Hello lovelies! I've been playing around with this idea for a couple weeks now and just now got around to writing it! This came from a very lovely prompt from phreakycat because she basically owns my ass when it comes to prompts and I can't deny her anything lol. It's going to start off pretty dark and heavy but it will have a happy ending, I promise! Hope you all like it!

Disclaimer: I own nothing =/

He gets the call early Tuesday morning and almost immediately he senses something is wrong. It's his mother…his mother never calls him. Instantly he thinks of his father, his older brother and his sister-in-law, and his mind is racing through all the possible reasons for the call. His mother assures him that his family is fine but there's something in her voice, some lingering hesitation that sets him on edge like nails dragging across a chalkboard. He wants to ask, he needs to know, but he's afraid to. Something is very, very wrong and his mother is speaking softly in that quiet, gentle voice she used to use when she was trying to comfort him when he was a child. His grip on the phone is tight enough to make the plastic creak beneath his fingers but he hardly notices it. Then she says it, three simple words that hit him like a sledgehammer in the gut: Angelina is dead.

The kitchen suddenly seems huge, a vast, yawning chasm of linoleum and disinfected countertops. Some kind of disbelieving noise escapes from his throat and he swallows convulsively. He tries to form words but he's suddenly forgotten how to speak and all that comes out is a shuddering breath instead. His mother is trying to comfort him, empty consolation that's coming from thousands of miles away over a series of telephone wires. Angelina is dead…Angelina is dead…Angelina is dead…He feels his knees buckle beneath him and he's sitting in a kitchen chair now, suddenly bone tired and more weary than he's ever felt in his entire life. It feels like the entire house has fallen down on top of him and he doesn't even have the energy to brush the dust away.

He hears himself mumble "when?" but the word comes out more like a croak than a question. Frankly, he's amazed it came out at all; his throat feels like it's coated in hot tar and sandpaper. His mother tells him it happened yesterday, possibly last night, and that she had gotten the call from Angelina's uncle earlier that morning. He remembers him vaguely, a huge man with hands like catcher's mitts and an easy-going grin always plastered on his face. He'd helped raise Angelina and her brothers when they were younger, he'd been there for his college graduation. Of course he had called his mother; he and Angelina had dated pretty seriously for a while and there had been very light talk of marriage a couple of times. His family was practically part of her family and it only seemed natural they should be informed of her death.

His mother is still speaking but her words are little more than noise in his ears. She's telling him where the funeral is going to be held and what day, she's asking him if he plans to be there. He's catching bits and pieces of her conversation, random words and phrases, but they're swirling and twisting around in his head like tumbleweeds caught in the middle of a hurricane and he barely hears anything. Angelina is dead…Angelina is dead…Angelina is dead…

He doesn't want to know, really he doesn't, but a form of morbid curiosity forces the question out of his mouth before he can stop himself. "How?"

His mother hesitates, the pause heavy and weighted like a living thing, and he can practically hear her trying to come up with some way to avoid the question. He asks again, a little more insistent this time because now that it's out there in the open, he has to know. He needs to know.

There's another brief pause but she relents and tells him that Angelina had been shot. She hadn't just been killed, she'd been murdered. That realization is bad enough but there's something his mother isn't saying, something she's leaving out of the conversation. He coaxes her on and her voice is fluttery and nervous like a bird trying to escape when she finally does answer. She tells him Angelina's uncle said something about her being killed by a Grimm and suddenly the conversation takes on an entirely different tone. Angelina was killed by a Grimm…shot by a Grimm…he only knows one Grimm but that's impossible…he would never-

His mother is talking again, her words just barely filtering past his raging thoughts. She's telling him to be careful, to watch out for himself, because the Grimm supposedly lived close to where he was and that Angelina was killed right outside of Portland. It's suddenly all too much because that one sentence confirms his worst fear. Nick had killed Angelina. Nick had murdered her. Angelina was dead because of Nick.

