PART 2

Earlier

Monroe stopped his yellow bug in the visitors' car park and picked up his backpack. He was dressed like a tourist who might be intending to hike all day. Good sturdy hiking boots, long comfortable trousers, one of his more 'I don't mind if it gets dirty' shirts and in case it grew cold a warm sweater.

Settling his pack over his shoulders Monroe did a final mental check of its contents. As he had recommended to Nick last night, he had carefully packed his rucksack with items Monroe rather hoped he wouldn't need, but were present in case the worse happened – and with their track record something was bound to happen.

Glancing up at the beautifully clear sky, which Monroe felt was all too pretty for the type of hunt Nick and he were undertaking, Monroe allowed himself a moment to drink in the warmth of the morning sun.

Voices interrupted his reflection. Sighing Monroe realised he had better start. He was quite some distance from the crime scene and where he was meant to meet Nick.

Locking his faithful car Monroe casually strolled off, portraying an innocent image of an earnest hiker intent on seeing Mother Nature.

He passed by a couple with their child, all clad in gaudily bright colours. The little boy was chattering excitedly asking his father whether they would see a Pileated Woodpecker.

"If you're quiet son," answered the amused dad.

Monroe smiled. It always amazed him at how quickly children absorbed information, learning facts that adults spent hours, days even years obsessively reciting. Yup, get them while they were young was Monroe's philosophy, that way the children drank knowledge like it was squash. Maybe then, the young would appreciate proper music, (classical naturally) and the craftsmanship of the traditional arts (clock making included).

Pity Nick wasn't here already, Monroe could distinctly see the dark-haired detective shaking his head and laughing at Monroe's line of reasoning.

Engaging meanderings like these distracted Monroe from the fact that he was soon to be clashing with a set of probably peeved off elves.

Within minutes Monroe was winding his way through the stunning forest, tall trees and plants receding away from him on either side of the trail.

His sensitive ears caught the sounds of animals rustling in the undergrowth, among the twigs on the ground and in the dirt. High above, Monroe detected the flapping of wings as birds went about their business.

However, nothing approached, not even the animals that either barely noticed humans or were braver than the rest. The fauna of Forest Park recognised a predator and steered clear. It was slightly disappointing for a reformed Blutbad to encounter, but Monroe was used to it and did his best to stretch his other senses to experience the flavour of life within this green sprawling land.

The scents were a kaleidoscope of rich earth, fresh leaves and the various odours of the animal-life: musky and masculine or light and sweet.

He did pass by a handful of hikers as he walked, most memorably a little girl with her grandmother and unfortunately both were wearing red. The little girl's swaying scarlet pack and her grandmother's red top captured him. Monroe was captivated for a split second, mouth-watering and eyes staring. Yet it passed swiftly and he shook his head, face morphing back to human form.

Electing not to take a chance, Monroe smiled at them and all but sprinted further up the track until he lost them not simply from sight but from taste as well. He purposefully didn't inhale to catch their scent.

In this manner thirty minutes flew by and it wasn't until Monroe had left behind the normal hikers that he was able to safely break from the trail and not be surprised by someone coming around a corner and catching a flash of him as he vanished into the forest.

Dodging past tree trunks and leaping over fallen branches and trunks Monroe darted through the forest.

He breathed deep, his inner wolf elated to be finally running, running as nature intended! A slight gust of air caused by his passage cooled his cheeks, caressing his beard.

Monroe grinned. This wasn't hard, true he was no match to Holly who could probably still slip through these woods like a phantom, but he was still Blutbad and that counted for something.

It meant that obstacles didn't really slow him down: plant tendrils didn't snag his ankles, his sharp vision warned him of what was ahead and his nose combined with his sense of taste informed him of exactly who was around him.

Green and brown flashed by and at one point a smear of a bright red crest atop of a black and white streaked head, black beak and body. Monroe laughed: a Pileated Woodpecker! Oh, he hoped the little boy was as fortunate.

Up ahead murmured words filtered to Monroe and the Blutbad eased his speed to an easy stride.

Monroe cocked his head and listened. The voices had to signal cops: not many, maybe just a handful to guard the crime scene from inquisitive or lost park visitors.

He was yet too far for the cops to detect him, however Monroe now slowed to a careful walk, scenting and listening as he padded forwards.

Eventually, Monroe paused. He was close enough. Dropping to the ground Monroe sat on a nice patch of dry ground and waited.

It was peaceful, only the sounds of the cops near-by to occasionally disturb the scenery. Monroe allowed himself to relax, but not fully. He didn't wish to be surprised by the fair folk.

It was the cry of a bird that eventually shattered his contemplation. Standing Monroe realised that he had been for a while. It had been ten to eleven when he had arrived, taking him only an hour to reach the designated meet-up spot.

It was surely gone eleven now?

Peering at his wrist-watch Monroe blinked.

"11:30? Dude where are you now?" Monroe peered at his surroundings, sniffing the air in an attempt to smell Nick's scent. Nothing.

"Okay, man, this is not on. You better not be asleep in your aunt's trailer!"

Monroe frowned, wondering what to do. Maybe calling Nick would be best? Deciding that would be best Monroe took his cell from his pocket and found Nick's number.

Instead of Nick picking up his call though, the ring-tone went on and on, the persistent tone irritating his ear-drums.

"Damn," muttered Monroe and hesitated. It was unlikely that Nick was purposefully late…

"Nick, I swear, if your Grimm ass is late for anything less than life and death – I'm seriously plastering your house with clocks and your arms with watches."

Grumbling about the frustrating Grimm that was Nick Burkhardt, Monroe tried calling Nick two more times. Monroe tried not considering the option that Nick might have already become a victim of the elves.

However, when all his tries were unsuccessful Monroe was wholly anxious and beginning to enter alarm mode.

Monroe once again assessed the forest. Had an eerie hush fallen? It had been quiet yes, but Monroe had still been able to overhear the bustle of life in the distance and espy the colourful denizens of the forest.

Monroe warily scented the area. There was something…off about everything.

The Blutbad turned in a circle cautious now to ensure his backpack was still on and that his boots were tied, ready to run if required to do so.

The trees gazed back at him. Monroe could see the expressionless faces of the wood glaring into his soul. Swallowing Monroe stepped back. His breathing brought a tangy flavour to his lips and tongue. Not a scent he had previously sampled before in Forest Park.

