Fic: Honesty Is the Best Policy (Sometimes)
Title: Honesty Is the Best Policy (Sometimes)
Fandom: Grimm
Rating: PG
Pairing: Nick/Monroe
Summary: Fill for this prompt in the kinkmeme. Someone slips Nick a truth serum and Monroe has to suffer through the consequences.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own words.
“I told Hank he and Wu would make a cute couple,” Nick blurted as soon as Monroe opened his front door.
Monroe’s smartass comment about interrupting a Blutbad during his work being justified grounds for homicide died on his tongue when he saw the frightened confusion on Nick’s face.
“And why would you tell him that?” Monroe asked, wondering why Nick had felt the compulsion to inform him of this event.
“I don’t know.” Nick tugged at his hair as he rushed past Monroe and starting pacing around the living room in tense, little circles. “I was fine this morning. Then after lunch-- You know those white lies you tell people just to be nice? I can’t say them anymore. It’s like the part of my brain that’s in charge of that shut off and only the truth comes out, even if I don’t mean to say anything at all. If someone asks me something, I can’t not reply, even if the only thing going through my head is something I would never, ever say. Hank’s the one who started talking about his relationship problems, or lack off, since he doesn’t have one. That’s the problem. And I just thought, he and Wu have been getting all buddy buddy with each other, and I think Wu leans that way, but I was just thinking it. I wasn’t supposed to spit it out. It just happened. It’s like my brain’s connection with my tongue is broken. At least Hank didn’t look horrified, just shocked, I think. Oh God, what the hell’s wrong with me?”
Nick sank into the couch, his whole body sagging forward as he buried his face in his hands, looking like a sad, lost puppy whose mother had been run over by a car. Through his dolorous monologue, Monroe had figured out what was wrong him, but thought it best for Nick to tire himself out first, for, like he said, in this state he wouldn’t be able to stop the words from flowing anyway.
“Did you drink anything at lunch?” he asked, walking up to Nick.
“Apple juice,” Nick mumbled into his hands.
“Was it in a closed bottle or a cup?”
“A cup.” Nick looked up at him, realization dawning in his eyes. “You think someone spiked it?”
“Yup. With truth serum. I’m afraid you’re going to be exclaiming every little inconvenient truth for a while. A couple of days, at least. It was probably a prank. If someone wanted you for more nefarious purposes, they would have kidnapped and interrogated you by now.”
“A prank? But who would be so evil, so cruel? I told a nice couple that their baby was ugly. That it looked like a miniature Winston Churchill. I’ve arrested murderers who didn’t glare at me so fiercely.”
Monroe snorted, then quickly smoothed his face back into a serious expression when Nick shot him an injured glower.
“Sorry. From my perspective, it’s pretty funny.” Nick’s betrayed puppy look intensified. “Alright. I won’t laugh at your pain. I’m sorry. These kind of pranks happen all the time. Truth serum isn’t as hard to get hold of as you’d think. It’s just bored people being stupid. Come on. Lighten up. Hey. Maybe your partner already had inclinations toward Wu and you just gave him the last push he needed.”
“Or he might hate me forever.”
“Forever is such a strong word. He’ll probably only hate you until the end of the month.”
Nick groaned piteously.
“I’m calling in sick tomorrow,” he moaned. “I can’t-I’m not even fit for duty right now.”
“Tell you what? Since you’re more of a danger to yourself than others right now, you can ride it out here.”
Oh, what foolish, foolish words.
Three hours later, the situation had gone from risible to exasperating as all hell, for Nick started babbling about all the little things he didn’t like that he’d been keeping to himself to be polite. While there were plenty of things he did enjoy, knowing that Nick loved the mosaic in his front door, his clocks, and his model of the solar system didn’t quite make up for his ‘oh dear God, what is that?’ grimace when Monroe changed into a long sleeve shirt because the evening had gotten chilly.
“What?” Monroe asked, looking down at himself, checking for stains. “What’s wrong with the shirt?”
“It’s so ugly,” Nick said, disgust permeating his voice, then his eyes widened in ardent apology. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-Oh crap.”
