Epic, A Grimm story by BymagaJones 3/?
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
As his body bounced around the back of the truck in the darkness, Nick found himself actually thankful for the blankets hiding him. He was just tired enough to be able to fall into a slight doze from time to time, only to be awakened by a harsh jolt when one of the wheels fell into a particularly deep hole. Judging by the feel, they’d left the paved road less than five minutes after they’d started, and they’d had to have been on the road for at least half an hour.
As his mind started to grow fuzzy, he reflected on the past twenty-four hours.
They’d conducted the interviews first, where he wasn’t surprised to find that although Monroe had done his best to keep to himself, he couldn’t not be Monroe, so pretty much everyone had a story where he’d helped them in some way. A teenager out joyriding in her father’s car had gotten a flat tire, and Monroe had just appeared, changed her tire, then disappeared without a word. In one of his forays into the mercantile, he’d helped the shopkeeper put product on a high shelf, again without much discussion.
After the interviews, they’d climbed onto snowmobiles - which were evidently called snow machines in Alaska - and headed out to Monroe’s shack, which actually looked slightly more stable in person than in the photographs. Nick couldn’t help comparing the stark wooden structure to Monroe’s former house with all of the clocks and tchotchkes that Nick had come to equate with the Blutbad. It might’ve fit the definition of a house - barely - but it definitely wasn’t a home.
Darren had gotten a call on a satellite phone he’d somehow stashed away in one of his coat’s voluminous pockets as they’d trekked out to the site where they’d determined Monroe had been attacked. As usual, he didn’t say much, just grunted out a hello, listened for about a minute, grunted again, and ended the call. “We caught a break. A woman claimed your man rescued her after she’d been kidnapped.”
“Is he okay?”
Darren shrugged. “We need to get you over there so you can find out.”
Nick paused at that. “Over where?”
And that’s when the true trek began. Ca’Trena drove them to nearby - a relative word in Alaska it turned out after the hour-long drive - Kotzebue, where they hopped on different snow machines and followed the water until they reached a boat bobbing beside a small dock hidden along the bank. Darren stepped up to a man, the captain Nick assumed, while Ca’Trena led Nick inside the small cabin.
“Have you ever been scuba diving?” She asked, opening one of a pile of boxes.
“A couple of times in college during spring breaks,” he admitted, remembering just how young and carefree he’d been then. It felt like another lifetime.
Ca’Trena nodded. “Good. Get undressed.”
“Everything?”
She nodded. “Everything.”
Nick didn’t have time to think about the fact that he was buck naked in front of a woman whose last name he didn’t know, because she was already tossing clothes at him, instructing him on how to put them on, throwing around terms like “dry suit” and “cold water regulator”. As she finished helping him dress, instructing him on the equipment, he slowly began to realize that he was being prepped for some sort of arctic cold water dive.
He’d been comfortable just going along for the ride, but this was starting to get serious. He stopped everything and looked at Ca’Trena, waiting until he had her full attention. “I need to know what’s happening. Now.”
Her eyes flittered around his face for a moment before she nodded. “Wait here.” She left the cabin.
Less than a minute later, Darren stepped inside. “Okay. The woman who claims your man rescued her is in Russia, which just happens to be right across the water. Our guy is going to take you over, but you’re going to have to hold on and float underwater.”
Nick frowned.
“Look,” Darren said, “we could go through the process of obtaining the required visas to go into Russia as well as trying to explain your need to venture deep into the parts with absolutely no tourist interest, but it’ll only arouse suspicion, and by the time you actually made it to your destination, your man would probably be dead. Do you even have your passport with you?”
Nick couldn’t really argue with that. Much. “I don’t speak Russian.”
“You’ll have an English speaking contact waiting for you on the other side,” Darren said.
So far all of Renard’s contacts had been absolutely reliable, so Nick wasn’t about to second-guess them now. “Okay. When do we leave?”
Darren unrolled a piece of paper, pressing it flat against a desk shoved in the corner of the small cabin. He placed a book on the top of the paper and another on the bottom to hold it flat.
Nick moved in for a closer look. “Is this a diagram of the boat?”
Darren nodded, pointing to a small hook underneath the back - the stern - of the boat. “This is where you’ll be holding on while you sail across the Strait. Stay quiet and out of sight until you’re given the all clear.”
“And what’s that?”
Darren shrugged as he gathered the boxes and Nick’s clothing. “It’ll be something obvious. Don’t worry.”
Nick was entrusting his life to an unknown captain who was going to smuggle him into a communist country while he was underwater in unfamiliar scuba diving gear in arctic conditions. Yeah, he thought wryly, no need to worry at all.
But it had all gone just as Darren had explained. Nick had gotten into position, mentally adjusting himself to the claustrophobic conditions of the absolute darkness, and allowed the boat to pull him gently across what he’d come to realize was the Bering Strait. He had no sense of time - it could have taken thirty minutes; it could have been two hours - but eventually the boat slowed and then stopped. Nick felt the boat bump gently against what he figured was another dock, but he waited for the mysterious sign. Finally he saw a flash of light flicker on and off in, what he quickly realized, was Morse code. Thankful for the summer in elementary school when he and a neighbor had learned it to send messages to each other, he recognized the all clear and swam to the edge of the boat. Arms reached out for him, pulling him onto the deck.
He was quickly pulled out of his gear, rubbed down so briskly that he wondered if he’d lost a layer of skin, and shoved into what seemed like three layers of clothing before a coat, hat, mask, gloves, and warm boots were piled into his arms. He donned those final items and was pushed onto the back of a snow machine. He’d barely wrapped his arms around the person in front of him before they were off.
Eventually, they’d stopped beside a truck, and he’d been loaded into the back and had piles of blankets tucked around him just before the truck began jostling its way deeper into Russia.