Forcing himself not to panic the Blutbad slowly turned and began to walk towards the trail. Rather the cops than this.

Yet, after only two paces Monroe felt the subtle shift. It was if the world was suddenly hot and tight against him, squeezing around his body in an enormous hug. Then as fast as it had arrived it was gone and the world was warm yet cool.

Monroe bent over and breathed deep, gasping. Straightening the Blutbad looked around and then to the sky.

The angle of the sun's rays suggested it was afternoon and Monroe knew it was only eleven forty-five in the morning. That fact though wasn't what convinced Monroe he was no longer in Forest Park per say.

The trees that reared around him were taller, more ancient and more mind-numbingly beautiful than when he last looked. The perfumes of various flowers assailed his nose and the scents weren't of any flower he recognised or knew of.

Furthermore, the air was different: lighter and it might seem ludicrous, but also more cheerful as if the sun glowed more brightly and the life in the forest lived their lives more joyfully.

Monroe shivered even though it was far from cold.

Gazing at the thriving forest that now heaved with the chatter of birds and the calls of what Monroe knew were foxes and coyotes.

"Crap."

Monroe curled his hands into fists.

He was in the world of the elves…and their presence was all around him.

Forest Park

Nick abandoned his car in the same place as he had yesterday morning.

Flashing his badge Nick causally strolled past a group of police-officers and walked calmly down the trail. He had been forced to leave his weapon in the car as it was too obvious and Nick was in a hurry, too much of one to think properly. He knew that both Monroe and his aunt would be yelling at him for his stupidity.

However, he wasn't entirely defenceless: he had his gun and tucked into the inside of his jacket a couple of his aunt's daggers. They would have to do for now. When he ascertained Monroe's status then Nick would either return fully armed and angry like a Blutbad defending its territory, or relatively sanely with Monroe to inform the elves of their options.

Nick soon lost sight of his fellow cops and was enveloped in the forest. This trail had been closed to the public so the for moment there was only Nick and authorised personal moving along this sylvan pathway.

And at this precise hour in time Nick was fully intent on finding his missing friend.

He could feel the eyes of the forest pressing in on him. Nick could only respond in anger and defiance. Stalking along the trail and darting every now and then into the trees fencing the path Nick was relentless in his search. More than once he called out for Monroe, his voice suffocated by the watching forest, every leaf, and flower and plant frond laughing at his futile pursuit.

Nick already felt as if he had been sucked into the world of the elves as ten years seemed to pass for every minute he couldn't track down Monroe.

Nick persisted, crying aloud, calling on his phone and scrabbling with his fingers.

Eventually, exhaustion overcame Nick and the dark haired detective sank to the ground. Nick was weary. He hadn't eaten since his meagre mouthful of toast at eight in the morning, nor drank since his coffee: not the most hydrating of beverages.

Peeking at his watch Nick's mouth fell open. "15:00? Damn, everyone at the station will wonder where I am."

Glancing up into the trees Nick snarled, his fear now terror for the fate of his friend. "Where is he? Where is Monroe? Monroe!" Nick shouted one last effort, voice crackling from how parched he was.

Admitting defeat for this round Nick staggered to his feet, mind furiously ticking away to discover a solution. It wasn't until he reached his car that an idea presented itself.

A dark curl of satisfaction unwound in Nick's belly. Smirking Nick reversed and headed back to Central.

He would find Monroe and he knew how.

The Blutbad in question was currently debating the best course of action to undertake.

Monroe knew the best course of action would be to remain where he was, as he at the point of entry into the elfin world. Unfortunately, that wasn't an option for long. The powerful sensation of the fair folk increased in potency as they drew nearer to him.

He had attempted to catch sight of them, but they remained elusive and Monroe understood he would be lucky – or make that unlucky – if they did show themselves.

Pressed by their actions the Blutbad reluctantly started walking. Instinctively Monroe kept as close to the barriers of this world as possible. He fought the urge to display his fear. The minute he did the elves would win a little ground until gradually they won the battle and he was either mad or dead.

Monroe had no illusions that the elves guessed he was with Nick, the Grimm. No matter how hard Monroe washed his clothes he would never wash clean Nick's scent. The pesky Grimm was too ingrained, too entrenched in his life to fade into nothingness like that – and Monroe wouldn't have it any other way.

It meant though that he was their enemy by extension.

Stepping over a gnarled root which was as thick as Monroe was wide, Monroe quickened his pace. He hadn't much time. He had either to reach one of the barriers of the elfin world and pray he could pass without hindrance or that Nick reached him soon.

"Some Blutbad I turned out to be. Sniff out the barriers huh? Nick is going to love that."

Monroe refused to entertain the notion that Nick might be dead or caught by the elves. He had to, or he might lose his reformed status and be the wild Blutbad he once had been – and it wouldn't be pretty.

Nick had arrived at Central to face a stern looking crowd consisting of Captain Renard, Hank and Wu. His thought that he was in trouble was very much correct.

Captain Renard ordered him into his office and the other two had followed.

"What is wrong with you Detective?" snapped Renard. He was clearly furious, biting off each word and eyes dark.

"I had to check on a friend."

"And checking on this friend was more important than your job?" Renard was incredulous. "They better have been seriously ill Detective."

Nick was uncomfortably aware of his partner staring at him while Wu just wrote on his notepad. "I remembered my friend said he could be hiking in Forest Park. I was worried he might encounter whoever might have killed Mr Jones."

"Calling would have been sufficient."

"Yes sir, I tried, but there was no answer. So I went to his house and found no-one…"

"This took over three hours Nick. Do you wish me to seriously believe you spent three hours checking your friend's house – and by the way, does your mysterious friend have a name?"

"His name is Monroe and when I couldn't trace him I went to Forest Park and searched there." Nick realised that was the wrong answer, but he couldn't think of a plausible excuse. It was all he could do to focus on his Captain as his mind was whirling with what actions he had to take to rescue Monroe.

Captain Renard was gazing at him in disbelief. Apparently, he had done something so idiotic that it had stunned his captain into temporary silence. Meanwhile, his partner wasn't so inhibited.

"Monroe? The clock-maker? You're friends with that guy? Really Nick? You accused him of kidnapping!"

