62Sorry this update took so long, I was again adrift with indecision. Alas, my only excuse: I'm a seat-o-the-pants plotter and at times like these it really shows.
If it needed said, as most guys appear obliged to inform, I do not own any part of Grimm. Rats!
CHAPTER 7
"What the—? Oh, Jeez!" Bud stuttered to a stop just inside the curtain of the barely opened door, unintentionally blocking access, but his reaction left little doubt to those following that all was not well.
Exactly how 'not well' was the question Val needed answered. Slipping past, she noted the glaring additions to Nick's room. First, a mobile X-Ray machine and accompanying tech begged the question—why were they here? Seconding that, Dr. Simms joined Hank on the IV side opposite Adi and the hitherto superfluous Respiratory Tech lifting Nick so the X-ray tech could pull the exposed plate from beneath him. Meanwhile Rosalee stabilized his head and defended the Oxygen mask against his concerted effort to remove it, her voice fondly understanding even as she chided his protests.
As the X-ray tech backed his machine out, Adi turned to follow him so, knowing any questioning would be done on the fly, Val opted to join them. "What happened?" Val moderated the instinctively assertive approach that unnerving sight awoke in her, knew it was only marginally successful, and couldn't find it in her to care right now. She could only trust that an aggressive approach would do less damage to their friendship than it would to her budding relationship with Dr. Simms. Whatever the cost, she needed to know why this flurry of activity surrounded her Grimm. What was happening to her? Val wondered at her uncharacteristic behavior. She was usually the one in any crisis who was under control. Now all these unwonted, visceral reactions to the threat against her newest patient pointed towards Nick's Pack annexing a new member. Which meant she wasn't in control.
Crap! Did all Grimm's emit some kind of acquisitive pheromone or was the trait peculiar to him?
Because One absolutely, positively did not make friends with a Grimm. That was canon in Wesen life. Yet three—that she'd seen—very disparate breeds of Wesen (including, if rumor could be believed, an entire lodge of Eisbiber) championed, this Grimm; and—it appeared— came to him seeking aid with their grievances. Why? Even more astounding, he actually came!
For Godsake! she'd been taking care of Nick—The Grimm she reminded, cross with herself—for just over 24 hours now and she'd invited his pack into her home, involved her sister and their friend as intimately and had every intention of using the fortuitously provided Grimm to take on the pervasive cancer which was ruining her city? She wanted her friendly, quirky, largely Wesen community back. Now that she'd found a good place to settle, she did not intend to be driven out by the encroachment of power-grabbing intruders.
Trailing Adi and the X-ray tech, Val didn't ask the question foremost in her mind, the facts spoke for themselves. Someone free to come and go unnoticed had certainly been responsible for whatever mishap had struck the Grimm, proof—not that she needed it—that the shadowy puppet master had a hand in this situation. "Why are we following him?" Val voiced the obvious question in preference to the more important 'what the hell is going on?' she'd have preferred. "No offense."
Beside Val, Adi mouthed 'Fuchsbau', more familiar with the ancillary staff than she. "I believe they drew lots to see who came," she added a wink and a smile.
"Yeah," he admitted, unabashed. "Everybody is plotting a justifiable reason to get by there and have a look." Slipping into Radiology, he held the door for them then slid the exposed plates into the processor and turned conversational. "What's he like? Doesn't look very formidable. On the surface, that is. Certainly not the slavering murderer my parents described, or yours for that matter, probably."
"Even less so if you'd heard him quoting movie villains all night," Adienne assured him with a grin, "but his partner and the rest of his team tell tales. He's dealt with four hundjager, three gelumcaedus, two Reapers and a krampus. I could go on but you get the picture. I know I wouldn't want to run afoul of him."
"I'll second that," Val agreed, well aware, if others were not, that Nick's Kehrseite partner with both military and law enforcement experience likely matched him in lethality. That made him a very special person indeed, and the Grimm at the same time more dangerous and more vulnerable for Hank's sake. A scary combination were it not ameliorated by the presence of the stalwarts who clearly stood at their backs. Pack Grimm would be formidable in any encounter, the more so for their relationship being unprecedented among Grimm-kind. According to wesen lore, Grimm were, by nature, solitary hunters; certainly Nick's female progenitors had been. How Nick had turned out differently was anybody's guess and a discussion best saved for another time.
