Work Text:
Washed Away:
The bullpen is unusually empty for this time of the day. Contrary to popular belief, though, cops haven’t become a lazy bunch but rather Portland's latest bout of bad weather is taking its toll.
Nick - as of yet unaffected by 'the sniffles' as Wu has aptly named it - is typing up their final report while Hank is assembling evidence.
‘The body of Miss Cynthia Rivaro was found at her workplace at 4am in the….’
Tap, tap, tap.
Nick frowns down on his fingers, momentarily distracted by the sound of typing. It seems weirdly loud to his own ears. With a shrug he continues, taking care to hit the keys with less force.
‘...morning by the night guard on duty, Mr. Samuel Webster. According….’
Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap….
It’s not his own typing disturbing him this time but droplets of rain hitting the windows. It’s been pouring like this for three days now and, frankly, it’s starting to get on the Grimm’s nerves.
>>>
Rain pelting against the windows.
The beep-beep-beep of printers, computers and answering machines.
People talking.
People on the phone.
The noise level swelling to something ugly….
With a quiet groan Nick pauses in what he's doing for the umpteemth time that day.
What the hell is wrong with me?
He throws his partner a sideways glance. Hank is still cataloguing evidence and doesn’t seem perturbed by the level of noise at all.
Must either be me going stir crazy or Hank having the patience of a Saint.
Intent to distract himself from what is fast becoming the bane of his existence… (Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap…. Stop!) he nudges the Senior Detective.
“Hank, why is the bloody rain out to drive me crazy?”
He's painfully aware that he's sounding like a petulant 6 year old. His question is greeted by a funny look and lopsided grin.
“Don’t know, buddy. Maybe it’s your inner you-know-what aiming to give itself a cliche image of brooding. To add to the picture of not so tall, dark and mysterious .”
Nick rolls his eyes. He isn’t small, it’s just that nobody can come out on top (no pun intended) in comparison to giants like Hank and Renard…. And Monroe, maybe. Not that he’ll ever tell the blutbad that he so much as thought that. Despite Hank's unholy glee Nick refrains from snarking back, preferring to glare in silence. That's got to be a first, he thinks, that his desire for quiet weighs out the urge to make a smartass comment.
"See? That's Mister Broody-moody. Sure that you aren't trying to compensate for something?"
Jep, way too much glee. You wanna see me brooding? Well here’s brooding for you.
With some satisfaction Nick notes that when he shoots him a truly black stare, his partner does look a mite bit uneasy. That doesn’t mean, of course, that he isn’t still smirking. He’s just gone a little paler while doing so.
“Careful, Mr. Moody. Consider the added workload before you try killing me with a death stare.”
Grumbling and leaving Hank to snicker into his unsorted evidence the Grimm returns to work, doing his best to keep glaring only to find himself grinning entirely against his will.
It's useless, staying angry at Hank is not going to happen. If only ignoring ‘rain storms out to get you’ were as easy as letting Hank's teasing slide….
After their little exchange Nick forces himself to focus once more, only that this weird assault on his hearing sense seems to have a longer breath than his ability to concentrate on work.
Clack. Clack. Clack. Never stopping.
Beep. Beep. Beep. High pitched and hurting his ears.
Tap, tap, clack, clack….
Arrgh, one more time and I’m going to….
With a weary groan he puts his head down on his crossed arms, asking from within the folds of his hoodie sleeves:
“Hank, can’t you make it stop raining?”
The other man chuckles, which sounds weirdly loud as well.
Honestly, it hasn’t been that funny a request.
“I wouldn’t be receiving such a measly cop’s salary, if I could make it stop raining.”
From the pause in his friend's words he knows he’s being watched closely, concern at his unusual behavior most likely battling with amusement.
“You alright there? I mean, yeah, walking around outside right now would be gross, but it basically is just a normal Portland pour.”
It's that note of worry finally winning out over teasing, which decides Nick to try and get a grip. He lifts his head enough to throw his partner a crooked grin.
“You sound like you’re talking about coffee instead of rain, you know? If you start lamenting about brewing times and roasting grades next, I’ll officially dub you a coffee addict.”
“We are cops, coffee addiction is practically in our job description”, Hank quips with a wink.
“Huh, yeah, I see what you mean. So how about we follow our job description and fetch some….” The younger Detective trails off, snickering now and surreptitiously pointing in direction of the entrance.
“Uuh, look over there. Seems like Wu has given the term ‘drowned cat’ a practical approach.”
And true to his words as their Asian friend trudges over to them he looks like he’s in dire need of a towel least he floods the entire bullpen with what excess water is dripping off him.
>>>
Another distraction arrives in the form of their Captain calling them in for a briefing:
Renard is sitting in his big office chair, regarding them calmly as he caps his fountain pen. At the loud click the action generates Nick wonders, if it's Renard compensating for something or if it really is him having a weird perception. Whatever the reason, the Grimm catches himself just in time to stop from openly wincing. That would have been a hard one to explain.
“You see, gentlemen, as Portland’s latest bad weather front has diminished our lines more efficiently than even a group of marauding criminals could ever dream to do, I am forced to redivide the share of cases onto those not already down with a cold or the flu.”
His open frown and once in a lifetime audible sigh makes it clear how much he hates doing so.
“So am I right to assume that you have closed your latest case?”
Even though that means their 48 hours off flying right out of the window, both nod dutifully and with their own - rather comical - sigh. Their colleagues would do exactly the same for them and given the perilous nature of Nick’s and now also Hank’s second job , their colleagues have helped out often enough in the past.
The half-zauberbiest acknowledges this with a small nod, a softening of his gaze and a quirk to his lips telling of an appreciation the aloof man would find difficult to put in words.
“Very well, then let me inform you of the basics and provide you with what Detectives Simmons and Vega have gathered so far. The victim was a….”
Rain on the windows. Loud. Incessant.
Beeping of machines. Out in the bullpen yet too loud to his ears.
A steady thrum like a hundred peoples' heartbeats. It’s driving him up the wall….
Arrgh, I cannot concentrate on what….
