Nick's Stuck in a Well 2
Summary: Prompt Fill for Anon on Grimm Kink. "What if Nick had this aggravating habit of getting himself stuck in strange places? Monroe's always getting the phone call begging for help out of tiny cracks in between buildings, up in trees, under the kitchen sink, sometimes in the doggy door..."
Pairings: Monroe x Nick
Disclaimer: I do not own any Grimm. This is a piece of pure fiction and the author is making no money off its making.
...5 more Nick's Stuck with a little more emphasis on the MonroexNick
On his way back to his work desk with a steaming cup of coffee, Monroe's phone rang. He'd accepted the call against his ear when Nick's voice came clearly over the speaker, with a minor echo behind him.
"Let's just skip the middle man. Hah, ha, ha, you're a fucking baby Grimm. How would you be alive without me, Monroe the Great there to break you out of tight spots? Oh, I have a new tofu recipe that you're going to eat tonight for wasting my time. It's not a reward, its punishment, trust me. It's from the weird guy with the dreads who says 'man' three million times in one sentence, it sounded interesting but my bodies a temple and..."
Smirking into his end of the phone, Monroe settled into his chair. "All right, we'll skip the rant this one time. Where are you stuck this time, Nick."
"...So you're right, stalking people is a bad idea."
"I said following at close proximity is a bad idea. You tend to reek of Grimm wherever you go."
"Well youdidn't smell me or I wouldn't be stuck."
Hairs on the back of his neck standing up, Monroe glanced up at his ceiling, expecting to see Nick's eyes staring down at him. These days he was never sure where he'd find the man. "Please tell me this isn't some sick game of hide and seek because I don't mention it often but I'm not exactly young. Think of my heart before you commit manslaughter."
"Please," Nick stretched the word, "If I was in the house, I wouldn't have called you over the phone. My birthday's coming up and ... I wanted to see if you'd remembered."
He hadn't but he wasn't going to mention that over the phone. Nick had gone out of his way to remember Monroe's, especially since the gift (two lovely tickets to the theatre, where Nick promised to keep quiet and awake) came with the stipulation that Nick no longer owed Monroe for all the help given. "So you were following me around today. Wolfsbane?"
"Bathed in the stuff."
"Good, you're finally learning."
"Bad because I'm stuck."
Monroe smirked. "All right, I'll help this one time. Where are you at?"
Nick was quiet for a good long while and Monroe had to check to make sure they were still connected. They were because he finally heard a scratching and Nick's breathless whine of "Check out your work window."
And he did, just in time to see his beautiful car bounce from weight in the trunk. "You're," Monroe swallowed, "I went shopping seven hours ago!"
"There's supposed to be a latch to pop the trunk from the inside but I can't find it and - Monroe, I think I'm starting to get claustrophobic." Nick's breathing was beginning to increase as was the bouncing of the back of his car. "P, please, get me out... I'll never follow you again..."
Monroe didn't have the heart to tell Nick that at the moment, he had no memory of where he put his car key.
"I thought I was clear, you were free to stick your 'Grimm-y' little hands anywhere in my house but my work desk was off limits." Monroe's voice was calm but laced with more than just annoyance, anger. That was the one thing he wanted Nick to promise him about. There were too many tools in that area that could break easily or parts would go missing in the floor for years and he couldn't afford to continuously replace his work because Nick was a little overly curious.
Leaning against his desk, Nick smiled sheepishly, never removing his hand from the wood work. "Monroe, you're back...early."
"Damn good thing to. Get away from my desk!" He stomped across the room, not even bothering to put his umbrella away. "I made you a freaking office in my guest room why are you touching my work! I don't go digging through your things."
"Actually," Nick raised his hand not currently on the desk, "The minute I started emptying some of the things from the trailer into your house you've been touching a lot of my things. Don't think I didn't notice that club that is stowed away in your Christmas box in the attic."
Face red now with embarrassment, Monroe turned away. "T, that's different. According to your aunt's book, that was the weapon that killed my great, great uncle. It deserves to be hid for my own protection."
"Believe me I wasn't going to use that to kill you." Nick smiled sweetly. "Hey Monroe, I'm hungry for some ice cream."
"Then go get some."
"I'm scooping your neighbors." Nick leaned his weight on the desk, staring hard out the window towards the little house next door. Monroe snorted.
"That's Joyce Reynolds. She's ninety years old. I don't think she's out to get anyone any day soon." Monroe crossed his arms. "And if you want ice cream you can get away from my desk and buy your own."
Nick groaned. "Fine! You win!" He tugged on his right hand that didn't budge. "I'm stuckto your damn desk! There, you happy?" He panted leaning his weight on his right arm.