"Yes!" said Nick defensively. "But we're good friends now. Just kept bumping into each other and well…somehow we became the best of companions." The dark-haired cop shrugged. It wasn't the whole story; however, the sentiment was the truth.

Hank simply shook his head.

"Still Nick, even as your friend you shouldn't have returned to a crime scene and searched for Monroe." Wu's quiet reminder made Nick wince.

"Sergeant Wu is correct," said Renard, glaring coldly at Nick. "It was stupid and could have cost you your life." Sighing in frustration the tall man leant back in his seat. "However, the damage is done. You are sure your friend is missing?"

Nick nodded furiously.

The Captain slid a sheet of paper across to Nick. "Then fill in his details and we'll run a search party first thing in the morning," cutting off Nick's protest with a raised hand, Captain Renard remarked, "It's too late for one now. Plus, Nick it hasn't been twenty-four hours. I'm already giving you the benefit of the doubt, especially considering your actions. Fill in the report and we'll see what the morning brings."

"Yes sir."

Nick took the form and returned to his desk, ignoring his partner's attempts to talk to him. Nick was bitter and even more determined to action his plan.

Monroe didn't know whether time was ticking by at the same rate back in the human world or not. If he had to guess Monroe would hazard the difference wasn't great. The only reason for this was that Monroe didn't feel displaced.

Yes, everything else was wildly strange or peculiar: purple flowers that bloomed with the most sugary perfume he had ever known; leaves a verdant green not seen before; a leaping frog by a bubbling brook a rainbow of colours, horses small or large: all more vibrant and full of vigour than Monroe imagined possible in his own reality.

The heavens were a startling blue with a yellow sun flaming amid angel-wing white clouds.

It was a riot and Monroe was having a hard time not being overwhelmed by the sensory input. His inner wolf was eager to play. Monroe refused: he wouldn't abandon his Wieder stance unless he had to protect (or avenge) Nick.

Yet the one thing he didn't feel was time displacement. So perhaps he was lucky and he wouldn't return seven years or a hundred in the future.

So, for the last five hours Monroe had dodged the elves that had pursued his every step. Sometimes he could hear them, their voices mere whispers on a refreshing breeze, or light footfalls on the moist earth. Occasionally he could taste them, his mouth tingling from their unique scents.

Once he had espied one of their number: probably a young and foolish elf, who had wandered too near. A quick snap of his transformed jaws and the little creature was scurrying in indignation back to his fellows. Such threats were all that Monroe dared to do. Unless he was openly provoked into a fight he had the sense to not attack first. Let the elves be the first to engage in battle, Monroe would attempt to give them nothing more to be angry about.

Monroe leapt over a bush, sprinkled with wild berries. The sweet aroma was almost enough to make him stop to sup on their tender flesh, but his company deterred him. To his left he felt the comforting pressure of one of the barriers to this world.

The itchy, hot sensation was a welcoming sign as Monroe had more than once been driven from the fences of the elfin place. However, Monroe had been able to derive from his travels that he could not only feel the caress of the barriers but to his transformed eyes he could see the shimmer that heralded their presence.

So, half-transformed – as Nick saw him and others from time to time – Monroe raced through an open field.

The crack of someone stumbling through the bush behind him made Monroe grin. The elves were growing annoyed. He was not granting them the same fun as a human. Their hallucinations were harder to work on the Blutbad.

However, eventually he would need rest and then they would have the advantage.

Putting on a burst of speed Monroe twisted to his right, luring the elves away from the closet barrier. A confusing manoeuvre, yet one that might work to his benefit: it brought Monroe back into the sprawling woods.

Monroe purposefully forced his bulk past the closely knit trees and eventually reached the site he remembered running through much earlier that day.

In the rapidly progressing gloom the small space between a cluster of trees was bathed blue-grey. Monroe thanked his much enhanced vision. Further back he heard the sound of elves also struggling through sylvan murk – and they were doubly slowed by their desire not to harm the life around them.

Hastily he dropped and after a moment of scrabbling in the dirt he managed to dig up some slender plant roots. Hastily testing them he discovered they were flexible. Knowing he didn't have enough time to draw his knife Monroe used his jaws and bit through the roots. Then, using as a guide Nick's description of how tall Faxon was, he strung two lines of the roots between the trees, securing them with knots to the low-lying branches.

When the elves followed him into here they would be in such a rush that at least a handful would slam neck height into the roots. It would anger them, however, Monroe was desperate. He badly required rest and sustenance.

Waiting until he could smell his pursuers once more Monroe only dashed off when they were only steps away from entering the small break in the trees.

As he loped off in the opposite direction he heard the sickening strangling noise as the first of the elves hit his trap.

Within a couple of minutes he was free of the forest and turned to his left to draw nigh to the barrier he had felt.

As he paced his house Nick frowned. It was growing late and each passing second might cost Monroe his life; checking his wrist-watch Nick saw that the time was seven. That's it. I've waited long enough.

Peering through the curtains Nick couldn't see any police cars keeping vigil over his house, nor his partner's vehicle. He was pleased that his display of unprofessionalism hadn't caused Renard to post a watch over him.

Retrieving the bag he had stashed in a downstairs cupboard Nick slipped through the kitchen and out the back door. He wanted as few people to notice his absence as possible. To this end he avoided taking his own car and briskly set off down his street. The neighbours would all be busy with their own families and unlikely to glance through shut curtains.

He was fortunate that Juliette was with friends tonight – 'catching up' she had called it. Admittedly, Nick had encouraged her, reassuring his beautiful girlfriend that he would be with a friend. He would be - he just had to find him first.

Reaching the end of his street, Nick went right, maintaining a rapid step. When he was four streets over Nick paused by where he had ordered a cab to meet him.

When it arrived Nick smiled, keeping his cap low and his voice rough. He did nothing during the drive that would allow the driver to recall significant descriptions of him: a bland chatter about the weather, otherwise relative silence.

The driver barely glanced at him, obviously bored and eager for the money part of the fare. Nick granted him just that and then pretended to be heading to one of the houses to knock on the door. The minute the cab was out-of-sight though, Nick darted off, struggling to compose himself so he wouldn't arouse any suspicion.

However, no-one was about on the streets, so Nick had an easy time reaching his final destination: a house at the end of a long street.