"Detective Burkhardt, care to enlighten us what your latest plans for world domination will entail? It must be that or something equally intriguing for I cannot imagine much else that could remove your attention so completely from what your Superior is telling you."
His Captain’s warning tone and flashing eyes make the Grimm blush fiercely but at least it also diverts his attention away from the steady stream of background noises.
"Err...."
He needs a long moment to catch himself, calming his thudding heart, which he has never noticed picking up its pace. Facing 6’4” of thoroughly unimpressed zauberbiest doesn’t help either, so he apologizes before he has even fully registered what the man has said:
"Sorry, Sir. I’ll pay more attention now."
For an inordinately long moment he’s held under his Captain’s reproving stare, then he’s let off the hook with a last warning twitch of the man’s brow. To say that he’s relieved would be a gross understatement but, of course, Nick wouldn’t be Nick, if he didn’t add something cheeky:
“But to answer your question, Sir: Actually I have no idea how to achieve world domination at present. I'm still learning from the pro but I’ll be sure to be more creative next time."
Like often these days there's a curious mix of mischief and challenge to be found in the Grimm’s demanor. There’s no anger or insolence, however. They might not be back to what their work relationship has been before Renard’s involvement with the Royals has been uncovered but at least they have firmly moved past the stage where Nick is suspicious about his every move and trying to cross him at every step.
A flash of amusement before all is hidden behind an inscrutable mask.
"See that you are, Detective."
The slow inclination of his head makes the powerful Prince look regal in a way that’s just unfair, because the man isn’t even trying and succeeding anyway. It also is acknowledging a lot more than just the content of his cheeky response. Crossing his arms over his chest Renard leans back in his chair, pinning both of them but especially Nick with a last level stare, before he all but purrs:
“And as entertaining as hearing your plans for world domination would surely prove, I strongly advise you to leave all that behind until after work. I hope I’ve made myself clear.”
The barely there smirk goes to great lengths to reassure Nick that their current work situation does grant them a bit of leeway. Still, better safe than sorry.
"Of course, Sir. I’ll be more alert now. And world domination is overrated, anyway, don’t you agree?”
This causes Hank to unsuccessfully stifle a snicker, Nick to elbow him none too surreptitiously and the Bastard Prince of Portland to pinch the bridge of his nose in a rare show of admitting defeat. This is going to be a long day.
>>>
At the start of this week Sean Renard has not thought he would be doing anything other than reading case reports and reviewing a long list of budget cuts that the Higher-ups have thought entirely justified. Then five of his subordinates have called in sick over the course of only two days and here he is, out investigating with Nick while Hank is helping Wu, who in turn has taken on responsibilities of three other Officers.
He cannot deny that this is intriguing him. For one he has liked working Homicide back before he's become Captain and for another it's always interesting to watch his Detective in the field.
Nick’s above average perceptiveness and good instincts are two of many reasons for that.
And the wild, powerful Grimm side…? Well, that's an entirely different story. At the mere thought a shiver of primal fear mixes with the thrill of watching the Grimm spread carnage. A force unleashed.
Today doesn’t differ much from what he has come to expect, only that there are curious behavioral ticks today, that Nick has never displayed before.
When one moment he will be completely focused, he will seem oddly distracted, yes, even overwhelmed by matters that even the observant Royal cannot identify.
Whatever the reason, evidence has been undeniably there. In the car for example.
While an ordinary bout of bad weather has slowly but surely turned into a storm Nick has been... tense for lack of a better word, his posture and general demeanor guarded. That has been at the beginning of their drive. At the end of it Nick had rubbed at his face and ears no less than four times and flinched at least twice.
Renard may not have said anything, hasn't even let on that he has noticed at all, but it still bothers him on some level. He knows that his Detective is under a lot of strain, especially since he has come into his powers and has gone toe to toe with Sean's royal family.
But displaying such twitchiness? That's simply not normal. There are lots of things he still doesn't know about Nick but he's fairly certain that he isn't afraid of thunderstorms. So what could it be…?
Up until now Nick has seemed to be coping well. On the contrary even, it has seemed like every confrontation has made him stronger.
He will keep an eye out, that much is for sure. If it is to prevent him from becoming a liability or out of concern, he cannot say. Or rather, he doesn't want to admit the truth to himself because that would mean acknowledging that he has a heart.
>>>
Despite not expecting to be out here with Renard instead of Hank, Nick cannot say that he is sorry to be. Sure, this way he has to be much more careful to hide his weird hearing problem - and the storm raging outside is doing nothing at all to make that easy - but apart from that it is a good opportunity to observe Renard as an investigator instead of the scheming Royal or shady half-zauberbiest.
Of course it would be easier to focus on Renard, if it weren't for his senses getting overwhelmed by sounds and noises all the time.
Rain pelting onto the ground outside, hitting the roof and windows of Renard's Tahoe. Hitting his inner ears by how loud and painful it all is!
He’s panting, trying to divert his attention and frighteningly powerless about doing so. Renard is taking a look at the upstairs rooms. A small mercy. He has seen too much, anyhow. In the car. Nick hasn't let on that he has noticed his Captain taking note and the man himself hasn't spoken up, but that doesn't mean he isn't drawing conclusions. He needs to hide better….
Rain, wind, distant rumble of thunder reverberating right through his chest, his very skull.
He needs to get home and hide where it is silent and calm. How he will make it there? No idea. What a disturbing thought.
Focus. You need to focus on the here and now!
Stuffing shaking hands into his pockets and swallowing against a wave of queasiness, he lets his gaze sweep over his surroundings. Their victim hasn’t been killed in its house, so the place isn’t infused with dark vibes of current death like an actual crime scene often is. Nick moves through the rooms slowly, trying to get a feeling for what a man Mr. Jagoda has been, what has made him tick and what his relations have been. The style of furniture isn’t flashy or unduly expensive. There’s a certain old flair to it, if anything….
Floorboards creaking under his steps.
A door opening and closing. Renard moving around upstairs, his heavier frame generating a different set of sounds on the floor than Nick’s.
