Chapter Text
His dreams are filled with murder. Blood and sharp steel and the screams of those who didn't deserve their death. Some days when his eyes open all he wants to do is turn over and fall into a dreamless sleep without worrying if he ever wakes up. Other days he surges from sleep with the face of a zauberbiest, bellowing his rage. Each day he pulls on the face of a police captain, the camouflage of suit and tie, pretends to be human, pretends to care. He doesn't, he will not care any more. Let the humans kill each other, let the Wesen run riot.
He used to have a life - a good one, by his own measure. He had enough money to have expensive tastes, enough power - in both of his worlds - to satisfy him. He had no need for friends but if he wanted the release of sex there was always someone, male or female, human or Wesen, to please him. The last few years were complicated but, despite everything that happened, he always felt he could get back to that life. Not now. Now he just survives. And he knows who he blames.
At first he felt only relief - the mystery of his phantom bleeding was solved, Kenneth Bowes-Lyon a useful scapegoat. He didn't remember any of it, the case was closed, he could move on. And it's not as though he hasn't killed before, when he felt it was necessary. But he still had the files on the murders and he read them, almost out of curiosity. Then he read them again. And again. And again. And again. Now he knows every word, every wound. He knows exactly how his hands committed each murder. And what about before? Were there more? What else did he do? He searches case files, police bulletins, tries to build a timeline of his missing memory. And the anger grows at what happened to him and the more it grows the more he holds it inside.
He doesn't - can't, won't - talk to anyone about it. Rosalee Calvert tries but he sends her away with increasingly bitter words. They are all too busy with Nick anyway, Nick, lost in his own grief, his own anger but surrounded by people eager to help him through.
Sometimes his anger fades for a moment. He sees Nick, the face thinner than it used to be, eyes tired, feels that odd urge to protect. But then the anger comes back.
It was the entity called Jack who possessed him, his mother who worked the cure that let Jack in. It was Weston Steward who shot him. But he knows who he blames, blames for all of this - he blames Nicholas Burkhardt. Because if he hadn't cared about Nick none of it would have happened.
*****
Nick follows Hank to Renard's office, hanging back slightly. Hank knocks on the door frame, holds up the buff folder he's carrying,
"A word, Captain?"
Renard moves the current pile of paperwork away from him slightly, gestures to the chairs opposite.
They take seats. Hank puts the folder he's carrying on the desk and pushes it across towards Renard.
"This is the autopsy on Caitlin Schneider, 33 year old lawyer. Last Friday she left work about 7, didn't turn up Monday. They reported her missing and her body was found dumped Tuesday evening. She died from a really bad beating. Tape adhesive in her hair and bruises on wrists and ankles suggest she was restrained, held somewhere for a couple of days. We don't have a primary scene yet."
"So why are you bringing this to me?"
"Because Caitlin worked for Berman, Rautbort and Associates and from all we know about that firm and all we've been told about her we wondered if she was a hexenbiest. There's too much damage to tell from the body, the tongue so ... we thought we'd ask if you recognised her."
Berman, Rautbort and Associates is the firm Adalind worked for. Renard opens the folder, looks at the photograph of Caitlin before her death.
"She was. Does it matter?"
Hank shrugs,
"Maybe, maybe not. But if she was a hexenbiest it would make it that much harder to take her by surprise and overpower her than if she was just a regular five foot two human."
"If you can find the primary see what that gives you." He pushes the folder back across the desk, pulls his paperwork back towards him. Realises they are still sitting there,
"Was there anything else?"
Hank shakes his head, they stand and leave.
"Thought we might have got more from the Captain there."
Nick glances across at Hank, who is staring back at Renard's office thoughtfully. He's been playing through the last few minutes in his mind. The Captain hadn't spoken to him, hadn't looked at him once through that entire meeting. He never does now if he can possibly avoid it, if it's necessary he is professionally distant but that's all. At first Nick thought it was some kind of punishment for getting himself suspended, for nearly throwing away his life as a detective, for nearly becoming the kind of Grimm that all Wesen fear. But it's gone on too long and it's getting more and more noticeable. Nick feels like he has emerged from his own grief to find something important has disappeared while he wasn't looking.
In his office Renard thinks back to Sunday. What did he do? Are there any hours he can't account for? He does this for most murders now.
*****
The two klaustreichs have been in the bar all evening, drinking beer and shots, watching the game on TV. The younger of the two gets into an argument, pushing and shoving and woging (although not so the humans could see, he isn't that drunk), gets them thrown out. They are standing outside the bar, wondering where to try and get in next, when each feels a sudden sharp pain and darkness descends. Their badly beaten bodies are found three days later.
Caitlin Schneider and two low-brow alley cats - on the face of it they don't have much in common. But all three disappeared, were murdered forty eight hours later and then their bodies were dumped and found the following day. All three have traces of being restrained for some time before their deaths. All three were also Wesen. The discovery of the similarities initiates a wider investigation, pulling in other teams as they find more links. When they look beyond Portland they find more cases.