Nick observed the building. It was far off the main street: excellent, no witnesses.

It appeared nice and homely. Plant tendrils clung to the house front, framing a beautiful wooden door. Golden light glimmered where the curtains were partly open. He could detect the faint strains of uplifting music: a harp?

He didn't really care. Nick was only concerned that the light and noise signalled that the occupant was home. Squaring his shoulders Nick swallowed and summoned up the ghost of his ancestors. He would need all of his Grimm heritage to survive the next few hours and to save Monroe.

Nick now opened the long bag and took out Aunt Marie's gift. Striding up the driveway Nick headed straight for the door. After much internal debate, Nick had decided that a direct approach would be least expected so now he went for the front door.

Hammering on the solid wood Nick was rewarded when it swung open to reveal Faxon Wald.

Monroe doubled over, panting, he had to halt. The sun was a crimson-golden glow on the horizon, the circular edge still peeping over, spilling a pinkish-honey glow into the world. The woods to his right were quieting as the exchange between day-time creatures and night-life began.

The first stars were faint pinpricks, waiting for the sun to fully set ere blazing in full glory.

Weary and anxious to rest if not wholly sleep, Monroe searched for a suitable location. He found one in the lee of a sprawling tree, with down-swept branches.

First things first, he had to set up the most vital thing immediately: a shelter.

He was on the very boundary of the forest. It didn't make Monroe feel particularly safe as it could conceal elves quite easily. Camping in the open field facing him wasn't a much prettier prospect as it left him vulnerable on all sides. At least with a strong thick tree at his back he cut off one pathway. He also checked to see if it was likely that any branches would fall on him, however, everything appeared sound.

The tree was one Monroe had never seen either in the wild or in any book. The trunk was massive. It would take twenty well-built men to surround the tree, holding their arms outstretched. The branches started low. The boughs nearest to Monroe were thicker, being older and their leaves were also large.

Monroe could still see their colour: a dappled silver effect, and a rough oval shape. The boughs were numerous enough that they would provide some protection from rain, but Monroe wished to add to their cover.

Searching the nearby forest floor the Blutbad collected as many fallen branches as he could find. Then, with some effort he began weaving the lighter boughs in-between the branches. Shortly he had a reasonable shelter. Relieved, Monroe crawled under. Underneath his half-natural half-unnatural roof the forest floor was dry and Monroe could imagine a snug night ahead.

He could also more importantly still see out across the field. Now he had his next task: building a fire. With it he could keep wild animals at bay (admittedly, the majority would avoid a Blutbad anyway) and the welcoming flames would maintain warmth and grant a flickering light, coupled with being able to provide hot food and beverages: important psychological assets when surviving. It was something that many forgot: fire didn't simply mean warmth, it signified that along with comfort, dryness, protection and food: the very basics of life.

Monroe crouched down, focusing. Claws elongated from his fingers, hands partially turning. Monroe's face also transformed, becoming sharper, angular and beard and hair becoming furrier. He wished to be able to identify any elves if they came close while he worked and being in half-wolf form would aid his task.

He dug, clawing earth to the side until a shallow pit was dug. Then Monroe pulled over the remaining dry branches and twigs he had found. He also dug out of his back-pack the stones he had picked up by the stream that Monroe had passed by not long hence.

Breathing deeply, Monroe relaxed as much as he was able. Night was drawing in; already a human would be hardly able to see. To light a fire successfully Monroe needed to be calm and act while he was still not too exhausted.

He placed the stones in a small circle then carefully arranged some of the twigs and loose leaves in a smallish pile just off-centre of the circle.

Next he pulled from a trouser pocket a fire stick and a small waterproof packet. Tearing open the packet gently Monroe extracted some fluffy cotton.

Kneeling down, Monroe laid the cotton in the centre of the circle, beside his pile of twigs. Gathering his fire-stick up, Monroe now withdrew his knife. He held the blade of the knife at the top of the flint stick, one hand securely around the fire-stick handle, the other firmly gripping the knife.

Then he put the fire-stick next to the cotton and scraped the blade of the knife hard down the flint length. Immediately sparks flew. Monroe hissed in pleasure. Again he dragged his knife down the stick and watched the sparks jumped and were caught by the cotton. Instantly the soft material ignited, smouldering.

Hurriedly Monroe put his implements down and picked up the cotton. Carefully cradling the ball he blew gently, helping the embers to leap into life. Warily, but with controlled speed, Monroe lowered the cotton to the ground and fed leaves and twigs to it. Soon his fire was blooming and Monroe knew he wouldn't have to feed too much more to it for the moment.

During the night however, he would keep adding branches, so that a good blaze encouraged the elves to think twice of approaching: fire could be utilised as a weapon.

Faxon's shocked gasp and terrified expression brought a clench of pleasure to Nick. Let him suffer just a fraction of what he was enduring now.

Anticipating Faxon's move to try and shut his door Nick jammed his arm against the surface and slammed it open. Revealing his weapon Nick swung his arm up in a blur, a sword point nestled under Faxon's chin.

The elf froze.

"Yes," whispered Nick softly, grey eyes hard like granite. "You know how this sword was forged."

Faxon choked out an affirmative. It confirmed Nick's suspicions that this sword could be his answer to dealing effectively with the elves. The knowledge boosted his confidence.

"Then you understand that with this blade I can kill you." Nick kicked the door shut with his foot and shoved Faxon against his corridor wall. He exerted more pressure against Faxon's neck.

"Yes," gasped Faxon. The elf didn't dare struggle, obviously understanding his perilous situation.

"Great. Now listen, Faxon – elf – whatever you are called. You, your people, have my friend. Monroe is his name. Do you know anything about this?"

Faxon reluctantly answered. "Yes."

Nick felt a surge of anger and terror. Monroe. "Why?" he spat out.

"Because he's with you, because he entered our forest."

Nick restrained himself from cutting down with his sword. Instead he concentrated on what he came here for.

"Well, you miscalculated. I want him back and believe me Faxon, if I don't have Monroe back safe with me within the next hour I will personally see to it that I live up to my ancestors' name."

Nick bent down to whisper into Faxon's ear. "You know what their teaching is? To hunt down the bad ones. Looks like that you and your friends fit that description. I've not followed that mostly. However, you have successfully infuriated the resident Grimm in Portland."