So here he was, muscles aching and sore, butt bruised from the rough terrain, but surprisingly warm and focused. He realized he wasn’t sure of what to expect when they finally reached their destination, so he needed to make this time count. Wiggling to make himself more comfortable, Nick closed his eyes, determined to rest while he could.
G R I M M G R I M M G R I M M G R I M M G R I M M G R I M M
Initially, Monroe had been surprised and quite disappointed when he’d only been beaten for a short amount of time before being thrown into a cage with a functioning lock a few feet down from his original. But as he listened to the commotion, he realized that everyone’s focus seemed to be on finding the Fuchsbau. He hoped that she’d been able to get away, but he knew the odds didn’t favor a pregnant female who probably had no idea where she was against trained guards. He decided he had done what he could, and he had to let the anxiety go. Of course, he continued to lie there and listen, because really, he had nothing else to do.
Eventually, they came back for him. He wanted to ask if they’d found her, but he and the guards never spoke. In fact, he’d never heard any of the guards speak at all.
They led him to a new room, which piqued his interest slightly. He’d become accustomed to the dungeon with the chains dangling from the ceiling close enough to the wall so they could chain him steady if they didn’t want his body swinging as they abused him. And then there was the room with the four large tables where they strapped him down as the Grimm took samples and injected him with things that made Monroe’s blood feel like it was on fire.
This new room felt almost cozy by comparison. One end held a large fireplace with flames so high that Monroe could feel the warmth as soon as he shuffled through the door. There wasn’t much by way of furniture: a large chair with straps toward the center of the room, a small table holding a few items a few feet away.
“You’ve caused me so much trouble,” a voice sighed, and Monroe saw the Grimm walk around the chair and saunter up to him.
The man was wiry, like Nick, designed to look harmless but whose body harbored a strength that Monroe had seen firsthand. But where Nick’s face showed a kindness and strength of character, this Grimm was all sharp angles and hard, crazy eyes. Monroe had recognized the look; they were the eyes of a fanatic. He sported a thin goatee, his hair in a buzz cut. He always wore a buttoned-up grey physician’s coat whenever he saw Monroe, and back when he’d first arrived, during one of his more delirious moments, Monroe had wondered what kind of look the man liked to rock during his free time.
Now Monroe’s insides clenched whenever he saw the man, smelled the man, or even saw that stupid, stupid grey coat. All that this Grimm was could be narrowed down to one word: pain.
“You owe me, Blutbad,” the Grimm said, his accented voice still perfectly even, like always. “You owe me for the inconvenience, for the waste of time, for ruining my research!”
That last word was said with such malice, through clenched teeth, that Monroe hazarded looking up from the floor. He hadn’t expected to see the Grimm so angry, face red, eyes wild. While a part of him became very afraid, another part was kind of glad that he’d finally managed to break through the man’s iron-clad control.
The Grimm tilted his head toward the large, wooden-backed chair, and the next moment, Monroe found himself seated on it, ankles, thighs, hips, wrists, biceps, upper body, and forehead strapped to the thick wood.
The Grimm walked into Monroe’s line of sight, syringe in his hand, control regained. “You weren’t supposed to be able to access any part of your wolf, and yet -” He raised his free hand and bent his fingers like claws. “You shouldn’t have had the strength to break out of your cage, much less help something else escape.” He shoved the needle into Monroe’s arm and depressed the plunger.
Monroe was used to the heat that traveled throughout his body, but this was slightly… different. He found himself sweating on the outside, cold on the inside, the fire licking through his veins. His body began to shake, and suddenly the pain was everywhere. He opened his mouth to scream, but something was shoved into it, almost choking him.
“You have to pay,” he dimly heard the Grimm say in his ear, “and I’m going to enjoy taking my time.”
He should’ve just run out naked into the snow and let the elements kill him, Monroe thought as his head strained against the strap keeping it still.
G R I M M G R I M M G R I M M G R I M M G R I M M G R I M M
Nick awoke slowly, first discovering that he’d finally managed to fall into a fitful sleep during the rough ride and finally realizing that the truck was still and silent. He fought out of the blankets and slowly edged around the large crates, on the alert for any kind of danger. He looked out at the snow and wondered, not for the first time and probably not the last, where the hell he was. After he was reasonably sure there wasn’t anyone around the vehicle, he slid out of the truckbed, keeping his back against the metal as he slid to the front and felt the cool hood. He reminded himself that a cold engine in this weather didn’t really tell him much as he peered into the empty cab.
He stood there for a few minutes, trying to decide on his next course of action, until he realized that he’d been staring directly at what looked like a door. At first glance, it seemed like weeds had grown over a tree, the snow blanketing everything. But upon closer inspection, he saw details that weren’t found in nature without a little assistance.
The door opened, and a beautiful dark-haired woman stepped out. She nodded at Nick, jerked her head toward the inside, and disappeared back inside, leaving the door slightly ajar.
Nick trod through the knee-high snow and entered the room, feeling warm tendrils running through the layers of his clothes to reach his body before he even closed the door.
“About time you woke,” the woman said, hunched over a large fireplace as she spooned something from a large pot into a bowl. “I was about to come get you.” Her voice contained a thick, Eastern European sounding accent, but Nick could understand her clearly. “Take off your coat and put it on the hook by the door. Your shoes go on that carpet underneath.”
He followed the woman’s directions and turned to find her holding out the bowl. “Stew. It is good and hearty.” A smile touched her lips briefly as she said, “I did not make it.” She gestured toward a flowered sofa. “Sit and eat.”
Nick sat and realized he had no idea how long it’d been since he’d eaten anything. His stomach rumbled loudly, announcing its displeasure, so he dug in, finding that it was indeed very tasty. “I’m Nick,” he offered.