He can't hear his mother anymore, he can't hear anything over the rush of blood through his veins. Angelina was dead…gone…murdered…and it was all because of Nick… He feels physically sick and it's everything he can do not to gag as a strangled gasp escapes his throat. This can't be happening…there has to be a mistake…it can't be real…He can feel his claws digging tiny puncture wounds into the palms of his hands and the pain is enough to convince him that this isn't a dream that he can wake up from. Nick murdered Angelina…

He hears himself ramble some excuse to his mother in order to get off the phone because he feels if he has to hear anything else about Angelina's death…about how a Grimm killed her…about how Nick killed her… He ends the call and his mother is still mid-sentence; he'll call her back later and apologize but he can't right now…he can't do anything right now. All he knows is that Angelina is dead and it's hard to breathe.

The phone drops with a loud, clanking thud onto the wooden tabletop and it seems to echo in the silence of the house. The kitchen is looming over him like an unexplored cavern and he's staring at the window near the sink like he's never seen it before. The sun is just barely beginning to rise over the edge of the horizon and it will shape up to be a beautiful day. Monroe takes a shuddering breath and drops his head into his hands, grinding the heels of his hands into his eyes in an effort to stop the stinging flow of tears. Angelina is dead…Angelina is dead…Angelina is dead…and Nick killed her…


Nick shows up on his front porch around 10:30 and he can smell him before he ever gets out of the car. He can smell dried blood, Angelina's blood, and it's hanging on his skin like macabre cologne. Any doubts he might have had about Nick being responsible for her death are shattered and he can hear the deep, permeating growl that rumbles in the back of his throat when Nick knocks on his door. "Monroe? Monroe, open up, I need to talk to you."

He actually gnashes his teeth at the sound of the younger man's voice, his vision blurring red around the edges. Nick has never been one to back down from a challenge but he's got some kind of gall coming here now. He has nothing to say to him, he doesn't want to hear Nick's excuses and the reasons behind his actions, he-

He's in his house. There's a brief jiggle of the doorknob and before he can turn around to lock the deadbolt, Nick is standing in the doorway, grey eyes large and leveled on him. Damn…he forgot he'd given him a key a few weeks ago. Monroe actually snarls at him and any lesser man probably would have run for the hills but Nick stands his ground. "Monroe, please, I-"

"Out." He growls and there's more wolf than human in his voice right now. His vision is sharp and enhanced but everything has a crimson tint to it. He sees the rumpled appearance of Nick's clothes, his disheveled hair, the dusting of stubble along his jaw line, and he can sill smell the dried blood. It's everywhere. He doesn't see it on him but its there, wedged deep in the pores of his skin and permanently painting his hands red. Nick is a murderer…Nick killed Angelina… The pinprick wounds in his hands caused by his claws are re-opened as he clenches his fists at his sides. "Get. Out."

Nick does the complete opposite and takes a step inside the house, completely disregarding any sense of self-preservation he may possess. Monroe bares his teeth again, feels his faces shift forms, and the wolf inside is not content to be kept in the dark anymore. It takes every bit of self control he has not to lunge across the room and tear Nick to shreds. He doesn't though…he won't sink to his level. Nick is the murderer here, not him.

"Monroe, you have to listen to me-" Nick tries again and Monroe turns and walks into the kitchen because it's getting harder and harder to keep the wolf from going straight for the jugular. Nick follows him, ever the dutiful cop, still trying to talk to him. "Monroe, I'm sorry…I didn't want to do it but-"

"But what?" He growls, turning on the younger man so fast it nearly makes Nick run into him. "But what, Nick? You didn't want to do it but you had to? You didn't have any other choice? You were just doing your job?" He bares down on him, challenging him in the openness of the kitchen. It seems ironic now that they'd had so many pleasant conversations in this very kitchen, so many times Nick had come to him for advice, for information. He'd shared his home with a Grimm…he should have known better…

Nick doesn't yield and instead takes another step forward. "Monroe, I had to…she was going to kill the entire family! I didn't have a choice!"