Faxon whimpered. "Please, we don't mean any harm! Mr Jones, he desecrated the forest! We were here first. Why should human laws count?"

Nick snarled. "Because you live among us! Murder is wrong and he would have been fined and unlikely to return to your woods. I admit, I will never be able to bring you to justice. There is no tangible evidence that any human court will accept. So,"

Nick drew back so that Faxon could see the wrath in his face, but kept his body tight against the elf so he could feel the vibration of his anger and worry, blade marring the delicate flesh at Faxon's throat. "So," Nick repeated, "by killing under your law and no admissible proof for a human jury, I'll therefore enact Grimm justice and wield it with sword."

"But…your friend?"

Nick smiled grimly. Faxon was brighter than he acted. "Monroe…here is the deal: you retrieve Monroe for me, deliver him safely and on top of that, hunt down no further victims and I'll let you all go. If you break your word then I'll destroy you all. If Monroe is dead… then I think you'll know what will happen."

Nick watched and waited. He could tell the minute that Faxon realised that the elves had no choice. Nick would find a way to end them if needs be and if it meant hunting down the bad ones, he would do so. He just rather not emulate his fore-bearers in such a manner.

"I agree. I'll go to my people and retrieve your friend."

"No, I'm coming with you. And how can I trust you that the rest of your bunch of merry elves agree to my terms?"

Faxon gazed at him. Nick felt a shiver trail down his spine when the trapped elf said: "Because there is no other choice, but to consent to your terms. Also, when we are close to the woods my people will be able to hear me if I concentrate. We must hurry."

Nick nodded. Stepping back from Faxon Nick gestured with the naked blade that shone in the overhead light. "Go."

"Monroe."

Monroe shot up from where he had ben reclining on a sleeping mat laid over a bed of leaves. The fire glowed with warmth, the heat a welcome presence in the now cold night.

The Blutbad cocked his head and listened. There was the cry again. It rose on the night air then fell into eerie hush.

"Monroe, why won't you come to me? Monroe?"

"Nick?" whispered Monroe, perplexed. Why would Nick call to him? Why not just enter his shelter?

Scrambling to a kneeling position Monroe peered warily out into the darkness. His vision coupled with that of the burning fire was enough for him to see.

There was nobody outside. The field stretched out in front of him, vast, mostly dark and silent. The sky was crowded with stars and a half-moon which illuminated everything in a peculiar silvery glimmer.

The field was conspicuously absent of Nick.

Monroe contemplated his situation. It was highly unlikely that Nick would a) would speak as the voice had done, b) ask him why Monroe wasn't coming to Nick, his friend was far more likely to ask where Monroe was and finally c) if Nick knew where he was or suspected he would be asking either to enter or for Monroe to show himself: not necessarily completely vacate his own protection.

"What's your game?" breathed Monroe, instincts fully attentive. Keeping his eyes open, Monroe inhaled. He turned his head from side to side scenting the air. He couldn't smell Nick anywhere. The voice had been close so logically Monroe ought to have been able to sniff Nick out.

"Monroe? Come on Monroe! I need you!"

Monroe growled. Not only couldn't he pick up Nick's distinctive scent, but by scrutinising the calling voice he realised that the tone was just that little wrong.

It wasn't Nick pleading for him to reveal himself, but the elves.

"Good try, but it won't work on this Blutbad."

Monroe fell back to his fire, sitting down. He gently added a handy thick branch to the flames, watching as the yellow-orange tongues began eating the wood. He would not drowse anymore this night.

"Where are you Nick? I don't think I can get out of this on my own."

Faxon parked his small environmentally friendly, (Nick snorted at the thought), car some distance from the park boundaries. Any closer and they might be caught. Since Nick had no desire for his colleagues to stop him – at least before he had Monroe safe and sound – he did not protest.

Exiting Faxon's car Nick was assessing how best to approach when he realised that Faxon was trying to retrieve an item from his trunk. Nick calmly placed his sword at the small of Faxon's back.

The elf gulped nervously. "We need to enter the park undetected. I have two items that will allow us to do this."

He hauled out an oiled leather bag and undid the bindings. He pulled out two belts. "These will permit us to enter without anyone ever seeing us."

Nick scowled and took one from Faxon in his spare hand. He rubbed his fingers over the material. The belt appeared to consist of a type of animal hide that Nick was unfamiliar with. It was old, the metal clasp showing signs of age.

"How will a couple of belts do that? And why should I trust you that it won't harm me?"

Faxon licked his lips, his morphed face showing through. His golden-brown eyes were wide.

"They will make us invisible…"

"Really? Like that Invisibility Cloak in the Harry Potter series?"

Faxon sniffed derisively. "No, far more advanced. These belts will not only conceal us from sight but also mask any sounds we make: including speech. Be warned though, we will not become ghosts. We can still be bumped into. The belts grant us exceptions to a few rules, but they will not turn us insubstantial. As for trusting me…I'm too afraid to cross you."

Nick examined the belt and Faxon. He could almost smell the stench of fear rolling off the young elf. He could also hear the truth ringing in Faxon's words. Deceit would gain nothing for the elf, because Nick would surely kill him with whatever strength he had left if he attempted to betray him.

Nodding, Nick asked: "Okay, what do I do?"

Faxon relaxed a fraction. "Wrap the belt around your waist and fasten it as tightly as you can."

He watched as Nick lowered his sword and swiftly drew the belt around his waist. Nick was aware of Faxon's probing gaze that didn't diminish when he looked up. "Yes?"

The elf shivered. "May I ask…? This friend, Monroe…a Blutbad and a Grimm? How?"

Nick knew there wasn't enough time to explain, though he wished to help Faxon to understand. It might cause the elves to comprehend how serious he was. "How? I don't have enough time and you don't have the right. Suffice to say that Monroe knows me. We have no secrets."

Faxon nodded slowly. "He's your thousandth man. 'Nine hundred and ninety-nine depend On what the world sees in you, But the Thousandth man will stand your friend. With the whole round world agin you.'" He quoted.

Nick inclined his head, a genuine smile briefly appearing. "The Thousandth Man by Rudyard Kipling. Yes, that poem describes us. Then you'll understand why I'm doing what I am."

"Yes."

"Just recall the last line elf, and you and your kin might survive the ordeal."