Shortly the machine ejected the finished X-Rays and the trio compared them to the previous ED films. There was a marginally larger separation in one of the cracked ribs but nothing of dangerous significance, thank God! Probably the pain which prompted the X-ray was an instinctive muscular response to protect Nick's numerous battered ribs and, once this present crisis was under control, Val could manage that using a combination of analgesics and muscle relaxants. Now for the real problem the Pack needed to confront. No point beating around the bush. "What did the 'worm in the apple' want from you since there is no direct action you can take against Nick?" Val asked.
"You mean aside from bashing him with the mobile unit?" He asked, careful to label both the films and envelope which held them. "Well, like always, they weren't really clear about that. They wanted to know how vulnerable he might be. How many people around him? Who? How careful they were? That kind of thing."
"I can answer that one," Val obliged, "I'm pretty sure his partner isn't leaving his side, especially after this blatant attempt, and among the four who came from Portland to help him are Bludbad and Fuchsbau," she intentionally failed to mention either Eisbiber or enumerate the more aggressive Bludbad or Fuchsbau, nor did she hint at her possible inclusion to their number. Let the damned weasels sweat over that information. In this case, a little indecision could serve The Pack well.
And on that note, best they return with the films before the troops grew restless. While Hank did not seem the type, Val knew that had she been in his place defending a partner who should've been safe yet was, instead, fighting for his life, she'd not wait patiently for anything. Whatever trust he might have given them before would be in damned short supply now.
Slipping into the room, the trio joined the quietly murmuring assemblage which still included Dr Simms. Of course, Val reminded herself, Adienne could've called him because they worked together often, she knew and trusted him and, of course, he wasn't Wesen. She could have called him when Nick began having the pain which prompted the X-rays they carried. No need to borrow trouble, but the more negative take, in light of apparent near-disaster, was that one of the local Wesen had struck a blow at their 'captive' Grimm.
As the three neared the bed, Dr. Simms stepped sideways to make room and leaned close with the answer to those questions Val had held off asking. "Opiate OD, to all appearances. But we got it in time." He gladly accepted the X-Rays from the tech and Val joined him at the light box as he slipped the films into place.
"Looks okay, thank God. A little sturdier support—" he smiled as Val joined in his relieved sigh and continued his line of thought.
"— a few muscle relaxants and analgesics, maybe a little strategically applied heat and he should be good." Val finished, planning her own strategy.
"I'm with you there, Doctor," Christian Simms, smiled with fellow feeling at his occasional date. "He doesn't need any more problems. And I have to say, we're damned lucky he doesn't snore because that's what they say gave it away before he'd absorbed enough to be sedated out of existence which, considering his already morbidly pathologic vitals, wouldn't have taken much. All told, it's been a long, trying night for our hero."
"What? How?" Though Val daren't press Chris too hard for the reason, she could at least ask for a bit of clarification. And while he didn't answer, deferring to his nurse, the reason was not long in coming.
"I'll tell you later, okay?" Adienne patted Val's arms shuttling that story aside, as Chris had in favor of gravitating toward her patient.
Nick gave a wicked grin. "I'll get you for that," he rasped, eyeing them through the O2 mask he kept trying to pull aside, a theatrical glint in his eye, "and your little dog, too." The accompanying, obligatory cackle broke off into a hacking cough that drew further attention from the Respiratory Tech as well as the hovering Hank and Rosalee.
Adienne nodded towards the renewed flurry of activity at the bed. "He's been doing that all night. The first hour or so was novel and kind of cute; but eight straight hours of villainous vitriol palls, let me tell you." Her indulgent smile made it clear her complaint was, as stated, more too much of a good thing.
"I enjoyed as much of it as I could stand in about the first half hour," Chris admitted, offering a grave yet sweet smile that earned him a repeat glare from the 'wicked witch'.
"How did it happen?" Val asked, smiling despite the gravity of the situation at the mental image even that vague description presented. As tolerant as Val knew Adi to be, Adi was right, eight hours of that would've gotten old pretty quickly, further proof—not that any was needed—of the nurse's patience and fortitude. Considering his Pack's vigilance and a very trustworthy RN, how had anyone escaped notice to even enter, let alone dose him?
"Orange juice," Adienne answered the obvious next question and nodded towards the cleaning cart and accompanying housekeeper watching and alert from a seat beside it. There was no mistaking Kelleth, the culprit least likely to offend and even less likely to suspect. Though, given the shadowy nature of the true assailant, even the prospect of Kelleth being responsible wasn't incredible. But before Val could get a good gawk going, Adi continued. "Someone snuck it in while Rosalee was asleep and Hank and I were helping Nick to the toilet. We all just thought one of the others brought it."
"Goes to show," Hank stepped around the bed to join them, "never assume."