"You did have a choice!" Monroe roars and before he can stop himself he has Nick by the shoulders and has him pinned up against the wall. "You had the choice not to shoot and you chose to kill her! You killed her, Nick! You shot her and left her to die like a dog in the street! You killed her!"

Absolute guilt and remorse flashes through Nick's eyes and he opens his mouth to say something else but Monroe cuts him off. "Did you even try to save her? Did you give her any warning at all or did you just open fire?"

"Monroe, I tried…I tried to help her after it happened but I-"

"But you didn't!" He snarls, releasing Nick with a violent shove that's hard enough to knock him off his feet and send him sprawling onto the floor. Nick hit the edge of the refrigerator with enough force to make it wobble violently but it somehow manages to stay upright. "It doesn't matter what you tried to do! She's dead and its your fault!"

"I know…" Nick shakes his head and looks down, not attempting to get up off the floor. "I know and I'm sorry…I'm so sorry-"

"You're sorry?" He can't help the harsh bark of laughter that cuts from his mouth. It sounds like lightning hitting a metal rod. "You say you're sorry and you think that just makes everything better? Sorry doesn't change anything, Nick! Sorry doesn't bring her back!"

Nick stands then, slightly shaky and unsure. "What do you want me to say then? That I should have just stepped aside and let her murder an entire family? That her slaughter would have been justified and I should have just let it happen? She was going to kill all of them Monroe! There were kids in that house and she was going to kill them! I told her to stand down, I gave her fair warning! Maybe you just haven't seen the side of your girlfriend that I have!"

"Don't you dare turn this on me!" Monroe growls and he's up in front of Nick again, inches from the younger man's face. "Don't you dare try to make this out to be a necessary kill!"

"It was necessary! You're just too blind to see it!"

Monroe grabs him again, his hands moving before his mind has a chance to catch up to what he's doing. He grips the front of Nick's shirt and lifts him bodily, throwing him across the kitchen table with enough force to send a long, splintering fissure down the center of the table. Nick hits the ground hard and Monroe is right back on top of him, slamming him into the wall again and causing a shower of plaster to rain down from the ceiling. One hand grips Nick's throat tightly and the younger man's eyes widen for a second. He wraps both hands around Monroe's wrist and tries to shake him off but it useless. Monroe is holding him up with one hand, there's no way he's going to break the grip unless he damn well pleases. Nick's eyes begin to flutter and he's just about to lose consciousness when Monroe drops him into an undignified heap on the ground, glaring down at him in disgust.

"Get out." He snarls murderously, his eyes a gleaming, piercing crimson. Nick is coughing and gasping and it has absolutely no effect of him, it only disgusts him more. "Get out and don't ever come back. If I ever see you again I will kill you." There's no trace of humor in his voice and his expression is that of an Alpha wolf looking down at a threat.

Nick coughs again and looks back up at him. "Monroe-"

Monroe ignores him and grabs a fistful of his shirt, jerking him to his feet and hauling him to the door like a rag doll. He literally throws Nick outside, watching as the younger man tumbles off the porch and lands in an awkward pile on the driveway. There's blood blossoming on his hands and forearms from the impact with the concrete but Monroe doesn't care. Nick is trying to pick himself up and all Monroe can do is glare at him. "You know, I thought you were different…I told everyone you weren't like the other Grimms…I told them you were good." He shakes his head in revulsion as if looking at Nick is making him physically sick. "But you're not…you're just like the rest of them."

Nick looks up, his eyes wide and glassy with a mixture of unreadable emotions. He looks like a scolded puppy, a chastised child, and the shame on his face is almost palpable.

"I'm not the monster in this situation, Nick. You are. You're just as bad as the creatures you hunt." He can almost see Nick's body deflating at those words but it doesn't stop him. "I was wrong about you, Nick. We're not friends and I was an idiot to think so…Get out of here and don't ever come back." Monroe growls one last time, taking one last look at the heartbroken look on Nick's face before he slams the door and locks it.

Wow, Monroe was kind of a jerk, huh? It'll get better though I promise!