Faxon did his belt up and said. "We are now invisible to prying eyes. We must hurry to save your friend."

"I can see you."

"You wear the belt of the elves that is why. To all others only the night exists."

Nick hesitated then loosened the belt. Immediately Faxon faded into nothingness. Hissing Nick redid his belt and Faxon rematerialized.

"Damn."

"Indeed."

Nick gestured with his blade. "Walk."

Faxon led the way, but as they padded into the inky blackness he uttered softly, voice like a faint breeze: "But the Thousandth Man will stand by your side. To the gallows-foot - and after."

Nick's scent brushed the delicate insides of Monroe's nose. Glancing up Monroe blinked in astonishment. Nick stood before him, smiling in relief.

"Monroe!"

"Nick?"

Recalling the last trick by the elves, Monroe didn't dash forwards as he yearned to do.

The dark-haired detective grinned. "Yes, Monroe. It's me." Nick shot a look over his shoulder. "We must hurry Monroe. I think I lost them for the moment."

Monroe didn't budge, instead assessing his friend. Discreetly he tasted his friend in his mouth, seeking the undeniable traces that would signify Nick and no-one else.

"What's the hurry? Let me grab my backpack first and come on in, you're vulnerable out there."

Nick did not move, just stared at Monroe. "No time! Come on!"

Monroe laughed harshly. This time he didn't hide how he dragged in a good mouthful of air, sampling the pheromones emanating from Nick, eyes probing the figure, twitching his elongated ears in his morphed face.

"I don't think so."

Anger flowed across Nick's features. "Why not? Monroe, this isn't funny."

The Blutbad without trepidation drew a burning branch from the fire. Holding the flickering brand out to Nick, Monroe said, "You're right it isn't funny, but dude. Give me a bit of credit. I can tell you aren't Nick." Tapping his nose Monroe repeated to the apparition what he had once said to Nick: "The nose knows."

Waving the branch, Monroe continued. "Now get out before my hand convulses and accidently launches this smoking fire in your face."

Fury blazed in the apparition's eyes, then with an outraged shriek it melted into the air and only Monroe, his camp and the night remained.

"Crap that was close."

Monroe lowered his stick and quickly extinguished the flames. He might need it again. He eyed his stock. "I hope I have enough."

Resuming his vigil Monroe gazed out into the treacherous silence.

Forest Park

The minute they were safely inside the Park Faxon halted. Nick observed as Faxon raised both hands and chanted in a beautiful lyrical tongue, waving his hands in a complex pattern in the air.

They had made excellent time. No-one had seen them and no cameras had reacted to their presence.

Now Nick stayed quiet allowing Faxon to work his magic. The elf had warned him that they had no time to walk to the scene; he would have to transport them there. Nick hadn't been thrilled, but he knew how desperate the situation was so had agreed.

Faxon stopped speaking and Nick suddenly experienced a distortion of reality. He was embraced by hot air and had the strongest inclination to vomit. The sensation passed quickly and Nick blinking found himself in the clearing.

A peculiar sheen covered the clearing, illuminating the woods for Nick.

Faxon stood beside him, eyes closed, lips moving, but no words being issued.

Then Nick saw them. Two elves standing at the edge of the forest, the trees sentinels at their backs.

The Grimm knew instantly that these elves were far older than Faxon, their eyes and the way of their demeanour: straight backs and stern expressions told as much.

Nick unclasped the belt though he realised that the two elves could see them anyway. Their power was formidable, yet Nick didn't even feel like cowering. He was too driven. His spirit at this instant was indomitable: he had a mission and could not fail.

Faxon stepped forward and began to speak in hurried tones.

The two elves features gradually resolved into twin expressions of dismay and the faint strains of dread. Nick met their unwavering searching looks.

Nick grasped the moment he had won when he watched the two elves simultaneously bow their heads in acceptance.

The revelation that Monroe would soon be returned made Nick want to yell and collapse in equal measures. He did neither, refraining from any emotion bar fierceness.

One of the elves now addressed him.

"Grimm."

"Yes," replied Nick, ensuring his voice was devoid of anything but coldness.

"We accept your terms. We have no desire to face your wrath."

The elf raised a hand. "Please understand we meant no harm."

"Really? Well, we'll just forget the murder shall we and the kidnapping of my friend."

The elf stared blankly.

"Remember to not break our deal, otherwise…"

"There is no need to finish your threat Nick Burkhardt. I am well aware of your ancestors' capacity for their work. I am even more knowledgeable of your aunt's legacy. Do not approach with your sword – take it far from us and we will do as you bid."

Nick nodded. "Great. Where's Monroe?"

The elf placed his hand on his companion who had silver-coloured hair. The elf opened his mouth and sang. Nick was profoundly grateful for being a Grimm as the song was so mind-numbingly beautiful he could comprehend why so many humans just followed these elves either to their deaths or to their world and were lost for years.

The air contracted and then actually rippled. Nick inhaled the perfume of flowers and plants foreign to his reality. He heard a crackling fire and a murmuring voice, the scrape of feet waiting in the blackness and a glimpse of large white stars glowing in heavens that weren't here.

Then Monroe was standing in the clearing, still holding a branch with flames licking at it's length.

"Monroe!"

Monroe swore as he his shelter disappeared. He only had time to snatch his impromptu torch before he was standing in a clearing. He weaved on his feet as he adjusted to the change.

And for what seemed the hundredth attempt that night he heard a familiar voice shout his name.

Glancing up he froze. Nick stood before him, delight suffusing his face. This Nick held a sword in his right hand. Beside him was an elf, Monroe took a wild guess and assumed it was Faxon. Near Monroe, too close really, were two other elves. All the elves were staring at him with great concern.

"Monroe?"

Monroe focused on Nick. Could it truly be his friend? His Nick?

As if understanding his doubt, this Nick flung himself at Monroe. Monroe only just managed to raise his arms to catch Nick and then he was assailed by everything that was the man in his arms: touch confirmed that this was Nick – Nick's own hands ran over his body, probing for damage; sight drank in the picture of grey eyes anxiously searching his own, gaze brushing over Monroe seeking injury; his ears twitched as he heard Nick's litany:

"Monroe? It's me Monroe. Are you okay? I swear I've been looking for you, just couldn't come sooner. Monroe?"