Gusts of wind becoming heavier blows. The sound cutting into his eardrums, unnaturally loud….
Dizziness. He's reaching out to grab a chair for support. Whatever is messing with his hearing, it's starting to affect his sense of balance as well.
Hell, this needs to stop!
And just like that it does. His intake of breath is a shuddering one this time. It's really starting to get to him. His head is aching, he's feeling sick to the stomach and very much aware that one storey up there is one of the most perceptive persons he knows.
Pushing that thought away, he continues his tour through the rooms. There’s the usual spread of photos, knick knacks and the like. While not married or in any relationship that they know of, their victim obviously has had a functioning family life, at least if the photos of what would be siblings, nieces and nephews are any indication.
Rain on the windows. Individual drops like small stones, clack, clack, clack! A hard sound. Painful. Making him wince every time until his shoulders are a tight and knotted mess.
Wind howling, picking up, pushing even the sound of rain from his perception.
Rushing, ever rushing.
No! Look around. Distract yourself.
The victim….
Ardit Jagoda. 38. Living alone. Doing research for a private institution.
Nick gives a violent head shake, trying to ward off the cacophony of noises like one would a bothersome insect, when a prickly feeling warns him that he isn't alone in the room anymore.
He turns around to find Renard standing in the doorway - inwardly shocked that he hasn’t heard him move beside all else. The man is giving him an appraising and frankly unsettling look.
Damn it, seems that Renard has witnessed the last bit at the very least, if not more. Brilliant. Why not have your Superior watching while your senses go crazy on you? Does so much to lend you credibility.
It takes every ounce of self-control to show no further signs of distress or embarrassment. “Sir?”
Renard is frowning, moving into the room slowly.
"Is everything alright? You've seemed preoccupied?"
Nick ponders how much to reveal. He cannot deny that his problem is getting out of control. He even has a sneaking suspicion why his ears are suddenly hyperfunctioning and it's not a reassuring thought by far. It must be his Grimm powers developing, only that this time it isn't going smoothly like it has after he’s been blinded by the Jinnamaru Xunte. Monroe and Rosalee have hinted at this being possible to happen.
He really likes Monroe but sometimes he hates it when the man is right.
Under the guise of taking a closer look around, he stalls for time. Should he tell him or lie?
"I can help, Nick. I am not saying you have much reason to trust me at present but the offer stands regardless."
This is what Renard has said a few days after giving back the key. At that time Nick has scoffed and left the half-zauberbiest hanging, now he isn't so sure. He has gained enough distance to what has happened to recognize Renard's offer as genuine.
In the end he decides against divulging the truth, telling himself that it isn't that bad yet. That he isn't desperate enough to ask his Captain for help. In truth he cannot bear the thought that his newly found, surprisingly deep trust may be unfounded. That Renard may be abusing his trust like he has done in the past.
Yet how should he know of the man's genuity when not even the Bastard Prince himself can put into words why he is feeling the strong need to watch over his Detective.
"You mean preoccupied with anything other than unraveling our latest mystery, Sir?"
His lopsided grin is almost good enough to fool them both. Or would have been, if at that moment another episode hadn't hit his senses:
Droplets hitting glass. Bang, bang, bang! Like hammer on anvil.
Buzz of electricity swelling. Swelling ever more….
Get a grip, for fuck's sake!!
He’s about to make a violent, abortive gesture, catching the movement just in time. Showing no more than a twitch of his hand and still revealing too much. If it has happened, then Renard has sure as hell seen it.
To make matters worse, the sound of rain and wind is with him almost constantly now, making it difficult to concentrate and making his eardrums feel like they are painfully swollen. He has to fight hard - and keep the struggle hidden no less - to see and hear his boss instead of drowning in a cacophony of outside noises.
Renard's eyebrows twitch upward in silent inquiry, challenge and something akin to worry residing in his very much awake gaze.
"You tell me, Detective. Should I know about something?"
It would be easy to spill the beans now. To trust and ask for help. Renard even goes to lengths to seem approachable, his stance less imposing, less intent on projecting power and control.
He's this close to speaking up, when his senses turn on him once more. Closing his mouth with a snap he chickens out, too overwhelmed to take the fear of what his powerful Superior will think of him on top of all else.
"It's nothing, really. Just makes me twitchy not to know who our victim has last met before his death. I'll take a look around the study now, if that's okay with you, Sir."
He doesn't wait for an answer, isn’t aware of the silent sigh of frustration or feels the concerned gaze resting on his retreating back. He's too preoccupied, sounds veering in and out like someone up there is messing with the volume button.
>>>
If Renard had been an impulsive man, he would have rushed after the Grimm. He isn’t, though, and no matter how much he wishes for things to be different, he cannot shut up the cool tactician. So he remains where he is, frustrated and wondering what the hell is wrong with Nick?
Why is he twitchy like that? This isn’t like him at all! Nick may be energetic, impulsive or hot-headed on some days but he is never nervous like this.
He’s still contemplating what to do when a peculiar sound - almost too low to hear over the rush of the storm outside - makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He has a bad feeling about this. When nothing else follows, he decides to dismiss it as a figment of his imagination. Just then, however, another sound reaches his ears. Like murmured words? A call for help? A shiver runs down his spine.
Alright, what to do…?
“Make it stop!!”
The shout comes from somewhere within the house, Nick’s voice clear as day. It makes Renard forget all else. Damn the hardened Royal, the distanced act or keeping people at arm’s length, this is Nick and by the sound of it he is in real distress!
>>>
Nick is no longer master of his senses. He only makes it as far as to the large work desk in the study, before he has to grab its edge for support, grip white knuckled.
When a mighty clap of thunder echoes through the room, it feels like someone has slapped him on both ears at once! Agony spikes in his head at the sheer volume of it! He gasps in shock, doubling over, and is powerless to ignore what overwhelms his senses:
The rain, it isn’t just pelting against the windows anymore, it is sloshing around him and inside his very ears. The wind rushing outside, it’s lodged right inside his skull, tormenting him!
