If you're still taking drabble prompts: Grimm; Monroe reflecting on his relationship with Nick thus far.
Monroe savored his increasingly infrequent quiet evening with a vionyl recording of a '93 Philharmonic Symphony show and a pot of Chamomile tea, but he found himself cocking an ear toward the street, intent to catch the approaching sound of Nick's car.
There was a slight drag in the hum of the engine, and Monroe was no mechanic but he imagined the muffler was about to go out. He kept meaning to tell Nick, but then there was usually some Very Important Grimm Business going on to distract him.
OK, maybe he was holding out and vindictively hoping it went out. There were only so many times a guy could interrupt Pilates before the gloves came off.
I'm not listening for him. I mean, I'm done. The music, Monroe, the music...
...shit. "What is wrong with me?" Monroe wondered aloud, dragging a hand through his hair and sighing down at his cup of tea. "You're so much more trouble than you're worth, Grimm."
So don't let him in next time, logic said. He'll get the message if you enforce it. He's not actually a dick.
Monroe leaned forward, propping his arms up on his knees and rubbing his face. "Oh, that's not going to happen. Damn it!"
Why'd he have to be so...nice? Grimms weren't supposed to be nice! They were bloody warriors of harsh vengeance! Not woebegone detectives with dumb haircuts and...and eyes! They shouldn't have those eyes.
Monroe stood abruptly, needing to move. He cast around the room for something to do and scooped up the tea service he'd set out earlier. He was elbow-deep in soapy water, almost at peace with his inexplicable attachment to a Grimm, of all people, when his ears pricked.
He looked up, not believe it for a second because of all the times --
"Monroe! It's me!"
Unbelievable... Monroe pulled both his hands and the pot he was scrubbing from the water. The cups could rest in there a while, but the patter on the pot could start to fade if he left it.
"Monroe!"
"Impatient much?" Monroe muttered, snagging a dish towel and wiping off the sudsy water so he could open the door. Nick, looking as determined as ever, and thankfully without new bruises or the scent of old blood. Before he could open his mouth and demand Monroe's help for what would surely turn out to be a very good reason, Monroe held up a finger. "You are definitely more trouble than you're worth."