Oh yeah, that tone, the rise and fall of that voice was all Nick's. There was zero off about it.

The scent rising from this Nick was the one he remembered: the smell of danger, determination, and eagerness to talk first (yes that had a scent too!), the sweetness of Nick's generous, fair nature underscoring the unique make-up of Nick Burkhardt.

And if Monroe the Blutbad had any doubts, Nick dispelled them right there and then.

"Monroe?"

Grey eyes shining with worry and relief caught him. "It is me, no elf would trust you with this."

Nick titled his head to the side, exposing the veins in his neck to Monroe. Monroe wanted to cry in relief and despair. "You're right," and he winced at how it came out as a low rumbling growl, vibrating through both their bodies. "Only one Grimm – one human – is stupid enough to bare his throat to a Blutbad, even if the Blutbad is his friend." Nick was correct, no elf would do this, there was the chance that Monroe figuring out the deception would be fast enough to bite down and tear out the elf's throat.

Needing one last confirmation, Monroe bent his head, he could hear the thump of Nick's heart: steady and so trusting.

He recalled how he had tasted Nick once before: It had been during a rather unpleasant case involving a chase through the streets of Portland. Both Nick and he had been ducking around buildings, hiding in the dark, doing their best to lure the crazed Blutbad, (who had taken personal offence at Monroe's aiding a Grimm), that was hunting them away from populated areas. Unfortunately, the Blutbad had a good sense of smell and they were out of Wolfsbane – and Nick was wounded. In desperation Monroe had licked the jagged cut in Nick's hand, hoping that by lathering him in his saliva it would at least diminish the scent of Nick's blood, and doubled up by shoving Nick in his jacket.

It worked to an extent. They gained ground and were able to set a trap, which the maddened Blutbad was stomped straight into.

He opened his mouth, saliva dripping from his fangs and ever so gently licked Nick's tender flesh.

He grinned like a fool. Yup, that tasted right. This was Nick Burkhardt, his own personal stupid, crazy Grimm. "Idiot Grimm."

Nick burst out laughing and straightened in his grasp.

"Good to see you Nick."

"Likewise."

Recalling their audience they stepped out of their embrace and faced the three elves.

Monroe saw the elf by the silver-haired one incline his head. "You are satisfied Grimm?"

Nick nodded. "Yes, this is Monroe and he is unharmed. Now swear you abide by my terms: repeat them to me."

All the elves in the clearing did so adding their kin into the binding deal between Nick and them. Monroe knew his jaw was sagging. Nick had done all this for him? Audacious and definitely flattering.

He was never letting Nick go anywhere by himself from now on. All Grimm related business had to go through Monroe.

Monroe nodded to himself. He had to watch his Grimm. Evidently, when he wasn't around Nick was busy terrifying various creatures into submission.

The elves had finished and Monroe found himself being led by Nick's guiding hand on his shoulder to the elf who he assumed was Faxon.

"Faxon, get us out of here."

"Yes."

Again the world shifted and Monroe discovered they were just inside the Park boundaries. Before he could speak Nick was fastening a belt around him and ushering him out down a street.

Monroe didn't look back, glad to leave the creepy woods and lethal elves behind.

They ended up in Monroe's house. Clearly Nick wasn't going to leave Monroe and frankly, Monroe had no desire be alone after his recent experience.

So, somehow, they had successfully navigated back to Monroe's place, a frightened Faxon dropping them off on a road of Nick's choosing. Then the elf had high-tailed it – not that Monroe blamed him, Nick was still wound up over Monroe's disappearance.

A cab later and finally they had been stumbling into the warm dark living room.

Monroe had wanted nothing more than to first wash and then eat a proper meal. Both tasks were more difficult than he expected as he had to order a tense Grimm to wait outside his damn shower thank you very much!

Monroe yanked off his grimy clothes relived to be free of the soiled garments. His nose twitched as he caught a good whiff at not only the clothes but his own stench. "Wow…a little much huh."

Reaching into the shower Monroe turned on the tap, content when a nice spray started up. After a moment the water was pleasantly hot so Monroe stepped in – not before yelling at Nick naturally.

"Nick, I'm just getting into the shower. Keep your Grimm self outside okay?"

"Yeah sure Monroe!"

Monroe rolled his eyes. "Great, I have an over-protective Grimm camped in my bedroom. Mom, Dad, I swear this is a good thing."

Reaching for the shampoo Monroe groaned (quietly, he didn't need a sword slash gun wielding Nick Burkhardt to break down his bathroom door). The water was perfection. It eased his sore and weary muscles, washing away the filth that had clung to his skin. Scrubbing the herbal shampoo into his hair Monroe could smell and feel his hair coming clean.

Soon he was scraping soap through his beard grinning as a snagged bit of forest came free.

All too shortly Monroe was stepping out of the shower. He was reluctant, but he didn't want to keep Nick waiting and if he was honest with himself, he was eager to see Nick as well.

So he rushed through drying himself, wrapped a towel around his waist and wandered into his bedroom.

"What on earth…? Dude, that's my bed, at least have the decency not to dump your gun on it."

Nick leapt up with a guilty expression. "Better than holding it right?" he protested.

"Uh huh, so much safer on the bed where I can sit on it." Monroe walked over to his cupboard and drew out a clean shirt and boxer shorts. "We're safe Nick. I'm serious."

Monroe turned at the silence that met his comment to discover Nick busily scanning his chest (and presumably a second previously, his back). Obviously, Nick was more concerned with checking that Monroe wasn't concealing any wounds to respond.

Monroe opened his mouth only to shut it. A mountain of emotion had arisen and he struggled to resolve the varied feelings.

The depth of Nick's concern and continued anxiety for his well-being caused a warm feeling to fill Monroe's belly. As he stood returning Nick's tense gaze, the warm sensation welled all over as Monroe considered Nick's actions.

He felt awe, happiness and maybe a touch of fear at what Nick had done this night. Monroe clenched his hands, breathing harshly, face morphing.

It had been so long since he had family – being Wieder cut you off from your traditional relatives – and now Nick, who had risked everything for Monroe, had basically declared that he considered Monroe important, a friend he would do anything for. It was confirmation of all their nights spent cracking a Grimm case, of their shared jokes and tears, of their precious moments simply enjoying each other's company; except that now it had finally sunk in properly.