“Greta,” the woman said, sitting in a matching chair across from the sofa. Leaning forward, her arms resting on her thighs, her hands dangling between her knees, she said quietly. “We do not have much time. You have questions about your man. I will take you to the Fuchsbau as soon as she is ready and will translate for you. However in,” she looked at her thick watch, “sixty eight minutes, we will be raiding the location where she last saw your man. We have much to do before that happens.”
Nick found himself with many questions, but a door inside the cabin opened, and a tiny woman scuttled out. Her back was hunched over, her gnarled hands holding a large bowl filled with rags, a scarf over her head. She looked up, saw Nick, and smiled, her wrinkles adjusting to the new expression.
Nick smiled back, mentally counting the three teeth he saw. It only took a second longer for her to woge, and he recognized her rat-like features. So, she was a Reinigen. He held up his hands and tried to look friendly. After a few seconds, her startled look became thoughtful as she moved through the living room and into the kitchen. He wanted to say something to her, but he didn’t know if Greta knew he was a Grimm, or even if she knew anything about the Wesen world.
“That is Lidiya,” Greta told him. “She is taking care of Ylena, the woman who claims to have seen your man.”
Nick perked up at that, setting his empty bowl on the coffee table in front of him as he stood. “Can I talk to Ylana?”
Greta spoke rapidly to Lidiya, who answered from the kitchen. “Lidiya says that Ylana just needs one more moment to become decent, and then we can see her.”
Nick looked back at the door Lidiya had closed moments before. “She’s actually here?” He couldn’t believe he didn’t have to don more winter gear and maybe hide on top of a big rig to get to her.
Greta gave one of her faint smiles and stood, calling out something in Russian.
A woman’s voice responded from behind the closed door.
Lidiya scuttled through the living room and slipped into the room, holding up one finger to Nick, who sighed and sat back down. “You said you’re raiding the place where they’re holding Monroe. Why?”
“We have been investigating this man for his crimes, but until now, we have never gotten proof. No one who enters his land -” she stopped and stared at him a moment.
“No one who enters has ever left alive,” Nick said.
She nodded, her eyes a little sad. “Until Ylana.”
Fear washed over him for a moment, but he brushed it aside. Monroe was still alive. He knew it. And hopefully this same time tomorrow, Nick would have him safely hidden in some sort of transport ready to be smuggled home.
Lidiya’s voice came through the door, and Greta tilted her head toward the room.
Nick stood, absently wiping sweaty hands on his thighs before opening the door. The room was filled with soft colors, the bed and curtains all gentle purples and pinks. The only three items in the room - a dresser, a large bed, and a chair - filled up the room without making it feel too crowded.
Nick took all of this in in seconds before focusing on the Fuchsbau lying in the bed, sleeping baby cradled in her arms. He’d always found the Fuchsbau one of the prettier Wesen he’d encountered, and Ylena - while not as pretty as Rosalee - was still quite fetching in the second she woged. She didn’t seem surprised he was a Grimm, so he supposed that was the reason Lidiya had rushed back inside a few seconds earlier.
Lidiya stood by the dresser, using the top to store her supplies as she mixed some sort of concoction, and Greta pressed Nick into the chair beside the bed. He smiled at the Fuchsbau, who tentatively smiled back at him. “Ylena, I’m Nick, and I’m looking for a very good friend of mine. You said that someone - a man - helped rescued you from where you were being held, and I’m hoping he’s the same man I’m trying to find.”
Ylana was nodding even before Greta finished translating. Nick had decided that it was probably Russian, given where he’d been told he’d been heading.
“He was the only other person I saw in the cages,” Greta translated.
“What did he look like?”
“Tall, hairy. He was a Blutbad, but he still helped me. He got me out of the cage and led me to the door. Then he helped me put on warm clothes, even boots.” She chuckled. “My belly was too big for the coat to close, so he put one on me the right way and one on the other way so I was covered.” Her smile disappeared. “I wanted him to come with me, but he refused.”
“Did you only see him as a man?”
“Mostly. Only his arms…” the English seemed to fail Greta, but Nick had understood enough.
“Let me show you a picture.” He automatically reached in his back pocket before realizing that he’d left his wallet in his other pants. “I’ve lost my wallet.”
“Oh.” Greta unbuttoned one of the pockets in her flannel shirt and pulled out Nick’s wallet.
Nick refused to be surprised. “Thanks,” he said, taking it and thumbing through before stopping on a picture of Monroe. He’d taken it out so many times over the years, staring at it before returning it to the plastic sheath, that the corners were worn and ragged. He kept a second hard copy of the picture at his office after a particularly fierce Schakal had thrown him against a building and shattered his phone - the phone he hadn’t bothered to back up. He pulled out the picture and handed it to Ylena. “Is this the man?”
Ylana didn’t need a translation as she stared at the picture. She gave him a large smile and nodded. “He has much longer hair and big bushy beard, but that is him.”
Nick took a deep breath. “Was he - did he -” He knew what he wanted to ask, but no one being held captive was going to look okay.
Ylana’s hand grasped his wrist, forcing his gaze back to hers. She said something softly, and Nick turned to Greta.
“She said that he is alive. That is all that matters.”
Nick nodded. She was absolutely right.
A few minutes later, after having a few more words with the new mother and being handed a package of food bundled in a handkerchief shoved into his hands by Lidiya, Greta and Nick were back in the truck - with Nick in the passenger seat this time - pulling away from the house.
“How much time do we have?”
Greta looked at her watch. “Forty one minutes. Do not worry. We are not going far.”
Less than five minutes later, Greta pulled over, and Nick helped stretch a camouflage tarp over the truck. Another three minutes of trekking through the woods, they came upon another house hidden even better than Lidiya’s. Greta simply opened the door, and they strode through, finding a group of men all dressed in white snow gear, huddled over a table, the only furniture in the room. The men looked up briefly before one spoke in Russian, and they returned their attention to the map on the table.