Forcing his jaw to unclench, Monroe stomped upstairs to his room.
“Wait,” Nick called after him. “You don’t have to change. I’m sorry.”
A new shirt later, Nick was still frowning at him.
“Now what’s wrong with this one?” Monroe asked, slumping his shoulders in frustration.
“It’s all dirty green and brown. It doesn’t combine at all. It’s like the olive green of your fireplace. The design is great, but olive green, really?” Nick slapped a hand on his mouth. “Shit, Monroe, I’m so, so sorry. I like your books. Have I mentioned that? It’s a great selection. And I like your paintings and your taste in music and your skill in fixing clocks is amazing.”
Nick trailed after him raining compliments as Monroe trudged back upstairs to dig up a plain, white shirt. It was a dress shirt he hadn’t worn in years, but right now he didn’t give a damn.
“Now don’t you dare say that you don’t like white,” Monroe said after he changed, this close from throwing out his “be nice to the suffering Grimm” plan and doing some serious mauling.
However, instead of insulting Monroe’s taste yet again, Nick’s expression softened as he looked at the new selection, his eyes lingering at Monroe’s neck.
“No,” he said, his tone gentle, hesitant. “It looks really nice on you.”
Did he sound a little… Nah. Nick was probably just coming down from his “I hate everything Monroe wears” high. That’s why he sounded so funny.
“Thanks,” he said, frowning at Nick, who was shuffling down the corridor as quickly as he could.
Dinner proved to be no less off-putting. After Monroe spent over an hour preparing a nice meal of yellow rice, beans, Italian salad, and broiled flounder for Nick, it turned out that Nick didn’t like the beans, for he scrunched his face in distaste as soon as he put them in his mouth.
“You don’t have to eat them if you don’t like them,” Monroe said, frowning at him. He’d worked hard on those beans.
Nick shook his head, a little desperately, Monroe thought.
“No, I-I-“ His head fell. “No, I don’t like them. I’m sorry. They just taste a little, I don’t know. The flounder is delicious, though.”
Well, at least there was that.
“Don’t worry about it. I know you’d be your regular, polite self if you hadn’t been poisoned. You don’t have to eat them if you don’t want to.”
“No, I-Yeah, I don’t want to eat them. Wait, the truth serum doesn’t stop me from eating something I don’t like, does it?”
Nick stuffed more beans in his mouth.
“Nick, you don’t have to prove a point. Give me your plate.”
“You made them, so I should eat them. A good guest eats what’s placed in front of him, and I’ve been a horrible one so far.”
They wrestled over the plate, Nick still scooping up beans as if engaged in mortal combat with the legumes.
“And as the host, I reserve the right to not force feed you whatever I please. Now give me those beans.”
“No.”
Giving up the plate as lost, Monroe pushed his own under Nick’s and shoveled all the beans onto his plate, yanking it away before Nick could get at them.
“There,” Monroe said. “Now they’re my beans and you can’t eat them.”
“You have nice hands.”
Monroe’s fork stilled on a piece of lettuce as his brain processed the statement, came back with a “does not compute”, then ran it through again.
“What?” he asked.
If it were possible for hair to blush, Nick’s would certainly be, for his whole face had gone pink. He lowered it as close to his plate as he could without smothering himself on his food, hiding it from Monroe’s view as much as possible.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I was fishing around for a compliment while looking at your hands, so…well.”
Monroe scrutinized Nick for a long while. It might be a fluke. Probably was. No sense thinking thoughts that should not be thought of.
But then it happened again when Nick asked Monroe to play the cello for him.
“No,” Monroe said, carrying his poor cello somewhere where Nick couldn’t see it. Usually, at this early hour of the evening, Monroe would be practicing his paltry skills, but there wasn’t a snowman’s chance in hell he was doing anything he wasn’t excellent at in front of Mr. I Will Crush Your Soul With the Truth. “No way. Once this junk is out of your system, maybe. I emphasize the maybe, but there’s no way I’m playing for you now. I don’t mind a little criticism, but you would tear me apart.”
“But I heard some of what you were playing that night when I interrupted you. It was good.”