"How the hell?"
"I needed some super glue to repair the top part of a beaker my aunt left me and I remembered you had some in your drawer. I might have gotten some glue on my hands and now..." he tugged on his hand. "Juliette's coming down to help me."
"You could have asked me." Monroe turned away from his desk, going into his downstairs half-bath to grab a bottle of nail polisher remover he always kept on hand when working with super glue. "Better start telling me about your day, we're going to be here for a bit getting you unstuck."
Turning his gaze away, Nick's voice broke. "Y, you're the best."
"I wouldn't be saying that just yet. I'm still pissed that you were playing around my desk."
The flirtatious look sent his way made Monroe look down. "I suppose I should be taken over your knee..."
Pink, Monroe dabbed a cotton swab along Nick's hand. "S-stupid Grimm."
"Did you know your ears don't fold back?"
Monroe muted the television at his parent's house. His mom glanced up from her needle work, giving him a weak supportive smile while his dad grunted into his newspaper. It was the first time in forever that his parents had wanted to see their son, promising to work with his Wieder ways in support of grandmother's eight-ninth birthday. Just being invited back home had been enough for him to drop his work and buy plane tickets with the agreement to call Nick every day to make sure that being around pack didn't bring up old desires.
"I've heard that." He prepared himself. "How did you find this out?"
"Juliette needed the banisters of our old place repainted. She's thinking of selling the house since it's a little much for just her and from what I understand: I owe her a lot and am cheap labor. She made me dinner." The last words seemed almost pleased.
Monroe's sharp ears picked up the sound of a hand hitting the back of Nick's head and Juliette's voice echoing, "Maybe we should call 911."
"Nick...what have you done this time?" Monroe settled forward. His mother put her needle work down, as if preparing to watch her son walk out of the family house for the second time in ten years. "One week is all I asked. One Nick-is-not-stuck week. What did you do?" Although he had a general idea with the clues already given to him.
"Hank said that the banister had spacious bars, which was good because kids wouldn't get their heads stuck. I told him that you couldn't actually get your head stuck."
"And you decided to prove your point?"
Nick's smile was just beaming through the phone. "Well my head went through easily enough but my ears won't fold backward so the banister keeps getting stuck on them and- damn it, Hank! Stop calling me Dumbo!"
Monroe snickered. "Nick, put Juliette on the phone."
Uncertainty and suspicion laced Nick's, "why?"
"Just put her on."
There was a shuffle for the phone and Nick's grumble that if he could just turn his head a little to the right he might be able to slip out. "How's Montana, Monroe?"
Juliette giggled. "I think he would have been safer with you."
"How did you put up with him for so long?" Monroe fiddled with the remote.
"One day at a time. I find telling him 'no' like a child when he gets these ideas tends to help. Sometimes, however, I'm just not fast enough. Don't worry; we won't have to deflate his head to get it out. I am, however, going to charge him for a replacement banister when 911 ends up cutting my old one to bits to get him out."
The blutbad leaned his head back, staring at the popcorn ceilings of his childhood home. "Do me a favor before they get him out."
"I want pictures. If you can get him with his head covered in butter in an attempt to get out, I'll make you dinner."
Juliette's warm laughter filled the phone. "For you, anything. I'll take care of Nick, you enjoy your vacation."
"Thanks." Monroe hung up his phone, shaking his head. At his mother's questioning look, he shrugged his shoulders. "I fell in love with an idiot."
Starting her stitching again, his mother gave a toothy grin across the room. "I say the same thing about your father."
"Yea, but he doesn't get stuck in the stairs."
"No but your father tends to get his hand stuck in a lot of jars over the years."
Monroe looked out the window, making a mental note to get rid of any jars that Nick might be tempted to stick his hand in.
Nick had decided to come to his bi monthly Wieder meeting, as a supportive gesture. Monroe knew, deep down, that it was a bad idea but once the detective got an idea, it was hard to shake it out of him. So, out of social politeness, Monroe had called ahead to his support group, explained that he was bringing a friend (which was widely supported because Wieder's that had supportive friends was a good thing), oh and his friend was a Grimm (not so supported but accepted as long as he didn't bring any weapons with him). Nick agreed to the terms with a cheerful smile.
"Dude, why are we here so early?" Nick groaned in the hard seat in the tiny community college class room. Monroe had flipped on the lights on arrival, arranged the chairs, and settled near the window, the first to arrive. "Haven't you heard of being fashionably late?"
"I'm always here at this time. James - our main voice - usually comes in ten minutes after me. I figured he needs the time to get used to you before the others arrive. We take our cues from him and if he's nervous this room gets a nervous energy. No good." Monroe settled his hands on his khaki pants, looking at the dry erase board with a sense of being lost.