Greta answered, pulling off her coat and hat, and Nick did the same. Once again, they used the hangers by the door, and Nick followed Greta into the next room. This one was also filled with people, mostly men, all outfitting themselves for a war.
Greta rooted through some boxes before she found what she needed. Tossing Nick a thick shirt, pair of socks, and cargo pants, all white, she said, “get dressed first. Then we talk.”
Everyone else seemed comfortable changing in the room, so Nick followed suit and was quickly dressed and following a similarly clad Greta back into the main room. This time, only two of the men remained.
Greta walked up to the table talking, gesturing toward Nick. Both men’s eyes flickered toward him and then back to Greta.
The tallest, a man with grey hair and sharp eyes - obviously the leader - returned his attention to Nick and pointed at the table. “This is a map of the castle,” he said in heavily accented English.
Nick moved closer and began to listen to the plans.
In the end, it actually wasn’t that complicated. One team was going to come straight through the front, another from the roof, another from the back, with the fourth team using a boat to sail right inside the structure. They had already marked the locations of the known booby traps and allotted for the estimated time required to disable or bypass each one. They’d allocated forty-five minutes from infiltration to extraction, and Nick needed to be at the extraction point on time or make his way as best he could.
Nick was going to tag along with the group traveling by boat, since the cells seemed to be located closest to that entry point. The leader made Nick well aware that their only mission was to get their mark, preferably alive, and take down this castle. Nick was responsible for himself and anyone else he wanted to rescue from the castle. They were letting him tag along, but they weren’t going to babysit him.
And that was fine with Nick, because all he wanted was Monroe. He did like the idea of hurting the man responsible for kidnapping Monroe, but as long as he got Monroe out there alive, he’d deal with the rest later.
With a final nod, the leader looked at Nick and Greta. “We depart in five minutes.”
Nick turned to Greta. “Did they rescue Ylena?”
She nodded. “The castle has been under observation for some time. They saw their chance to extract her without… hindering the mission. She also helped provide us with additional information.”
“I don’t suppose there are any extra weapons lying around.”
Grinning, Greta turned toward the other door, opening it to reveal rows of boots and an arsenal. “Take whatever you want.”
He armed himself, keeping a curious eye on Greta’s choices. “How is it that we were able to just walk in here without being stopped once?”
Greta grinned, this time showing her teeth. “They knew who we were before we even got out of the truck. They had five or six different opportunities to kill us before we walked through the door.”
Of course they did, Nick thought, unsurprised, as he shoved a sheathed knife down each boot. He noticed one of the men hungrily eyeballing the food Lidiya had given him. After a moment’s consideration, he held the bundle out to the man. After a conversation filled with gestures and over-emphasized facial expressions, he handed it over, shrugging when he saw Greta looking at him. He was never hungry before an op and didn’t want to waste the food.
Fifteen minutes later, Nick and Greta were crouched in the second of two boats silently being rowed toward the castle. Each boat was covered by a tarp, the oars camouflaged as well.
There was something about the energy created before a bust - or a military-style op, evidently - that Nick loved. He realized that he’d missed the sense of anticipation, the accelerated heartbeat, the heightened awareness. He felt it more often now that he was a Grimm, but it hadn’t really been the same since Monroe had left and he’d quit the force. But now that he was so close to getting Monroe back, Nick welcomed the familiar focus.
Because everyone looked the same underneath white balaclavas and helmets, Nick hadn’t even been sure Greta had been with him until she’d taken his arm and led him to the second boat.
Just before they boarded, Nick turned to her and asked the question that had been on his mind since the quick debriefing. “I know what their plans are, and I’m only concerned with Monroe. What’s your mission?”
That flittered smile reappeared a moment before she said, “Do not worry. I will be there if you need me.”
G R I M M G R I M M G R I M M G R I M M G R I M M G R I M M
Monroe hung by his arms, wondering how he was still alive and hoping that it wouldn’t last much longer. Every time he succumbed to unconsciousness, he was awakened, first by cold water, then by electrical shock when the water stopped making an impact, he supposed. He watched emotionlessly as his blood stained the carpet underneath him.
“I knew you were hearty; that’s one of the reasons why I kept you alive,” the Grimm said, cleaning off his protective glasses yet again. “I got tired of having to start from scratch all the time. But I had no idea that you’d last this long.”
Monroe wanted to say, “you and me both, buddy,” but he couldn’t even hold up his head, and the one eye still open had decided to stop focusing a little while earlier.
Absently he heard a door open, the Grimm move away, quiet murmurs, and the door close again.
“I have a matter that needs my attention. We’ll pick this up tomorrow, if you last the night.”
Monroe dropped to the floor when the chains were released, but he knew that the guards would be waiting a long time if they expected him to return to his cage under his own power. Even if his finger and toenails hadn’t been ripped out, his muscles wouldn’t take any of the commands his exhausted mind tried to send their way.
He knew he was a disgusting mess and felt a bit of pleasure at the fact that the guards were going to have to actually touch him to return him back to his cell. Eventually, they did just that, slinging their rifles over their shoulders, each guard taking a limb. They weren’t very gentle, but it hadn’t felt any worse than what he’d just gone through. He just zoned out until he felt himself swinging from side to side and then flying as they let go and his body fell into the cell with a hard thud. The pain of hitting the floor ended up being just too much, and as he found himself slipping under, he hoped that this was for the last time.
He awoke to a gentle hand on his cheek, opening his one good eye to find a concerned Nick staring at him. He wasn’t surprised; whenever he needed something to keep him going, he conjured up DreamNick. Not the angry Nick that he’d last seen but the Nick who’d been his best friend, the one who didn’t hate him. He smiled faintly, glad that his last thought was of the one who meant the most to him in life.