Oh. That was a good sign. But still.
“Thank you. I appreciate that. But you heard it muffled through the door, not properly. The answer’s still no.”
“You have such a wonderfully expressive face, you know?”
Alright, that was too much. After closing the closet door behind the cello, he turned back to Nick, halting the apology rising on his chagrined face with a raised hand.
“If you say ‘I’m sorry’ or any other version of that phrase, I will hit something. You understand?”
Nick shut his mouth, nodding.
“Okay,” Monroe continued, trying to figure out how best to phrase this. “I may be reading too much into this, but you’re confusing the hell out of me and I think we should just have it out already.” Because straight men didn’t compliment other men’s looks three times in a single afternoon. “Do you like me?”
“Yes.”
Nick frowned, but it was too early to interpret what that meant.
“That might have been a little vague. Do you like me just as a friend or is it a ‘you have a crush on me’ kind of like?”
Please say the latter please say the latter please say the latter.
Nick’s cheeks reddened again, accompanied by a fair amount of apprehension as he looked down at the floor.
“The ‘I have a crush on you’ kind.”
Monroe’s breath froze. Oh God.
“I know you probably didn’t want to hear that,” Nick continued, back in blurt mode, “but I really enjoy your company. You’re funny and you’re so good at what you do. Those clocks you make are works of art. And you’ve been so helpful with all my Grimm stuff and I know I’m the one who wouldn’t leave you alone even though you wanted me to, but you’ve been so gracious about it despite the sarcasm and you’re so handsome and you have such nice eyes that sometimes I couldn’t figure how you don’t notice me looking into them for so long and, God, that shirt really sets off your collarbones. Haven’t you noticed me staring at them all afternoon? And your cooking. I know I didn’t like the beans, but everything else was perfe-“
Monroe grabbed Nick’s face and kissed him, halting the verbose run on train in its tracks as Nick got over his shock and hugged him close, returning the kiss with all the fervor Monroe fell with every delightful compliment Nick offered him.
“I take it you don’t want me to apologize?” Nick breathed against his lips, a relieved smile shining in his eyes.
“Don’t you dare.”
Fandom: Grimm
Rating: PG
Pairing: Nick/Monroe
Summary: Fill for this prompt in the kinkmeme. Someone slips Nick a truth serum and Monroe has to suffer through the consequences.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own words.
“I told Hank he and Wu would make a cute couple,” Nick blurted as soon as Monroe opened his front door.
Monroe’s smartass comment about interrupting a Blutbad during his work being justified grounds for homicide died on his tongue when he saw the frightened confusion on Nick’s face.
“And why would you tell him that?” Monroe asked, wondering why Nick had felt the compulsion to inform him of this event.
“I don’t know.” Nick tugged at his hair as he rushed past Monroe and starting pacing around the living room in tense, little circles. “I was fine this morning. Then after lunch-- You know those white lies you tell people just to be nice? I can’t say them anymore. It’s like the part of my brain that’s in charge of that shut off and only the truth comes out, even if I don’t mean to say anything at all. If someone asks me something, I can’t not reply, even if the only thing going through my head is something I would never, ever say. Hank’s the one who started talking about his relationship problems, or lack off, since he doesn’t have one. That’s the problem. And I just thought, he and Wu have been getting all buddy buddy with each other, and I think Wu leans that way, but I was just thinking it. I wasn’t supposed to spit it out. It just happened. It’s like my brain’s connection with my tongue is broken. At least Hank didn’t look horrified, just shocked, I think. Oh God, what the hell’s wrong with me?”
Nick sank into the couch, his whole body sagging forward as he buried his face in his hands, looking like a sad, lost puppy whose mother had been run over by a car. Through his dolorous monologue, Monroe had figured out what was wrong him, but thought it best for Nick to tire himself out first, for, like he said, in this state he wouldn’t be able to stop the words from flowing anyway.
“Did you drink anything at lunch?” he asked, walking up to Nick.
“Apple juice,” Nick mumbled into his hands.
“Was it in a closed bottle or a cup?”
“A cup.” Nick looked up at him, realization dawning in his eyes. “You think someone spiked it?”