"So, why's Kell here?"
"Oh, she came in to clean and stayed to help out. She's been a veritable CSI tech," Hank chirped, beaming approval at Kelleth. "She's been a great help in collecting evidence and what not. Especially broad-minded of her," that benevolence morphed to a rueful glare aimed at his partner, "since she could've refused after Nick called her a 'mouse maid'. I know I would have," this last, he aimed pointedly at Nick who, despite the mist-blowing mask, reprised his raspberry retort and evil eye. "But when Nick folded, she pitched in like a real pro."
"So, Doc," Hank's voice took on an impressively ominous tenor that left Val wondering if, despite Hank's avowal to the contrary, they were both Grimms. "What's wrong with my partner?"
OOO
"Something's wrong!"
Already jumpy over the recent events which had his once quiet room a clutter, Nick's preternatural hearing zeroed in on that surreptitious, even furtive, exchange between Rosalee and Hank, struggling against the flurry of possible threats, flashes of memory and painful aftermath of his battle with the SUV to focus on the conversation they'd shifted to the far corner to pursue. What had she seen or heard that drove the concern she so secretively shared with Hank? Attention focused their way, Nick jolted away from the unexpected stab of pain that rippled through his chest as reflex tightened those muscles to protect his already smarting ribs.
God knew as a police officer he'd had his share of injury, the more so since the 'family legacy' kicked in. Most had been dents and dings—except for Oleg Stark. He was inured to a certain amount of discomfort, it came with the territory, but the one he'd never been able to stand was rib injuries because no matter what you could do to favor an injured limb, you still had to breathe. Nick abandoned the effort to 'listen in' and puzzled briefly why the pain seemed so stark now when before he'd been cozily ensconced in a pleasantly buffering, if goof-inducing, haze.
"Nick!" that recently familiar voice repeated, gently commanding his attention. It was...Adri—no, Adi-enne, she'd said—the nurse who' d been here the night with Hank and Rosalee, he recalled now. "Nick, Dr. Simms and Holloway need to talk to you, okay? Can you listen to them?"
"'Course I can. I'm not deaf," he knew he was grousing, but stubbornly allowed himself the luxury of one brief display of temper anyway. He'd never been a patient invalid, surely not since his parents' death. Probably not before, either, but things before Marie got fuzzy. Though she'd tried, Aunt Marie had been gone a good deal of the time—on what business he now knew—and often, coming back, had seemed in pain enough he'd not the heart to natter on about his own childish plaints when it seemed all she could do to keep going and he'd been desperate to ensure she'd let him stay. So he'd helped out however he could, recognizing that heroic effort for what it was even then, though he had remained sublimely oblivious of the reason for her too frequent indisposition. Indirectly the Grimm was responsible for his current distress as well; but, as Mom and Aunt Marie had carried on despite the occupational wear and tear, so could he.
"Nick," a male voice neither Hank's nor Monroe's intruded, clearly making an effort to gentle his fractious patient.
Not! Nick knew the rules of negotiation—the need for the most soothing tone possible—found it interesting doctors learnt them, too, and was mortally embarrassed they seemed to think he warranted their use. 'Reality check, Nicky. Time and past you pull it together and get a grip!'
"What?" Nick wanted to bellow his frustration but settled for one sharp syllabic response that further aggravated his smarting ribs and drove him to the nebulizing mask he'd been perversely dodging moments ago. Finally breathing easier, he moaned, marginally more civil, "'M sorry. What do you want?" His voice came out a soft, froggy croak.
"Nick," the doctor offered solace in a warm, steadying hand laid across his good shoulder. "I know you feel miserable right now, but bear with us, all right? The vomiting put more strain on your ribs than we'd like, which is why we took the X-rays. It didn't do any damage, but we're going to take you to the cast room and rig up a kind of brace for you. It will limit movement some but provide protection and support so those ribs can heal." With a glance at the Oxygen monitor, the blond doctor leaned close and nudged the drooping mask back into place with a gentle touch, "Sound good?"
At Nick's mute, nodding agreement, he smiled in relief. "Good. We'll start tapering off the Narcan and, all things remaining stable, we'll give you some muscle relaxants and something for pain. Just hang in there, you're doing fine."
Well, Nick consoled himself, en route to his room at last (albeit with a stifling entourage, as though they thought he might bolt at any moment), at least, given its solid frame and Velcro strapping, the brace was removable, unlike the wrap job he'd had after Oleg Stark. But the stoicism required to weather its production had exhausted his already struggling temper. At serious risk of releasing his inner Hulk, he was tired of being manipulated, of hurting, of the unaccustomed, fawning attention, just plain tired, breathless. And hungry. Hell, he was ravenous! and no one, in all their chattering, had even mentioned eating. Right now he wanted nothing more than peace, quiet and food. Lots of food.