Entry with links to each chapter
Chapter 3
As his body bounced around the back of the truck in the darkness, Nick found himself actually thankful for the blankets hiding him. He was just tired enough to be able to fall into a slight doze from time to time, only to be awakened by a harsh jolt when one of the wheels fell into a particularly deep hole. Judging by the feel, they’d left the paved road less than five minutes after they’d started, and they’d had to have been on the road for at least half an hour.
As his mind started to grow fuzzy, he reflected on the past twenty-four hours.
They’d conducted the interviews first, where he wasn’t surprised to find that although Monroe had done his best to keep to himself, he couldn’t not be Monroe, so pretty much everyone had a story where he’d helped them in some way. A teenager out joyriding in her father’s car had gotten a flat tire, and Monroe had just appeared, changed her tire, then disappeared without a word. In one of his forays into the mercantile, he’d helped the shopkeeper put product on a high shelf, again without much discussion.
After the interviews, they’d climbed onto snowmobiles - which were evidently called snow machines in Alaska - and headed out to Monroe’s shack, which actually looked slightly more stable in person than in the photographs. Nick couldn’t help comparing the stark wooden structure to Monroe’s former house with all of the clocks and tchotchkes that Nick had come to equate with the Blutbad. It might’ve fit the definition of a house - barely - but it definitely wasn’t a home.
Darren had gotten a call on a satellite phone he’d somehow stashed away in one of his coat’s voluminous pockets as they’d trekked out to the site where they’d determined Monroe had been attacked. As usual, he didn’t say much, just grunted out a hello, listened for about a minute, grunted again, and ended the call. “We caught a break. A woman claimed your man rescued her after she’d been kidnapped.”
“Is he okay?”
Darren shrugged. “We need to get you over there so you can find out.”
Nick paused at that. “Over where?”
And that’s when the true trek began. Ca’Trena drove them to nearby - a relative word in Alaska it turned out after the hour-long drive - Kotzebue, where they hopped on different snow machines and followed the water until they reached a boat bobbing beside a small dock hidden along the bank. Darren stepped up to a man, the captain Nick assumed, while Ca’Trena led Nick inside the small cabin.
“Have you ever been scuba diving?” She asked, opening one of a pile of boxes.
“A couple of times in college during spring breaks,” he admitted, remembering just how young and carefree he’d been then. It felt like another lifetime.
Ca’Trena nodded. “Good. Get undressed.”
“Everything?”
She nodded. “Everything.”
Nick didn’t have time to think about the fact that he was buck naked in front of a woman whose last name he didn’t know, because she was already tossing clothes at him, instructing him on how to put them on, throwing around terms like “dry suit” and “cold water regulator”. As she finished helping him dress, instructing him on the equipment, he slowly began to realize that he was being prepped for some sort of arctic cold water dive.
He’d been comfortable just going along for the ride, but this was starting to get serious. He stopped everything and looked at Ca’Trena, waiting until he had her full attention. “I need to know what’s happening. Now.”
Her eyes flittered around his face for a moment before she nodded. “Wait here.” She left the cabin.
Less than a minute later, Darren stepped inside. “Okay. The woman who claims your man rescued her is in Russia, which just happens to be right across the water. Our guy is going to take you over, but you’re going to have to hold on and float underwater.”
Nick frowned.
“Look,” Darren said, “we could go through the process of obtaining the required visas to go into Russia as well as trying to explain your need to venture deep into the parts with absolutely no tourist interest, but it’ll only arouse suspicion, and by the time you actually made it to your destination, your man would probably be dead. Do you even have your passport with you?”
Nick couldn’t really argue with that. Much. “I don’t speak Russian.”
“You’ll have an English speaking contact waiting for you on the other side,” Darren said.
So far all of Renard’s contacts had been absolutely reliable, so Nick wasn’t about to second-guess them now. “Okay. When do we leave?”
Darren unrolled a piece of paper, pressing it flat against a desk shoved in the corner of the small cabin. He placed a book on the top of the paper and another on the bottom to hold it flat.
Nick moved in for a closer look. “Is this a diagram of the boat?”
Darren nodded, pointing to a small hook underneath the back - the stern - of the boat. “This is where you’ll be holding on while you sail across the Strait. Stay quiet and out of sight until you’re given the all clear.”
“And what’s that?”
Darren shrugged as he gathered the boxes and Nick’s clothing. “It’ll be something obvious. Don’t worry.”
Nick was entrusting his life to an unknown captain who was going to smuggle him into a communist country while he was underwater in unfamiliar scuba diving gear in arctic conditions. Yeah, he thought wryly, no need to worry at all.
But it had all gone just as Darren had explained. Nick had gotten into position, mentally adjusting himself to the claustrophobic conditions of the absolute darkness, and allowed the boat to pull him gently across what he’d come to realize was the Bering Strait. He had no sense of time - it could have taken thirty minutes; it could have been two hours - but eventually the boat slowed and then stopped. Nick felt the boat bump gently against what he figured was another dock, but he waited for the mysterious sign. Finally he saw a flash of light flicker on and off in, what he quickly realized, was Morse code. Thankful for the summer in elementary school when he and a neighbor had learned it to send messages to each other, he recognized the all clear and swam to the edge of the boat. Arms reached out for him, pulling him onto the deck.
He was quickly pulled out of his gear, rubbed down so briskly that he wondered if he’d lost a layer of skin, and shoved into what seemed like three layers of clothing before a coat, hat, mask, gloves, and warm boots were piled into his arms. He donned those final items and was pushed onto the back of a snow machine. He’d barely wrapped his arms around the person in front of him before they were off.
Eventually, they’d stopped beside a truck, and he’d been loaded into the back and had piles of blankets tucked around him just before the truck began jostling its way deeper into Russia.
