “Willing? I have my doubts.”

Nick was too busy spooning the soup into his mouth to argue, warmed by the food but even more so by the fact that Monroe had cared enough to bring it. And now that Nick thought about it, this wasn’t the first time.

Monroe shook his head, smiling at him fondly. “That’s what I thought,” he said. “You’re exhausted. Finish your dinner. And then we’re going home. No protests!”

Nick nodded, finding he had none.