“Yup. With truth serum. I’m afraid you’re going to be exclaiming every little inconvenient truth for a while. A couple of days, at least. It was probably a prank. If someone wanted you for more nefarious purposes, they would have kidnapped and interrogated you by now.”
“A prank? But who would be so evil, so cruel? I told a nice couple that their baby was ugly. That it looked like a miniature Winston Churchill. I’ve arrested murderers who didn’t glare at me so fiercely.”
Monroe snorted, then quickly smoothed his face back into a serious expression when Nick shot him an injured glower.
“Sorry. From my perspective, it’s pretty funny.” Nick’s betrayed puppy look intensified. “Alright. I won’t laugh at your pain. I’m sorry. These kind of pranks happen all the time. Truth serum isn’t as hard to get hold of as you’d think. It’s just bored people being stupid. Come on. Lighten up. Hey. Maybe your partner already had inclinations toward Wu and you just gave him the last push he needed.”
“Or he might hate me forever.”
“Forever is such a strong word. He’ll probably only hate you until the end of the month.”
Nick groaned piteously.
“I’m calling in sick tomorrow,” he moaned. “I can’t-I’m not even fit for duty right now.”
“Tell you what? Since you’re more of a danger to yourself than others right now, you can ride it out here.”
Oh, what foolish, foolish words.
Three hours later, the situation had gone from risible to exasperating as all hell, for Nick started babbling about all the little things he didn’t like that he’d been keeping to himself to be polite. While there were plenty of things he did enjoy, knowing that Nick loved the mosaic in his front door, his clocks, and his model of the solar system didn’t quite make up for his ‘oh dear God, what is that?’ grimace when Monroe changed into a long sleeve shirt because the evening had gotten chilly.
“What?” Monroe asked, looking down at himself, checking for stains. “What’s wrong with the shirt?”
“It’s so ugly,” Nick said, disgust permeating his voice, then his eyes widened in ardent apology. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-Oh crap.”
Forcing his jaw to unclench, Monroe stomped upstairs to his room.
“Wait,” Nick called after him. “You don’t have to change. I’m sorry.”
A new shirt later, Nick was still frowning at him.
“Now what’s wrong with this one?” Monroe asked, slumping his shoulders in frustration.
“It’s all dirty green and brown. It doesn’t combine at all. It’s like the olive green of your fireplace. The design is great, but olive green, really?” Nick slapped a hand on his mouth. “Shit, Monroe, I’m so, so sorry. I like your books. Have I mentioned that? It’s a great selection. And I like your paintings and your taste in music and your skill in fixing clocks is amazing.”
Nick trailed after him raining compliments as Monroe trudged back upstairs to dig up a plain, white shirt. It was a dress shirt he hadn’t worn in years, but right now he didn’t give a damn.
“Now don’t you dare say that you don’t like white,” Monroe said after he changed, this close from throwing out his “be nice to the suffering Grimm” plan and doing some serious mauling.
However, instead of insulting Monroe’s taste yet again, Nick’s expression softened as he looked at the new selection, his eyes lingering at Monroe’s neck.
“No,” he said, his tone gentle, hesitant. “It looks really nice on you.”
Did he sound a little… Nah. Nick was probably just coming down from his “I hate everything Monroe wears” high. That’s why he sounded so funny.
“Thanks,” he said, frowning at Nick, who was shuffling down the corridor as quickly as he could.
Dinner proved to be no less off-putting. After Monroe spent over an hour preparing a nice meal of yellow rice, beans, Italian salad, and broiled flounder for Nick, it turned out that Nick didn’t like the beans, for he scrunched his face in distaste as soon as he put them in his mouth.
“You don’t have to eat them if you don’t like them,” Monroe said, frowning at him. He’d worked hard on those beans.
Nick shook his head, a little desperately, Monroe thought.
“No, I-I-“ His head fell. “No, I don’t like them. I’m sorry. They just taste a little, I don’t know. The flounder is delicious, though.”
Well, at least there was that.
“Don’t worry about it. I know you’d be your regular, polite self if you hadn’t been poisoned. You don’t have to eat them if you don’t want to.”