*****
The room is crowded for the briefing. Portland doesn't need more serial murders and if that's what this is they need to find the killer or killers quickly. Nick watches Renard as he leads the briefing. He looks tired, as though he doesn't sleep well and there is something about the way he holds himself that seems different. Nick keeps his own head down. He has ideas, suggestions but he's not going to risk saying something. He and Renard should be working together on this - Hank and Wu know about the Wesen link but Renard is the man in charge. He's going to talk to him.
As the briefing ends Nick follows Renard towards his office, knocks on the door frame. Renard turns and looks at him and Nick is rather taken aback by the flat stare.
"Captain, this case, there's obviously a Wesen link. Don't you think we should be putting our heads together on this one. I have a few ideas, I wondered if we should -"
"You have a partner don't you?"
"Uh, well yes, of course I -"
"Then I suggest you put your head together with him. If you don't think Hank's a good enough partner let me know, I'll assign you to someone else."
For a second Nick just gapes at him. Renard turns his back, goes round to his side of the big desk. There doesn't seem anything for Nick to do but go.
*****
Everyone works late but but Nick stays at the precinct until he's virtually the last one left. The main room is deserted but the lights are still on in the office, blinds drawn to conceal the occupant. Nick gives a last frustrated look at the closed door and heads out. He doesn't want to go back to his empty apartment so he drives to Monroe and Rosalee's.
"Hey, Nick. Long time, no see."
Actually he was here last night but Monroe holds the door open, letting Nick in past him and Rosalee goes to find him a beer.
Nick tells himself he hasn't come here to talk about Renard but he's only had two mouthfuls from the bottle when he finds that he is.
"...and he said if I didn't think Hank was a good enough partner he'd assign me to someone else. I don't know what's up with him. I mean, I know I was out of line with some of the stuff I said to him but does he think this is some kind of punishment or is he just sulking."
Monroe and Rosalee exchange glances. Rosalee leans forward,
"Have you thought this isn't about you for once? At least not directly. Sean had a really difficult time himself, the bleeding and then finding out what was causing it. The fact he even told us about the bleeding shows how scared he was - he's not a man to share his weaknesses with anyone. He was invaded by someone or something else and forced to commit physical acts agains his will, helpless to do anything about it - what would you call that in a human context, Nick?"
Nick thinks, doesn't like the word he comes up with.
"And then, after all that, after discovering what he'd done, killed those women, killed his friend, and what you had to do to get Jack out of him, after all that we just had to let him leave, go back to that house while all hell broke loose with you. And since then you've had a baby with a woman he had a relationship with, however that may have worked, and you played happy families with her until you decided that wasn't what you wanted. So, if he's maybe not ready to be all warm and supportive to you just yet, maybe it's not that surprising."
Rosalee stops suddenly, takes a deep breath, reaches for her wine. For the first time Nick notices the two half full wine glasses side by side on the table, that the lamps are lit, music playing. Rosalee is looking away from him, Monroe is looking back and forward between them, a worried expression on his face. Nick stands up,
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come round, you two obviously want some time to yourselves."
At first Nick drives aimlessly - or at least that's what he'd say if there was anyone there to ask - but eventually he can't deny he's driving to Renard's house. But when he gets to the house there are no lights on. Somehow he hadn't anticipated that - surely he can't still be at the precinct at this time?
The last time he was in that house it had been during the Jack the Ripper case, Renard pulled from sleep, confused, slightly - in retrospect - scared. Then they'd gone to Henrietta's house, he remembers the man's obvious emotion. He's torn between anger at Renard for the way he's behaving and a first slight realisation that perhaps he's not the only person who's had a really tough time lately.
Nick starts the engine and, with one last glance at the dark house, drives away.
He's looking as he drives, not really expecting to find Renard but keeping his eyes open, when he notices the black SUV, badly parked too close to an intersection. He pulls in across from it, goes and looks at the license plate, though the windows. It's definitely Renard's. He looks around, there's a bar down the side street, more an alley really. It's not what Nick would think is the Captain's kind of place but who knows.
The bar is busy, mostly men, serious drinkers. Nick pushes his way past a group, a tall blond man and sees Renard at the bar, empty glass in front of him. Nick can tell he's had too much even as he walks up to him. The bartender looks across, asks,
"Friend of yours?"
Nick puts his hand on Renard's shoulder and the bigger man turns and slurs,
"No friend of mine."
Nick can actually see his face flickering, the Zauberbiest slipping in and out of view. He lets his jacket fall back so the bartender can see his badge,
"It's okay sir, I'll deal with this."
He hoists Renard up, pulls him through the bar and out into the alley.
Nick is keen just to get Renard out and home but the fresh air revives him and Nick dealt with enough drunks as a patrolman to know when one is spoiling for a fight. Renard pulls away from him, swings a punch. Nick is trying not to fight back, trying to just calm the situation, but Renard is not fighting clean and even drunk he's got zauberbiest strength. Renard gets in a kick, and, given he's still wearing dress shoes and has size-whatever feet, it hurts like hell. Nick starts to fight back in earnest.
Neither of them are paying any attention to anything but each other. Even Nick doesn't realise they have an audience, doesn't notice anything until he feels a sudden sharp pain and darkness descends.