So here he was, muscles aching and sore, butt bruised from the rough terrain, but surprisingly warm and focused. He realized he wasn’t sure of what to expect when they finally reached their destination, so he needed to make this time count. Wiggling to make himself more comfortable, Nick closed his eyes, determined to rest while he could.
G R I M M G R I M M G R I M M G R I M M G R I M M G R I M M
Initially, Monroe had been surprised and quite disappointed when he’d only been beaten for a short amount of time before being thrown into a cage with a functioning lock a few feet down from his original. But as he listened to the commotion, he realized that everyone’s focus seemed to be on finding the Fuchsbau. He hoped that she’d been able to get away, but he knew the odds didn’t favor a pregnant female who probably had no idea where she was against trained guards. He decided he had done what he could, and he had to let the anxiety go. Of course, he continued to lie there and listen, because really, he had nothing else to do.
Eventually, they came back for him. He wanted to ask if they’d found her, but he and the guards never spoke. In fact, he’d never heard any of the guards speak at all.
They led him to a new room, which piqued his interest slightly. He’d become accustomed to the dungeon with the chains dangling from the ceiling close enough to the wall so they could chain him steady if they didn’t want his body swinging as they abused him. And then there was the room with the four large tables where they strapped him down as the Grimm took samples and injected him with things that made Monroe’s blood feel like it was on fire.
This new room felt almost cozy by comparison. One end held a large fireplace with flames so high that Monroe could feel the warmth as soon as he shuffled through the door. There wasn’t much by way of furniture: a large chair with straps toward the center of the room, a small table holding a few items a few feet away.
“You’ve caused me so much trouble,” a voice sighed, and Monroe saw the Grimm walk around the chair and saunter up to him.
The man was wiry, like Nick, designed to look harmless but whose body harbored a strength that Monroe had seen firsthand. But where Nick’s face showed a kindness and strength of character, this Grimm was all sharp angles and hard, crazy eyes. Monroe had recognized the look; they were the eyes of a fanatic. He sported a thin goatee, his hair in a buzz cut. He always wore a buttoned-up grey physician’s coat whenever he saw Monroe, and back when he’d first arrived, during one of his more delirious moments, Monroe had wondered what kind of look the man liked to rock during his free time.
Now Monroe’s insides clenched whenever he saw the man, smelled the man, or even saw that stupid, stupid grey coat. All that this Grimm was could be narrowed down to one word: pain.
“You owe me, Blutbad,” the Grimm said, his accented voice still perfectly even, like always. “You owe me for the inconvenience, for the waste of time, for ruining my research!”
That last word was said with such malice, through clenched teeth, that Monroe hazarded looking up from the floor. He hadn’t expected to see the Grimm so angry, face red, eyes wild. While a part of him became very afraid, another part was kind of glad that he’d finally managed to break through the man’s iron-clad control.
The Grimm tilted his head toward the large, wooden-backed chair, and the next moment, Monroe found himself seated on it, ankles, thighs, hips, wrists, biceps, upper body, and forehead strapped to the thick wood.
The Grimm walked into Monroe’s line of sight, syringe in his hand, control regained. “You weren’t supposed to be able to access any part of your wolf, and yet -” He raised his free hand and bent his fingers like claws. “You shouldn’t have had the strength to break out of your cage, much less help something else escape.” He shoved the needle into Monroe’s arm and depressed the plunger.
Monroe was used to the heat that traveled throughout his body, but this was slightly… different. He found himself sweating on the outside, cold on the inside, the fire licking through his veins. His body began to shake, and suddenly the pain was everywhere. He opened his mouth to scream, but something was shoved into it, almost choking him.
“You have to pay,” he dimly heard the Grimm say in his ear, “and I’m going to enjoy taking my time.”
He should’ve just run out naked into the snow and let the elements kill him, Monroe thought as his head strained against the strap keeping it still.
G R I M M G R I M M G R I M M G R I M M G R I M M G R I M M
Nick awoke slowly, first discovering that he’d finally managed to fall into a fitful sleep during the rough ride and finally realizing that the truck was still and silent. He fought out of the blankets and slowly edged around the large crates, on the alert for any kind of danger. He looked out at the snow and wondered, not for the first time and probably not the last, where the hell he was. After he was reasonably sure there wasn’t anyone around the vehicle, he slid out of the truckbed, keeping his back against the metal as he slid to the front and felt the cool hood. He reminded himself that a cold engine in this weather didn’t really tell him much as he peered into the empty cab.
He stood there for a few minutes, trying to decide on his next course of action, until he realized that he’d been staring directly at what looked like a door. At first glance, it seemed like weeds had grown over a tree, the snow blanketing everything. But upon closer inspection, he saw details that weren’t found in nature without a little assistance.
The door opened, and a beautiful dark-haired woman stepped out. She nodded at Nick, jerked her head toward the inside, and disappeared back inside, leaving the door slightly ajar.
Nick trod through the knee-high snow and entered the room, feeling warm tendrils running through the layers of his clothes to reach his body before he even closed the door.
“About time you woke,” the woman said, hunched over a large fireplace as she spooned something from a large pot into a bowl. “I was about to come get you.” Her voice contained a thick, Eastern European sounding accent, but Nick could understand her clearly. “Take off your coat and put it on the hook by the door. Your shoes go on that carpet underneath.”
He followed the woman’s directions and turned to find her holding out the bowl. “Stew. It is good and hearty.” A smile touched her lips briefly as she said, “I did not make it.” She gestured toward a flowered sofa. “Sit and eat.”
Nick sat and realized he had no idea how long it’d been since he’d eaten anything. His stomach rumbled loudly, announcing its displeasure, so he dug in, finding that it was indeed very tasty. “I’m Nick,” he offered.