“No, I-Yeah, I don’t want to eat them. Wait, the truth serum doesn’t stop me from eating something I don’t like, does it?”
Nick stuffed more beans in his mouth.
“Nick, you don’t have to prove a point. Give me your plate.”
“You made them, so I should eat them. A good guest eats what’s placed in front of him, and I’ve been a horrible one so far.”
They wrestled over the plate, Nick still scooping up beans as if engaged in mortal combat with the legumes.
“And as the host, I reserve the right to not force feed you whatever I please. Now give me those beans.”
“No.”
Giving up the plate as lost, Monroe pushed his own under Nick’s and shoveled all the beans onto his plate, yanking it away before Nick could get at them.
“There,” Monroe said. “Now they’re my beans and you can’t eat them.”
“You have nice hands.”
Monroe’s fork stilled on a piece of lettuce as his brain processed the statement, came back with a “does not compute”, then ran it through again.
“What?” he asked.
If it were possible for hair to blush, Nick’s would certainly be, for his whole face had gone pink. He lowered it as close to his plate as he could without smothering himself on his food, hiding it from Monroe’s view as much as possible.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I was fishing around for a compliment while looking at your hands, so…well.”
Monroe scrutinized Nick for a long while. It might be a fluke. Probably was. No sense thinking thoughts that should not be thought of.
But then it happened again when Nick asked Monroe to play the cello for him.
“No,” Monroe said, carrying his poor cello somewhere where Nick couldn’t see it. Usually, at this early hour of the evening, Monroe would be practicing his paltry skills, but there wasn’t a snowman’s chance in hell he was doing anything he wasn’t excellent at in front of Mr. I Will Crush Your Soul With the Truth. “No way. Once this junk is out of your system, maybe. I emphasize the maybe, but there’s no way I’m playing for you now. I don’t mind a little criticism, but you would tear me apart.”
“But I heard some of what you were playing that night when I interrupted you. It was good.”
Oh. That was a good sign. But still.
“Thank you. I appreciate that. But you heard it muffled through the door, not properly. The answer’s still no.”
“You have such a wonderfully expressive face, you know?”
Alright, that was too much. After closing the closet door behind the cello, he turned back to Nick, halting the apology rising on his chagrined face with a raised hand.
“If you say ‘I’m sorry’ or any other version of that phrase, I will hit something. You understand?”
Nick shut his mouth, nodding.
“Okay,” Monroe continued, trying to figure out how best to phrase this. “I may be reading too much into this, but you’re confusing the hell out of me and I think we should just have it out already.” Because straight men didn’t compliment other men’s looks three times in a single afternoon. “Do you like me?”
“Yes.”
Nick frowned, but it was too early to interpret what that meant.
“That might have been a little vague. Do you like me just as a friend or is it a ‘you have a crush on me’ kind of like?”
Please say the latter please say the latter please say the latter.
Nick’s cheeks reddened again, accompanied by a fair amount of apprehension as he looked down at the floor.
“The ‘I have a crush on you’ kind.”
Monroe’s breath froze. Oh God.
“I know you probably didn’t want to hear that,” Nick continued, back in blurt mode, “but I really enjoy your company. You’re funny and you’re so good at what you do. Those clocks you make are works of art. And you’ve been so helpful with all my Grimm stuff and I know I’m the one who wouldn’t leave you alone even though you wanted me to, but you’ve been so gracious about it despite the sarcasm and you’re so handsome and you have such nice eyes that sometimes I couldn’t figure how you don’t notice me looking into them for so long and, God, that shirt really sets off your collarbones. Haven’t you noticed me staring at them all afternoon? And your cooking. I know I didn’t like the beans, but everything else was perfe-“
Monroe grabbed Nick’s face and kissed him, halting the verbose run on train in its tracks as Nick got over his shock and hugged him close, returning the kiss with all the fervor Monroe fell with every delightful compliment Nick offered him.
“I take it you don’t want me to apologize?” Nick breathed against his lips, a relieved smile shining in his eyes.
“Don’t you dare.”