Like the storm itself, it’s all coming to a head now. Individual sounds are merging to a horrible, all encompassing stream of noises. It feels like his eardrums must be bleeding from the assault. It hurts! Hurts so damn much and frightens him even more!
He’s panting, makes a small sound in the back of his throat. It’s difficult to catch his breath. His heart is beating wildly and he’s hearing every single thrum as loud as if someone is playing the drums at full tilt right beside his ears. It’s too much!
“Too much! Stop!”
He claps his hands over his ears, squeezes his eyes shut in an attempt to block out the world. It’s not helping. Not at all. He’s growing desperate, growing panicky and dizzy.
“Make it stop!!”
Later he cannot tell whom that plea for help has gone to, he’s all but forgotten his Captain’s presence in the house, but he will find in the end that it might have reached the right person.
>>>
Renard moves from the open kitchen area into the living room, listening intently and drawing his gun on the way. A careful sweep of adjoining rooms reveals no attacker or other obvious problem, only the continued sound of Nick’s harsh breathing following him around like a ghost. He manages to quash down the nearly untamable desire of rushing wherever Nick is now, but it's a near thing. His heart is racing - must surely match Nick’s for how fast it's going.
Still, he won't risk running into someone's bullet just because he has dismissed the possibility of danger.
Not detecting anything, he can finally follow his urge, moving into the downstairs study only to stop dead in his tracks at what awaits him:
Nick is cowering in a corner of the room, hands pressed over his ears and still murmuring under his breath. It is a disturbing sight, the thought of PTSD coming to mind unbidden. Hell, he doesn't even know, if Nick is aware of talking to himself. Or of rocking back and forth for that matter. For one weird moment the seasoned Grimm does look like a child afraid of a storm.
But he isn't afraid, is he? , Sean amends once he registers the tormented quality of Nick's breathing as well as his ashen complexion. He's in pain or something close to that.
Another loud clap of thunder seems to herald the next broken howl, which propels him into action at last. Something is obviously wrong and he'll be damned if he doesn't get to the bottom of it.
He steps further into the room and after a moment's hesitation squats down in front of him. He figures getting on eye-level cannot hurt.
"Nick."
His Detective flinches back as if slapped, so violently in fact, that the back of his head connects painfully with the wall behind him.
"Nick, what is wrong?", he tries again, his voice lowered by instinct but no less urgent. The result is almost the same, somewhat muted but equally disturbing:
A low moan tumbles from almost bloodless lips and if possible he hunches in on himself even more.
What the hell is causing him such pain? I haven't even touched him, I've only spoken…. Oh.
Suddenly it all makes sense. The posture, his behavior, the flinching, even moaning at the slightest noise.
Heightened sensitivity to sounds, so it must be his ears or rather loud noises hurting him.
Something his Detective has said a few days earlier comes back to him now: 'I've heard him approach from half a mile away, that's why I was prepared when he attacked.'
At the time he has taken that to be a figure of speech but it seems he has meant it literally.
He already opens his mouth to speak once more but catches himself just in time. Doing that wouldn't be the smartest action, now would it? With nothing else to do, he taps Nick's shoulder sharply but other than a surprised flinch it yields no response at all. On the contrary, it seems that his breaths are coming in even harsher bursts now.
Damn it, the way he's going he'll pass out hyperventilating before long.
Renard takes a moment to consider his next steps. A moment, really, to get over himself.
This isn't how you usually do things, Sean. Oh, to hell with it. Just get over yourself.
Taking his Detective's head in his hands - his own larger ones covering Nick’s which are still pressed to his ears - he tilts it up to face him. Eyes snapping open he is stared at, shocked by what desperation and fear lies in those gray depths. If the younger man is uncomfortable with being touched like this, however, he gives no indication. He just stays still, unable or unwilling to move from his current position.
A flash of lightning, a mighty clap of thunder following in its wake!
The Grimm howls ! And, oh God, what horrible sound that is. Like a wounded animal. Suddenly Nick twists away from him; all but throws himself backward. Right into the solid wall. Again. There isn't far to go but still. On top of all else it must have hurt. His breath - half sob, half anguished shout - seems stuck in his throat, his face an ashen mask of high level pain. Sean Renard does something he's thought to have left behind at an age of 12: He shudders openly, finding his own breath catching in sympathy like Nick's problems have gone over on him.
>>>
Nick barely registers connecting with the wall a second time around. His thoughts have all but stuttered to a halt, pushed away by agony pure and simple. He's sweating, shaking. Dizzy and sick. Renard is right in front of him.
I'm revealing too much….
An angry storm contained in his head, caged in there with nowhere to go.
It hurts! It's too much!! I cannot breathe….
Rushing. Roaring. Bang, bang, bang. Louder than gunfire. Hurting like a volley of bullets right to his head!
Renard's hands covering his own. Staying there. Helping?
"Help…." Now it's out. He's said it. He wants to hide. Needs to hide. Needs help so much more. What’s it going to be?
Calloused hands are squeezing his own. Briefly. To get his attention….
Rain. Hammer on anvil. Metal on glass.
He’s not getting enough air into his lungs. This close to passing out. Another squeeze. He forces his eyes back open with a strength of will that has sustained generations of Grimms facing deadly battles. Sean Renard's frowning face fills his field of vision. There is confusion and worry. He is seizing him up, trying to understand what's wrong. They are practically nose to nose. It is a weird kind of intimate, not how they normally behave. It is… weirdly comforting. Steadying.
“Nick, look at me.”
This is spoken so very quietly. And slowly. In fact Nick has never heard the other man take such a soft tone. It's barely more than a movement of lips. Besides that every single word echoes through his head like it is shouted. Every nuance, every facet edges itself into his skull. It's difficult to think around the sheer level of pain but he cannot help stand to attention at this particular tone. It brooks no arguments but it’s not angry either. Just calm. Inspiring trust. It’s safe to open up. Accept help and tell him what’s wrong. His thoughts must have shown on his face. Nick receives a nod. Encouraging. Renard raises both eyebrows in universal inquiry and he complies. Suddenly it’s easy:
“Too much noise…. Out of control. Too loud. Hearing too well….”