“Greta,” the woman said, sitting in a matching chair across from the sofa. Leaning forward, her arms resting on her thighs, her hands dangling between her knees, she said quietly. “We do not have much time. You have questions about your man. I will take you to the Fuchsbau as soon as she is ready and will translate for you. However in,” she looked at her thick watch, “sixty eight minutes, we will be raiding the location where she last saw your man. We have much to do before that happens.”
Nick found himself with many questions, but a door inside the cabin opened, and a tiny woman scuttled out. Her back was hunched over, her gnarled hands holding a large bowl filled with rags, a scarf over her head. She looked up, saw Nick, and smiled, her wrinkles adjusting to the new expression.
Nick smiled back, mentally counting the three teeth he saw. It only took a second longer for her to woge, and he recognized her rat-like features. So, she was a Reinigen. He held up his hands and tried to look friendly. After a few seconds, her startled look became thoughtful as she moved through the living room and into the kitchen. He wanted to say something to her, but he didn’t know if Greta knew he was a Grimm, or even if she knew anything about the Wesen world.
“That is Lidiya,” Greta told him. “She is taking care of Ylena, the woman who claims to have seen your man.”
Nick perked up at that, setting his empty bowl on the coffee table in front of him as he stood. “Can I talk to Ylana?”
Greta spoke rapidly to Lidiya, who answered from the kitchen. “Lidiya says that Ylana just needs one more moment to become decent, and then we can see her.”
Nick looked back at the door Lidiya had closed moments before. “She’s actually here?” He couldn’t believe he didn’t have to don more winter gear and maybe hide on top of a big rig to get to her.
Greta gave one of her faint smiles and stood, calling out something in Russian.
A woman’s voice responded from behind the closed door.
Lidiya scuttled through the living room and slipped into the room, holding up one finger to Nick, who sighed and sat back down. “You said you’re raiding the place where they’re holding Monroe. Why?”
“We have been investigating this man for his crimes, but until now, we have never gotten proof. No one who enters his land -” she stopped and stared at him a moment.
“No one who enters has ever left alive,” Nick said.
She nodded, her eyes a little sad. “Until Ylana.”
Fear washed over him for a moment, but he brushed it aside. Monroe was still alive. He knew it. And hopefully this same time tomorrow, Nick would have him safely hidden in some sort of transport ready to be smuggled home.
Lidiya’s voice came through the door, and Greta tilted her head toward the room.
Nick stood, absently wiping sweaty hands on his thighs before opening the door. The room was filled with soft colors, the bed and curtains all gentle purples and pinks. The only three items in the room - a dresser, a large bed, and a chair - filled up the room without making it feel too crowded.
Nick took all of this in in seconds before focusing on the Fuchsbau lying in the bed, sleeping baby cradled in her arms. He’d always found the Fuchsbau one of the prettier Wesen he’d encountered, and Ylena - while not as pretty as Rosalee - was still quite fetching in the second she woged. She didn’t seem surprised he was a Grimm, so he supposed that was the reason Lidiya had rushed back inside a few seconds earlier.
Lidiya stood by the dresser, using the top to store her supplies as she mixed some sort of concoction, and Greta pressed Nick into the chair beside the bed. He smiled at the Fuchsbau, who tentatively smiled back at him. “Ylena, I’m Nick, and I’m looking for a very good friend of mine. You said that someone - a man - helped rescued you from where you were being held, and I’m hoping he’s the same man I’m trying to find.”
Ylana was nodding even before Greta finished translating. Nick had decided that it was probably Russian, given where he’d been told he’d been heading.
“He was the only other person I saw in the cages,” Greta translated.
“What did he look like?”
“Tall, hairy. He was a Blutbad, but he still helped me. He got me out of the cage and led me to the door. Then he helped me put on warm clothes, even boots.” She chuckled. “My belly was too big for the coat to close, so he put one on me the right way and one on the other way so I was covered.” Her smile disappeared. “I wanted him to come with me, but he refused.”
“Did you only see him as a man?”
“Mostly. Only his arms…” the English seemed to fail Greta, but Nick had understood enough.
“Let me show you a picture.” He automatically reached in his back pocket before realizing that he’d left his wallet in his other pants. “I’ve lost my wallet.”
“Oh.” Greta unbuttoned one of the pockets in her flannel shirt and pulled out Nick’s wallet.
Nick refused to be surprised. “Thanks,” he said, taking it and thumbing through before stopping on a picture of Monroe. He’d taken it out so many times over the years, staring at it before returning it to the plastic sheath, that the corners were worn and ragged. He kept a second hard copy of the picture at his office after a particularly fierce Schakal had thrown him against a building and shattered his phone - the phone he hadn’t bothered to back up. He pulled out the picture and handed it to Ylena. “Is this the man?”
Ylana didn’t need a translation as she stared at the picture. She gave him a large smile and nodded. “He has much longer hair and big bushy beard, but that is him.”
Nick took a deep breath. “Was he - did he -” He knew what he wanted to ask, but no one being held captive was going to look okay.
Ylana’s hand grasped his wrist, forcing his gaze back to hers. She said something softly, and Nick turned to Greta.
“She said that he is alive. That is all that matters.”
Nick nodded. She was absolutely right.
A few minutes later, after having a few more words with the new mother and being handed a package of food bundled in a handkerchief shoved into his hands by Lidiya, Greta and Nick were back in the truck - with Nick in the passenger seat this time - pulling away from the house.
“How much time do we have?”
Greta looked at her watch. “Forty one minutes. Do not worry. We are not going far.”
Less than five minutes later, Greta pulled over, and Nick helped stretch a camouflage tarp over the truck. Another three minutes of trekking through the woods, they came upon another house hidden even better than Lidiya’s. Greta simply opened the door, and they strode through, finding a group of men all dressed in white snow gear, huddled over a table, the only furniture in the room. The men looked up briefly before one spoke in Russian, and they returned their attention to the map on the table.