Exhaling, Nick pushed himself up. "While you wait then, I'm going to hit the vending machines. Want anything?"
Monroe licked his dry lips. "They sometimes have sun chips in there. If they have the zesty kind, could you grab me a bag?"
"Sure thing!" Nick glanced around the room before giving Monroe a friendly kiss on the head. Monroe returned the gesture with a faint smile.
Ten minutes later, James arrived looking as nervous as Monroe expected. "D, did you talk the Grimm out of coming?" He looked around.
"Naw, he's getting something to eat. Look, Nick's good. He's...keeping me on track." Monroe lowered his gaze.
"Has he?" James gave a deep, understanding look into Monroe's eyes, recalling the time that said individual had called in hysterics for falling off the wagon the day Hap died.
"I never want to see that disappointment in his eye again." Monroe shrugged his shoulder. "Just got to try harder, stick to the routine. Nick wants to see what we go through so he can better understand."
"Well...let's just wean our group into his appearance, then."
Monroe agreed and the two waited. Ten minutes turned into twenty and the chairs began to fill up with people. Monroe gave pleasantries back towards a few of his brother and sister Wieder but he couldn't stop looking at the door. Phone in hand, he sent out a quick text. "Hey, where you at?"
His jacket pocket buzzed a second later, making Monroe groan. Of course Nick and given him both phones when they left the house earlier, having decided to wear sweats without pockets to prove he wasn't carrying any weapons. "I'll be back, James." Monroe nodded towards their main voice as the meeting started up.
Vending machines were located on the east hall of the main wing, about a five minute walk from the class room. Monroe paused at the long, poorly lit corridor, seeing the figure of a person sitting in front of the machine in a very uncomfortable position. "One night, Nick." Monroe exhaled sharply.
"The machine tried to eat my money!" Nick growled from his spot on the floor with his arm wedged up the slot of the machine in an awkward position. "I knew you'd come looking for me after awhile."
"I was hoping it was something like a Wesen or work-related mishap that had kept you not because you're ... stuck. Seriously? Why didn't you try shaking the machine?"
"I tried!" Nick whined, leaning his weight on his hands. "I even tried feeding it another dollar to get my snack to come out but won't take my money anymore!" Nick kicked the machine. Nothing happened. "It gave me your snack..." He held up the bag of zesty sun chips, looking upset.
Monroe felt the annoyance disappear from him as he approached Nick, placing his body on both sides of the cop. "I'm going to pull your arm on the count of three. One...two...three!" He put his weight towards the ground, pulling Nick's elbow down, then the rest of the arm out. Nick fell back, on top of him, and the two blinked at the ceiling.
"I think," Monroe smirked, wrapping his arms around Nick's middle, "God is telling you to go on a diet."
"I hope you choke on your damn chips!"
"I know the stairs are healthier but I'm taking the elevator."
Monroe shook his head, a grin stretched across his face as Nick tried walking as normally as possible towards the elevator. "It looks like you had a good time last night." He texted swiftly. Nick glanced up from his phone and glared. His face said everything - if there weren't children present he'd have a few gestures for the Blutbad.
Monroe took the stairs at a steady pace, giving polite pleasantries to a few people who were also taking the steps instead of the convenient elevator. The fourth floor came all too quickly and Monroe opened the side door to step out on the fourth floor, taking in the busy atmosphere of the law office that a mutual Wesen friend worked with, who had interesting details about a human body parts smuggling operation that was taking place in Portland.
There was a group of people standing at the elevator, staring up at the lit floor listing with annoyance. One man glanced at his watch, tapping his foot. The lit elevator light was claiming that the lift was on current floor but the doors remained tightly shut.
Monroe's phone rang and a feeling of dread went through his spine. He didn't even have to answer for someone to shouting when they checked their phone, "Martha says they're stuck! Someone call maintenance!"
"Maintenance is off today, some union strike. Get Keggler on the line, he'll contact the company who put this blasted contraption in the building.
His phone buzzed with a message alert. Monroe pulled his phone out just as it chimed for a second and third time.
The walls are caving in.
"Martha says someone just passed out in there!"
"Someone get 911!"
Monroe slammed his hand into his forehead.
Joseph Bueller, the man they came to see, stepped next to him, leaning forward. "The Grimm is stuck in the elevator?"
"I think he's cursed." Monroe admitted.
"I'll get the floor evacuated. You do what you need to do." The man disappeared.
A second later, the fire alarm went off throughout the building and people, with some reluctance, made their way to the emergency stairs. When the floor was clear, Monroe took the opportunity the woge out. He only hoped he could explain the ripping of the elevator doors to the people inside the elevator.