It was overwhelming, leaving Monroe bereft of his usual snarkiness. Sucking in a much needed gulp of steadying air, Monroe strode the three steps to where Nick was rooted. Considering the fraught situation Monroe didn't whine about Nick's paranoia. Rather he did what he could to show Nick he appreciated his friend's feelings and to comfort him. Monroe simply touched Nick. The Grimm had always been very demonstrative so Monroe copied the gestures.

Carefully, as if petting a wild animal Monroe reached out a hand, tipped with claws. For the life of him Monroe was unable to control the swell of feelings that made him shift. By the raw look in Nick's grey eyes, neither could Nick.

His fingers touched Nick's arm and the Grimm sucked in his own breath, head ducked all of a sudden. Yet Monroe could smell the relief that his touch brought and emboldened Monroe raked his other hand down Nick's other arm. Sweetly, trying to put into touch his gratitude, love for Nick and his own relief that Nick was well, Monroe awkwardly rubbed his friend's arms.

Nick sighed and leaned forward a little. Shifting his grip Monroe pressed his large hands on the shorter man's shoulders and as if that was a signal Nick fell against Monroe and cue an embarrassing hug. It did it though as both Blutbad and man felt a missing piece click back into place. Monroe scented Nick, confirming through touch that this was his Nick, his friend.

Nick sought the human equivalent, arms a burning embrace as if only through practically breaking Monroe he could be sure that Monroe was really present: not that there was a fear of Monroe shattering so easily.

In the hush Monroe could hear the delicate tick of his clocks and as he listened, drifting in the sea of warmth friendship and contentment provided, they chimed the hour.

Nick seemed to wake from his stupor and withdrew, face red. "I better let you dress."

He sounded unsure.

"Just turn your back; I think we'll both survive my pulling on my shorts while you're still in the room."

Nick snorted, but swivelled around.

Monroe dressed quickly and then they were down his stairs and in the kitchen. Even here they offered and received reassurance - a press of their bodies as they cooked something simple to eat. Monroe especially was subtly trying to yell he was alright.

Gradually, over dinner Monroe had the satisfaction of watching Nick unwind, the laughter growing in his grey eyes, no longer so dull, pale face losing the whiteness, a pink healthy flush staining his cheeks.

And now they were on his couch, drinking tea: Monroe hadn't wanted beer on top of their recent escapade. He had just calmed his Grimm down a bit, no need to give him an idea to reap some vengeance, fuelled by alcohol cum exhaustion.

"So, tell me how you did it. How did you hold a bunch of elves to ransom? Did you 'Grimm' it?"

Nick rolled his eyes. "Yeah, Monroe I 'grimmed' it." He bumped their shoulders.

Nick drank a sip of tea. "Though actually you're not far off."

"From the beginning man."

"Sure." Monroe settled down and listened in amazement to Nick's story. He interrupted only twice.

"Whoa, you went missing in work? Does your captain know about now?"

"No, best leave that to morning."

Monroe shook his head. "Dude, you live dangerously. But thanks."

Nick grinned. "You're welcome. Don't go missing again."

"I'll try."

"Huh huh."

The next interruption was when Nick mentioned threatening Faxon with his sword. "Whoa, what caused the elves to be so frightened? I mean, I can see that the metal shines strangely but…"

Nick handed him the sword in question. "It was my aunt's. She was given it by a half-elf."

Monroe snapped his head up. "Seriously? That's freaking rare!"

"Yeah…she didn't know he was a half-elf first. Helped him without realising it. Three days later she receives a knock on her trailer door and when she answers fully prepared to attack, there he is: the man she saved.

"She writes that it was only then she saw a flash of his morphed face. Before she could do anything though, he shoves into her hands a leather scabbard. All he said was: I forged this for you, with all the skills and materials taught to me by the elves. Guard it well, for this weapon will save you when trapped. It will also protect you from my elfish kin. Then he was gone."

"Your aunt was one scary and lucky lady."

"Yup. Not as lucky as me though."

Monroe smirked. "Right, not many Grimms can say they have a Blutbad as a partner."

"Or a Blutbad declaring he has a Grimm as a friend."

"Looks like we better stick together then. Friends who are composed of a Grimm and Blutbad can be pretty dangerous."

Nick laughed. "Friends?"

"You have a problem with me saying it?" Monroe nudged Nick playfully.

"Nope, not at all."

They both laughed and drank their tea, Nick finishing his story and waiting for Monroe's turn to share his night adventure.

It was two o'clock by the time they tailed off, blinking away sleep.

"Come on," Monroe smacked Nick's thigh. "There is no way I'm sleeping on my couch. Get your ass upstairs."

"Huh? You don't want me to crash on the couch."

"Right, so you'll just let me wander upstairs alone?"

Nick was sheepish. "Er…no."

"Well done, get moving and we'll clear this mess in the morning. Mind sharing?"

Nick snorted. "I took on elves for you and you're asking if I care sharing? Maybe you did hit your head."

"Hilarious. Okay, up we go. My shirts are so not going to fit."

Nick stifled a yawn. "I can sleep in my shirt and boxers."

"Um, no. Sensitive nose."

"Meh," was Nick's response.

They wearily climbed the stairs, leaving the issue of Nick calling his boss to the dawn.

Now, they simply dressed for bed and slipped under the covers revealing in their friendship and the fact they were both well and alive.

Monroe heard Nick whispering as he drifted to sleep, and answered with his own:

"Nine hundred and ninety-nine of 'em call

For silver and gold in their dealings;" Nick curled in sleep.

"But the Thousandth Man h's worth 'em all,

Because you can show him your feelings." Monroe finished.

A/N:

1.) For the mythology part of this fic I have mixed a few different 'facts' together for my own take on elves. I apologise if this offends anyone – it just suited the story so I took a few creative liberties.

2.) The belt idea was inspired by the tales in folklore of people using belts to transform into werewolves by either putting on or removing a belt.

3.) I am not an expert on wilderness survival, I have therefore based my research on what I know from survival shows, but it shouldn't be used as truth! So everything portrayed here (re: wilderness survival) needs to be taken with a pinch of salt.

4.) The Thousandth Man is a poem by Rudyard Kipling.

Thank you for everyone who has reviewed and/or put my story on alert! It really makes my day. :)