Greta answered, pulling off her coat and hat, and Nick did the same. Once again, they used the hangers by the door, and Nick followed Greta into the next room. This one was also filled with people, mostly men, all outfitting themselves for a war.
Greta rooted through some boxes before she found what she needed. Tossing Nick a thick shirt, pair of socks, and cargo pants, all white, she said, “get dressed first. Then we talk.”
Everyone else seemed comfortable changing in the room, so Nick followed suit and was quickly dressed and following a similarly clad Greta back into the main room. This time, only two of the men remained.
Greta walked up to the table talking, gesturing toward Nick. Both men’s eyes flickered toward him and then back to Greta.
The tallest, a man with grey hair and sharp eyes - obviously the leader - returned his attention to Nick and pointed at the table. “This is a map of the castle,” he said in heavily accented English.
Nick moved closer and began to listen to the plans.
In the end, it actually wasn’t that complicated. One team was going to come straight through the front, another from the roof, another from the back, with the fourth team using a boat to sail right inside the structure. They had already marked the locations of the known booby traps and allotted for the estimated time required to disable or bypass each one. They’d allocated forty-five minutes from infiltration to extraction, and Nick needed to be at the extraction point on time or make his way as best he could.
Nick was going to tag along with the group traveling by boat, since the cells seemed to be located closest to that entry point. The leader made Nick well aware that their only mission was to get their mark, preferably alive, and take down this castle. Nick was responsible for himself and anyone else he wanted to rescue from the castle. They were letting him tag along, but they weren’t going to babysit him.
And that was fine with Nick, because all he wanted was Monroe. He did like the idea of hurting the man responsible for kidnapping Monroe, but as long as he got Monroe out there alive, he’d deal with the rest later.
With a final nod, the leader looked at Nick and Greta. “We depart in five minutes.”
Nick turned to Greta. “Did they rescue Ylena?”
She nodded. “The castle has been under observation for some time. They saw their chance to extract her without… hindering the mission. She also helped provide us with additional information.”
“I don’t suppose there are any extra weapons lying around.”
Grinning, Greta turned toward the other door, opening it to reveal rows of boots and an arsenal. “Take whatever you want.”
He armed himself, keeping a curious eye on Greta’s choices. “How is it that we were able to just walk in here without being stopped once?”
Greta grinned, this time showing her teeth. “They knew who we were before we even got out of the truck. They had five or six different opportunities to kill us before we walked through the door.”
Of course they did, Nick thought, unsurprised, as he shoved a sheathed knife down each boot. He noticed one of the men hungrily eyeballing the food Lidiya had given him. After a moment’s consideration, he held the bundle out to the man. After a conversation filled with gestures and over-emphasized facial expressions, he handed it over, shrugging when he saw Greta looking at him. He was never hungry before an op and didn’t want to waste the food.
Fifteen minutes later, Nick and Greta were crouched in the second of two boats silently being rowed toward the castle. Each boat was covered by a tarp, the oars camouflaged as well.
There was something about the energy created before a bust - or a military-style op, evidently - that Nick loved. He realized that he’d missed the sense of anticipation, the accelerated heartbeat, the heightened awareness. He felt it more often now that he was a Grimm, but it hadn’t really been the same since Monroe had left and he’d quit the force. But now that he was so close to getting Monroe back, Nick welcomed the familiar focus.
Because everyone looked the same underneath white balaclavas and helmets, Nick hadn’t even been sure Greta had been with him until she’d taken his arm and led him to the second boat.
Just before they boarded, Nick turned to her and asked the question that had been on his mind since the quick debriefing. “I know what their plans are, and I’m only concerned with Monroe. What’s your mission?”
That flittered smile reappeared a moment before she said, “Do not worry. I will be there if you need me.”
G R I M M G R I M M G R I M M G R I M M G R I M M G R I M M
Monroe hung by his arms, wondering how he was still alive and hoping that it wouldn’t last much longer. Every time he succumbed to unconsciousness, he was awakened, first by cold water, then by electrical shock when the water stopped making an impact, he supposed. He watched emotionlessly as his blood stained the carpet underneath him.
“I knew you were hearty; that’s one of the reasons why I kept you alive,” the Grimm said, cleaning off his protective glasses yet again. “I got tired of having to start from scratch all the time. But I had no idea that you’d last this long.”
Monroe wanted to say, “you and me both, buddy,” but he couldn’t even hold up his head, and the one eye still open had decided to stop focusing a little while earlier.
Absently he heard a door open, the Grimm move away, quiet murmurs, and the door close again.
“I have a matter that needs my attention. We’ll pick this up tomorrow, if you last the night.”
Monroe dropped to the floor when the chains were released, but he knew that the guards would be waiting a long time if they expected him to return to his cage under his own power. Even if his finger and toenails hadn’t been ripped out, his muscles wouldn’t take any of the commands his exhausted mind tried to send their way.
He knew he was a disgusting mess and felt a bit of pleasure at the fact that the guards were going to have to actually touch him to return him back to his cell. Eventually, they did just that, slinging their rifles over their shoulders, each guard taking a limb. They weren’t very gentle, but it hadn’t felt any worse than what he’d just gone through. He just zoned out until he felt himself swinging from side to side and then flying as they let go and his body fell into the cell with a hard thud. The pain of hitting the floor ended up being just too much, and as he found himself slipping under, he hoped that this was for the last time.
He awoke to a gentle hand on his cheek, opening his one good eye to find a concerned Nick staring at him. He wasn’t surprised; whenever he needed something to keep him going, he conjured up DreamNick. Not the angry Nick that he’d last seen but the Nick who’d been his best friend, the one who didn’t hate him. He smiled faintly, glad that his last thought was of the one who meant the most to him in life.
Entry with links to each chapter