Nick winces. To him it feels like he has shouted all this and it's normally not his way to holler right into his superior's face. In reality he cannot have been all that loud, though, because going by the man's frown he has been more lip-reading than anything else.
>>>
Two people in the eye of a storm. That way it feels to Nick. They are still right in front of each other. Renard is keeping his head boxed in between his hands. Gently. And much more important, he's keeping Nick’s attention. Watching him he can pinpoint the very moment when the zauberbiest has put together a plan of sorts.
The distant, thoughtful look slips away only to have that questing gaze focus back on him. It's a notable change, the weight of that stare heavy, almost daunting. Renard takes his right hand away from his head - leaving the left to remain resting over Nick's - and holds it up for him to see. Index finger pointing upward the message is clear:
‘Eyes to me. Focus on me.’ It says.
And only when he gives a shaky nod, does the Captain go on. He points at Nick's chest, then holds his hand up in a closed fist. It dawns on him what Renard is doing: He's using tactical hand signs.
‘ You stay put.’
Another nod from Nick, a little stronger this time. Renard points at his own chest, then does a sideways motion with index and middle finger straight. A pause. The same motion, only backwards. Another pause. Moving his hand downward at last, right where they are now.
'I will go away. I will return to you.'
Renard only waits for his nod before leaving, not wasting any time now.
Left to his own devices, Nick tries his best to keep the demons at bay. It's no use. Without the zauberbiest's help, without his unique ability to draw the Grimm's attention, all hell breaks loose. Noises are rushing back at him - he hasn’t even noticed them abating - hitting him like a physical force. Drowning him. Hurting. He cannot distinguish individual sounds anymore. Wave upon wave is coming. It's happening so quickly. It’s reaching a peak.
Continuous ringing, high-pitched. Pushing everything else away.
He doesn’t notice curling up on the ground or clutching his ears even tighter.
Too… too much. Sto-op…..
>>>
Sean rushes to the car, soaked within seconds and not caring one bit. He just grabs the dark blue duffle bag out of his trunk and hurries back inside. What he has gone for is a set of very expensive, high quality headphones. Noise cancelling headphones. Worry churns in his gut. It is not a feeling he is familiar with and its sheer intensity disturbs him.
No less disturbing is finding Nick sprawled on the ground, not even noticing his entrance. Or, really, anything around him.
He needs a plan. Those headphones need to go over Nick's ears and quickly. Now Sean is not a man to beat around the bush. Monroe might have tried to talk his friend into letting him do it but he isn’t that tentative. Nick won’t be happy or even able to take his hands away on his own, so Sean will do it for him. Once Nick is equipped with protective gear, he can take the slow route of diverting the Grimm’s focus and stopping this major case of sensory overload.
How the half-zauberbiest knows or recognizes the state? Certainly a discussion for another time.
He kneels down beside Nick, takes the pair of headphones out of the bag and places them within reach. This has been the easy part. Now to the rest….
He turns Nick onto his back and at his touch tense shoulders even relax a fraction. It feels surprisingly good to have caused this, pity only that he is about to put that fragile trust to a severe test. Without further hesitation he grabs both of Nick’s wrists and pulls them away from his ears. Better be quick. Maneuver one hand….
He has expected a lot but neither the hoarse scream nor the veritable demon he has unleashed! Nick is twisting, howling ! It's horrible to witness, surprising the hell out of him, and it's even harder to fight. He cannot let him win by any chance; pushes away all doubts to go through with his plan. But, hell, seeing Nick's expression - eyes wide open while still unseeing, the sheer level of pain and fear edged into every line of his ashen face….
It is almost enough to make him let go. Almost. Sean squashes down a growl of frustration as he wrestles the ferocious Grimm down to the ground.
Come on, Nick. I want to help you!
He tries conveying this message with his eyes alone as he leans over him but it isn't enough. He cannot get through. Damn it, Nick is raging worse than the storm outside. So much so in fact, that it takes all of his considerable strength to contain him, much less to put the damn headphones on.
Shit. There’s nothing for it then.
“Nick, stop!” It isn’t a whisper at all. It is a steel edged command and a full fledged shout.
Cause and result, this time it's instantaneous. Nick goes still as a corpse and Sean thinks he might he sick. With a single well aimed shout he has all but paralyzed his Grimm in agony. He mustn't dwell on that now, though, there is a task to fulfil. Limp as he's gone, Sean can finally put the headphones on. One quick move. Done.
Only that a feeling of triumph doesn't really want to assert itself…. It's more like something alive churning in his gut…. And maybe his inner voice snapping at him:
It wasn't difficult because you might have shattered his eardrums! That's got to put anyone down. What you’re feeling is guilt, oh mighty Prince, and you’re wondering, if you have gone too far.
That thought is depressingly accurate but irrelevant right now. He waits with bated breath, never letting the younger man out of his sight. Nick has yet to move a single muscle.
Come on, Nick!
>>>
Nick comes around with a groan, disoriented and hurting like nothing good. A pounding headache fights for dominance with dizzy spells and sickness, leaving little room for deductive thinking to sort out what the hell has happened.
He twitches in a weak approximation of movement, groans again when his headache spikes.
Wait….
The Grimm stops short. Even though he's clearly made a sound, it doesn't reverberate through his skull like it's done before. Nothing echoes through his skull like before!
He snaps his eyes open and finds himself staring up at a frowning Captain Renard squatted down next to him.
"Cap… tain…." His tongue feels like it has forgotten how to move. The man nods, obviously relieved but why that is Nick cannot tell.
First things first: Where am I and what has happened?
He is lying on his back on the ground in the study, hands at his sides….
Curious. The last he clearly remembers is pressing his hands over his ears….
Shit!!
His hands are no longer covering his ears. No longer protecting them! The bout of naked fear is strong - almost petrifying - but the thought of what the next clap of thunder will do to him is stronger and jolts him into movement.
