Wall of disclaimer: No, I do not own Grimm, but I'm assuming you know that, seeing as this is a fanfiction site. If you don't, now you do. If I did own Grimm... well that would be just plain awesome!

He glanced at the raven-haired girl he managed to get to sit calmly on his couch. Not without difficulty. She seemed to think she could rule the world if she wanted. With that tone, anyone would listen to her... He ran through the last three hours.

He had been working on a clock, like normal, when Nick called him, like normal. Asking about some kind of wessen with powers to drown people without water. Told him he might want to look up strangle. He didn't laugh. Dark humor does that. After a long half hour talk with Nick, he went out for a walk at 6:30, as it was routine. Monroe relished his routines. He always, always followed them. They're what kept him... well, human. Ish. Anyway, he was running through the woods, taking his usual path, when he heard a howl and was knocked off his feet. Literally. In a flash, he was back on his feet. He went into auto-attake and once he blinked the red haze from his eyes, he found himself kneeling on a dark haired, snarling hundjager. Hundjager... baaaaad. He gave her a warning growl, before slowly getting off her. He extended his hand, which she stared at for a moment before excepting.

He pulled her off the ground and ventured to ask her "So, uh... what are you doing in Portland, Hound?" She smirked. "You mean who am I hunting." Well, she got to the point. "Pretty much." He admitted. She brushed the dirt off her hands as she answered coolly, "A grimm, hear of one?" Inwardly, he groaned. She meant Nick. "Why'd you attack me?" He tried to change the subject. "Did you hear of him?" She pressed. "No." He lied. She chuckled darkly. "Liar." His eyes widened. No way! She couldn't sense if someone lied, dogs can't do that... right? "I'm not a mind reader, you just smell of him." She laughed. "Oh." He could hear his relief and blushed. How did she know he thought she was physicic anyway? "I attacked you because you smelled like a grimm, that dude could use some wolfsbayne." She commented, bending to retrieve her black rucksack. "Why are you hunting him?" Monroe was worried if she was going to try to kill him... "Hmm... torn between thanking him for getting rid of my stepdad and gutting him for it." She headed deeper into the woods. He found himself following.

After an hour of amiable conversation consisting of whither or not a mauhertze would be able to physically strangle a lauschlange, results being yes, but not with his bare hands, Monroe invited her back to his house. (He was already an hour late for dinner, and it broke the schedule he had made for himself). She considered for a moment before saying "Plenty of deer, believe me, I know how to hunt." He grimaced at that. "A blutbad who shrinks from the thought of hunting? This is a surprise." She raised her eyebrows. "I try not to hunt... weider." "Hmm... that explains it. Don't worry, I won't go after any little children. Or any humans, at all, really. I'm not weider, but I don't eat people... anymore." She assured him. He could hardly hear the 'anymore' even with his super human, (very awesome) blutbaden hearing.

"Where are you from?" Monroe asked after a minute. She grinned, shifting her bag to the other shoulder (he had already offered to carry it for her to which she replied she had walked through three different states with it over her shoulder, couldn't be that heavy) "Origianally? Germany. But I've been in L.A a lot recently. Gotta question for you." He turned to her as she paused dramatically. "Does it get really cold at night?" He laughed. "'Bout... 58 degrees?" She cursed. "You sure?" "Positive." "Guess I can come over for dinner then." She muttered begrudgingly. By now it was about 8:30. That late? Monroe led the way.

"Wow, this is good, I didn't expect vegan to be tasty." Myrah complimented. Monroe blushed. He hardly ever had anyone daring enough to actually taste his eggplant Parmesan noodles to see if they were good. He hardly ever had anyone daring enough to actually taste his eggplant Parmesan noodles at all, regardless of figuring out they're taste. The two chatted idly about weather, who the hottest Bond babe was (shocker, girls talked about that?) and football. Before he knew it it was around midnight. He suggested she stay the night. She checked her watch and shrugged. He reminded her of the snow pretty much piling outside and she finally agreed. He sighed in relief, he really didn't want her freezing. Then she would never come over, and they would never talk and... she would freeze. Nobody was happy.

He did learn one new thing about her that night, she slept with a knife. A really wicked looking one with a razor sharp edge.

"You're going to cut off your face. And it's going to hurt."

"I've handled enough knives in my sleep to be confidant I won't hurt myself." She curtly replied, her eyes darkening a bit at the thought of sleeping without a knife.

"I still think it would be a lot safer if you slept without it."

"The whole point of the knife is safety!"

"Why don't you put it on the stand by the couch? That way you can have it within reach without the dangers of permanent face maiming."

"No, I can hold a knife, Monroe."

"In your sleep?''

"In my sleep."

"This is ridiculous, do you realize how idiotic this is? It's going to be really painful!"

"Nothing's going to be really painful, because I know how to handle a knife!"

"You are not going to change you're mind, are you?"


"Fine... but now I'm not going to be able to sleep because I'm afraid I'l wake up to you're scream, because you're knife slipped in you're sleep."

"You know weither you slept or not really wouldn't change the apparently inevitable outcome of my hand slipping?"

"I still won't."

"Now who's being unreasonable?"

"Get some sleep."

"G'night, Monroe."

"Night, Myrah."

He smiled to himself as he sat in bed, and refused to admit, this was the first night this year he hadn't fallen asleep feeling miserably lonely.

Myrah sleepily grinned. If blutbaden were normally this nice, she'd ram them more often. Then winced at the flirtiness that sounded like. She blamed it on sleep deprivation, and closed her eyes, knife clenched in her fist. But hard as she tried, she couldn't keep it clenched, because for some reason, she felt safe... weird. She never felt safe. She sighed and set the knife on the table by the couch. She reminded herself to pick it up before Monroe woke up or else be subject to triumphant and sarcastic remarks. Which she really wouldn't mind... she should really get to bed. She snuggled closer to her pillow.

Pleeease comment, I'd love to hear what you think of it, even if it's to say you hate it, 'cause I wanna know!