He won't get a chance! When Renard intercepts his hands halfway up - grabbing his wrists and not letting go - a terrible feeling of betrayal washes over him. He cannot keep in the shocked and anguished sound. The wheeze of words:
"No, please!"
It has a curious effect on the half-zauberbiest. Where he's been towering over him with a frown just moments ago, his features now soften unexpectedly and so does his strong grip.
"Nick, it's all right. Calm down."
It's a low whisper, apologetic almost.
What? Wait….
"Breathe. Just breathe. Here. Feel this. You are protected…."
"Protected?"
He's endlessly confused, still teetering on the edge of panic. Renard gives a nod. Holds his gaze. His attention.
Safe.
He thinks it before he even fully understands what's going on, then his hands are finally guided up to his ears.
His fingers encounter… headphones.
Of course. Headphones. Noise cancelling. Dampening in my case. Where have they come from…? Doesn't matter.... Such a relief but I can still hear him whisper. It's not over yet. I'm still hearing better than I should.
Renard has helped. He's still here to help. Can I trust him?
"It's alright. Just calm down. We'll get you through this."
I just have to. God, that voice. It's like… so soothing.
At that point he must have grown faint because the next thing he knows is jolting awake again and being helped to sit up. Before he can even wonder how he will keep upright, Renard is pressing him back to lean against the wall and he realizes very quickly that this is about as upright as he can deal with right now.
He's grateful. Compared to before, this is great. He's still panting, still feeling sick and dizzy but no longer like he's about to go insane. And Renard? To his great surprise he is still there with him. He hasn't spoken again since helping him up, which is exactly what he needs right now. Only with his ears getting as little sensory input as they do, there's any chance to regain control of his senses. His field of vision keeps greying and tilting, his stomach and head keep acting up.
He closes his eyes in exhaustion and maybe a little embarrassment now that he's better able to conceive the situation, but that one is nipped in the butt. Two fingers curl under his chin - the unexpected invasion of his private space enough to jolt him from his still faint state - and his head is gently tipped up to keep his focus on Renard.
No hand signs or even words are necessary to spell out the message this time. Jade eyes keep gazing deeply into his own. Steady, imploring maybe and holding his attention with no chance to slip back away.
Keep looking at me. Stay awake. This is important.
He gives a weak nod, which seems to be enough for the half-zauberbiest because he takes his hand away from his chin to rest it on his shoulder instead. It's funny, in the past they've always had a distanced relationship but right now Renard seems to get that they need this new level of touch. To convey messages and, if Nick is honest to himself, to convey a feeling of safety that keeps him from being overwhelmed.
>>>
Sean eyes his Detective critically. He's not looking much better than before but at least he's aware of his surroundings and able to somewhat focus now. It has to suffice.
"Nick?" He has spoken very quietly, knowing that their little problem is still present when the Grimm reacts at once.
"Good. Just keep looking at me. Now that I finally know what's wrong with you, I have a fairly good idea how to help you." He doesn't keep reproach from lacing these whispered words. Nick’s hiding of the truth has nearly ended in disaster and they are going to have a little discussion about that once all else is settled. Well, at least the Grimm has the decency to blush. Always good, if subordinates know that they've gone wrong.
"I will help you divert your focus away from what you are hearing. I won't speak while we do that…. It will be difficult enough all on its own, better to keep the sensory input to a minimum. Just follow my lead, alright?"
The young Grimm nods, still looking only a step away from passing out but willing to work with his Captain. Renard quirks a small smile to show that he appreciates this trust, then he sits down in front of Nick and starts the exercises his mother has once taught him:
He places his hand flat on Nick's hoodie clad chest, right over his thumping heart, and takes one of Nick's to place against his own chest. Seeking the other man's gaze and holding it, he inhales deeply and slowly. For an instant there's confusion, then understanding dawns and Nick takes a first careful breath to match Sean's. The zauberbiest expects to feel awkward yet what dominates his thinking is relief and gratitude that Nick is just following his lead.
>>>
Nick cannot believe what is happening. He's doing breathing exercises with Sean Renard. How have they come to this point? Hell, not that long ago Nick has met this man in the woods, beaten the shit out of him and demanded to know why he has ordered for his aunt to be killed.
The unexpected turn of his thoughts startles him and makes his blood run horribly cold.
Fuck, I am doing breathing exercises with the man who has ordered my aunt's death!
His breath hitches, whole body suddenly wound tight.
What am I doing here? How can I really trust him…?
A large hand pressing more firmly against his chest distracts him. As soon as he's establishing eye-contact - Nick's sudden glower telling enough even without words - the man shakes his head firmly, his own gaze so damn knowing. Nick doesn't have to think hard to get the message:
You need to concentrate on controlling your breathing. You need to focus! All else is for later.
Which is sadly true because all too clearly Nick is aware that his breathing has turned fast and irregular again, work of the last minutes undone by one disturbing train of thought. Renard is right. No matter what his personal feelings may be, he needs to get back in control and that can only happen under the Captain’s guidance.
And there's something else as well: Although Nick fights the sentiment, there is a small dark corner of his Police trained mind that can understand why the Ruler of Wesen Portland would be out to eliminate the threat of a rogue Grimm in his canton. It's just that Nick, the orphan child, cannot reconcile the image of a dangerous killer with that of his beloved aunt, a woman of wry, no-nonsense character, of slight build and height.
Curiously, while Nick has been turning all that around in his mind, Renard has once again managed to coach him into a regular, deep rhythm of breathing. The man's ability to guide is a true marvel. Of course he could say manipulate but it hasn't always been like that, has it?
How many times has he drawn strength from their Captain's lead as a young Detective? That skill to lead and steady those around him has drawn him in from the very beginning.
It makes Nick suddenly understand how vulnerable he is and what power Renard has over him in this very moment. Not a comfortable thought that it is the Zauberbiest's decision to help or to abuse Nick's weakness…. Yet what he does is not killing him or demanding recompense for offered aid, no, it's breathing exercises. Regular, mundane breathing exercises. Knowing how much Renard values distance and detachment, it cannot be what the proud Royal enjoys doing either.
It's easy and mind-boggling and not a little disturbing: Whether his boss himself realizes it or not, he cares for his Grimm. He cares and that's why he is helping Nick instead of hurting him.
With a final all telling nod he decides to trust Renard in this…. With nothing less than his sanity and health.
After that it's like a dam has broken. With a shuddering exhale he stops pondering in order to just feel :
Renard takes up both of Nick's hands now to plant them firmly onto the hardwood floor beside him; his own move to Nick's shoulder and neck.
He squeezes gently and indicates to one of his hands with a small nod of his head before pressing down more firmly to make Nick understand that he is to concentrate on the feel of that.
Nick grows aware of all points of contact. His own hands against the cool floor, Renard's hands - large, heavy, warm in their touch, not budging an inch - his back against the wall.
He doesn't know how long they are at it. His gaze is unfocused, his frame slowly relaxing. There's still sickness, dizzy spells and weird spikes of sound; a headache from hell that cannot stem solely from his hyperactive hearing and, of course, that bloody storm….
With time it's all sliding into the background whereas the man before him takes up the entirety of his perception. The smell of expensive cologne, of Renard himself.
The man's face, frowning at first before slowly relaxing into something neutral. Into approval even. It feels good although it shouldn't be of any importance to him.
After a long, long time Nick comes back to himself; knows somehow that his ears are working normally again.
It's a kind of relief like he has never felt before, so strong it makes him feel faint. Or maybe that's his body giving out on him….
The Captain seems to think so, too, because one moment Nick is blinking heavily to clear his vision and the next his shoulders are gripped firmly.
"Nick, look at me. Come on, focus."
The Prince is frowning again and he doesn't know why. Only that his head pounds in sync with his heartbeat and that he's tired. So damn tired….
"Shit, I'm don'in", he murmurs with a weak smile before passing out, pitching forward when the last of adrenaline fueled strength has dwindled away.
>>>
Sean is both relieved and worried when Nick keels over right into his arms, the sudden dead weight indicating that he has lost consciousness, indeed. It's not unusual. He remembers well how exhausted he has been after suffering from episodes of sensory overload as a youth. The memory still sends a shiver of unease down his spine.
Alright, it's not the time to dwell on the past. He needs to have a look at Nick's head, least he has sustained serious injury when hitting his head against the wall. Gently probing fingertips encounter a hefty bump yet thankfully no blood. Okay, he can deal with that.
The heavy exhale of profound relief gets lost in the noise of the storm and would be denied had anyone called him out on it.
He rolls Nick into recovery position, covers him with his jacket for added warmth and searches the kitchen for items to fashion an ice pack from.
So far so good. Now he only has to wait for his Grimm to wake up.
>>>
Nick comes around with a groan. Slowly. Groggily. He tenses up momentarily because surely the sound he's made will grate on his over-sensitive ears, only to remember that his hearing has returned to normal and only the thing grating is a splitting headache. A confusing mix of memories, a stab of remembered fear. He bolts upright still hazy, hands intercept his movement. Press him back down. An explanation follows before he can voice any misgivings.
"Don't rise yet. It wouldn't do you any good."
Renard. It's Renard and when Nick can only utter an inarticulate mumble, he isn't sure if it's the almost hypnotising quality of Renard's voice keeping him down or the limits of his own body.
Only when Nick is able to give a sensible response to his gentle questions, does the Captain help him sit up. He's keeping a hand on his shoulder, though, either to steady him or to keep him still.
"Okay, tilt your head forward."
"Huh?"
Nick doesn't understand and chances a sideways glance at the half-zauberbiest only to see him quirk a rare smile and hold up an improvised ice pack for show.
"Wha… what's that for? God, what did I miss?"
A smirk from the Bastard Prince. He's once again bade to obey with a curt gesture before he gets his answer:
"You've banged your head on the wall when your hearing went crazy on you. And now lean forward so that I can re-apply that ice pack."
There's nothing to say against that and Nick complies.
"And try to keep still, will you?"
Is that amusement coloring his bosses' tone?
"Hey, I'm not that ba…. Arrgh."
The sheer cold of what is pressed to the back of his head makes him hiss. A first flash of pain, then the cold truly sinks in and numbness settles. Nick sighs in relief.
"Speaking of 'not that bad', what on earth possessed you to hide your state from me earlier?"
The change from amused to majorly unimpressed is sudden and makes the Grimm cringe. There is a lot he could say to that and some of it would be true as well but in the end it comes down to this:
"After what happened before I didn't know if I could trust you with revealing my condition."
Heavy, uncomfortable silence. Not the most diplomatic thing to say but, then again, Renard has asked for the truth not coddling. The man now looks like he would have crossed his arms in front of his chest, if he hadn't been pressing an ice pack to his Detective's head. His expression has turned to dark displeasure, not giving an inch even in face of Nick hinting at his past schemes. It is the Grimm himself who breaks the silence in the end.
"Come on, it's not as if you would have acted differently had our roles been reversed", he snaps half-heartedly, wincing when it makes his headache flare up with new intensity.
With Sean Renard you couldn't speak of visibly deflating but that weary little sigh is maybe the closest he will allow himself to show. It says 'I'll give you that.' more clearly than the words themselves could have expressed it. Beside all that the small correctionary cuff to his shoulder - scolding him an idiot for snapping when he should be minding his head - goes almost without notice. Almost. A grin steals onto Nick's face, almost against his will and hidden by his obediently tilted head.
He cares. Whatever else is going on, he cares even if he hides it well….
"And have I been found worthy of your trust?" The snappish undertone shows clearly how much Renard hates being in anyone's ill graces and, worse, having to work to get on someone's good side again. And what's there to say to that? He's a Prince, of course he's used to others doing that.
"You have helped…."
Maybe the half-zauberbiest expects Nick to leave it at that because it is what he himself would have done. To be dismissive about it and leave him hanging. But Nick isn't like that. Despite what has happened in their past Nick recognizes the enormity of what Renard has done for him today.
It's either war or it's giving him a chance to prove his trustworthiness and I know I'm not the guy to instigate the first of the two. That, and he has done a lot to redeem himself….
And just like that it's the young Grimm searching for words:
"You have helped, Captain...."
He purposely moves them away from their roles in the wesen world and back into Police territory. Maybe because it's easier for both of them. When Nick looks up, his gaze is open and his message one of rebuilding bridges.
"You have helped more than I can express with words. It will take time before I can allow myself to fully trust you but I don't know what would have happened today if you hadn't been there and I appreciate what you have done. Thank you, Sir."
And this is what Renard finds most fascinating and at the same time most frustrating about his Grimm Detective: He always keeps surprising him…. And he leaves him feeling uncomfortable because just now Nick's expression is earnest and genuine and so damn innocent when it could have been the uncompromising cop or the blood christened Grimm he would be looking at.
>>>
"Feeling better?“, Renard asks quietly a little while later and at his nod hands him a water bottle. Nick throws him a quick glance somewhere between amused and skeptical.
"It's not that I'm not thirsty as hell, Sir, but are you sure that we should take a water bottle from the victim's house?"
Renard almost rolls his eyes.
"It's from in there."
He indicates to a dark blue sports bag. When Nick still looks unconvinced, he does roll his eyes and drawls: "It's mine, Burkhardt. I fetched it earlier. The headphones were in it."
"Oh."
Finally he takes the pro-offered bottle and has the decency to blush.
"Thanks then."
And as an afterthought:
"So you do have to put work into keeping fit. That's one bet won against Wu."
Renard sends him a level stare.
"I'll generously overhear that and put it off on befuddlement caused by hitting your head. And, of course, you won't breathe a word of it to anyone."
The threat is unspoken but very well heard. Nick doesn't know if the Royal is just teasing or serious but doesn't want to put it to a test either. He's alone in a victim's house with Renard, after all, and the zauberbiest can look quite scary if he puts his mind to it.
"Not fair."
"I never said I would be."
Nick snorts and Renard shrugs with the ghost of a wry smile.
"Okay, time for a change of topic then: Will you tell me why you knew so much about my little hearing problem?"
The man's raised eyebrow gives him an air of long-suffering, clearly saying 'I should have known you would ask about that.'.
Nick's answering grin is almost cheeky but, of course, Renard wouldn't be Renard, if he didn't play a game.
"Maybe. Will you tell me why you were suffering such an ailment in the first place?"
Tit for tat, Nick supposes. Very well.
"I think it is my Grimm powers developing. You remember when I was off sick because I had been blinded on a case? That's been when my hearing has first improved. Seems that it does continue to do so only not as smoothly as it did then."
Nick rubs at his neck, the action illustrating his discomfort at the prospect. Renard gives a thoughtful nod.
"That does make sense. In case it happens again, you should practice diverting your focus… like we did today."
"And you know that, why? Read up on the matter? Or is it personal experience, after all?", he ventures carefully while making it clear, that trust can only be repaid with honesty and trust in return.
Silence reigns, before the powerful Royal leans forward and fixes his Detective with a warning stare.
If you ever use this against me, you will rue the day. It says, piercing his very soul, it seems.
Nick silently inclines his head. A pact has been made, so to speak.
"After I've hit my first woge, I had problems controlling my wesen side. There are tame species of wesen… and the more violent ones as you very well know. To contain a zauberbiest - even half one - is no small feet. My mother taught me the kind of control I needed. She showed me how to detach myself, focusing on my senses instead of the volatile feelings of a 'biest."
Nick acknowledges that with a careful nod. It makes sense, certainly, and goes to lengths explaining Renard's iron grip on his emotions. There's more to it, though. It explains why he could help but not how he's recognized Nick's state. He has a theory concerning that, however.
"You grew very good at detaching yourself, didn't you, Sir."
A curt nod in return, encouragement to go on, if not an answer in so much as words. Well, Nick is a Detective, isn't he?
"You say your mother taught you to focus on your senses and I know your exceptional discipline. You did it so well that sometimes it has happened involuntarily."
"Yes, it did. I have learned what to do in these situations and after a time it wasn't a problem anymore. Which is why I advice you to learn that technique by heart and to recognize the first signs of attacks like these. It saves you quite some trouble."
They share a long commiserating look. A rare occasion yet not unwelcome.
"Sound advice, if I've ever heard one. Now, what do you think, Captain, do we take another look around? I'm better now and I still want to catch that killer. If there's anything here to lead us to them, then we ought to find it."
Nick gets to his feet as if to show that he's, indeed, recovered. Renard shakes his head, rising as well.
"I am all for high clearing rates, as you might know (a small smirk answered by an eye roll from Nick), but I will be taking you home now."
He holds up his hand to stall any protest.
"You have been suffering from a serious case of sensory overload and hit your head hard enough to bruise. The only thing you will do today is stay at home, lie down somewhere quiet and rest. You may feel better now but if your senses have gone overboard once there's the danger of it happening again. And believe me, you don't want that."
Renard's features seem to be carved in stone, brooking no arguments. Nick doesn't like it but he complies with a sigh.
"Alright, Sir. We will return tomorrow, though, won't we?"
When Renard grabs his sports bag and wordlessly makes his way to the door, Nick thinks that with today's incident he's botched his chances at solving this case, which is why the Captain's next words comes as such a surprise:
"Of course we will return tomorrow, Detective. Because, you know, I want to catch that killer as well, hmm?"
Portland's only resident Grimm Detective finds himself grinning stupidly as he follows his Superior out into the rain and to the man's car. He's still feeling a bit wobbly on his legs and maybe, just maybe he flinches slightly at one or the other loud clap of thunder but he's confident that a certain aloof half-zauberbiest will keep an eye on him.
To make sure he's okay and stays that way. And maybe to make sure that he doesn't take out his phone to type a message to Wu concerning a bet.
Nick doesn't intend doing that, he's not suicidal….
He'll wait until later.
Uuh, oh, or maybe not. Renard looks like he's been reading his mind and, hell, he looks scary.