Even the food he had managed to eat was at risk. Nick groaned as his bed wheeled down the corridor way too fast, making the doors flash by in a dizzying blur. Oh, he recognized the necessity of the tactic—to minimize exposure to ambush— one mishap had been tried and failed already. But haste, however well advised, proved anathema to his already uncertain senses as the bed spun about in a perfectly executed corner that caught his senses along for the ride. I want out!
Instinct kicked in abandoning caution till all Nick cared about was escape from the whirling maelstrom that challenged his still querulous stomach. Desperate to gain some measure of control, Nick grabbed the side rail and fought to free his legs from the sheets and the Oxygen cylinder between them. He absolutely must not throw up again! The side-rail succumbed to Nick's primal assault and snapped outward with a strident scream of rending metal as the hinges proved the weak point of the assembly. He'd have gone over the side in the next instant if Hank hadn't lurched to help.
"What the hell! Nick?" Hank caught Nick's arm to keep him from kissing linoleum. Up close, Hank could see Nick swallow on a sob an excess of saliva. "Basin!" he barked, kneeling in support and tucking protectively over him. "It's okay, Nick," he soothed, reaching in vain for the O2. But before he had time to fret over it, Rosalee joined them offering the abandoned face mask and her always steadying presence.
"It's okay, Nick," Rosalee mothered, "take deep, slow breaths—well, deep-ish." Even Nick could hear her sweet smile at the modified advice. "Adi's coming, quick as she can."
"Too fast, huh?" Hank asked. "Been there, done that, can't recommend the experience OR the T-shirt, but it'll be okay. Let's just hold here a few."
And good thing they did because the group which returned with Adi looked like something out of a SWAT manual. Well, Hank temporized, helping a more quiet Nick settle back into bed, they'd left the sniper-rifles behind and carried a single handgun and one MP5 apiece, a bit less martial than the usual, but vests and various pockets, straps and paraphernalia still provided a chillingly martial presence. "Renard said he'd send back-up," Hank muttered to an openly stunned Nick and Rosalee, "he didn't say it would be straight out of Call Of Duty."
"Makes a statement," Nick smiled, gratefully leaning against the back rest. "Do you feel safe?"
"And then some," Hank agreed and Rosalee nodded, tactfully mute as she tucked the covers about Nick.
"From SWAT to CSI," Nick observed straight-faced and dry-toned when his room—not surprisingly—now hosted Crime Scene techs complete with bags, tags, clipboards, cameras and assorted equipment. Most bustled around Nick's mouse maid who, rightfully and proudly, accepted credit for the thoroughness and professionalism of her collections. "Did we fall into a movie?"
"Seems like a little overkill," Monroe joined the Pack surrounding Nick's bed, edging aside when Bud stepped over, too.
"Shock and awe!" Bud offered, "it makes a statement." A fact none argued.
"Captain Renard wanted us to make an impression," Sargent Parker stated, offering neither justification nor explanation for their appearance. "More a show of intent than force, he said."
"I'd say you got that in one," Monroe's comment held no aggression as he turned to face Nick, leaving any decision to the now composed Grimm.
"What are you here to do, aside from the impressive intimidation factor?" Nick asked, eyes alert but fast sinking to half-mast.
"Provide protection. Augment and spell your force and, as you say," he flashed a wickedly pleasant smile, "a little Shock and Awe. We serve at your pleasure, Sir."
"It's just Nick," he corrected, favoring his aching shoulder with a slow, kneading massage.
Val noticed his total lack of ego, which incidentally answered her own earlier question, Why was he this easy-going surrounded by Wesen? Surely his comfortable interaction and reciprocated association with his Pack had a good deal to do with it. And in this case, likely his humility and ingenuous nature made for an unprepossessing interaction with the Sergeant—a very competent leader who clearly did not feel threatened enough to demand the dominant position. It made no sense to her, either in Pack life or in kehrseite. Among Balaam, the Alpha was (never doubt it) on top and tolerated nothing less than was due.
Did this as much as anything account for the seeming Wesen hordes that followed him? Because this man, a bugaboo Grimm or not, was very blatantly a "good guy". That very fact made her feel better about her conscription into Pack Grimm and led to another in her growing list of questions: had he always been like this or was it recent?
On the heels of that discussion, Val thanked God that Chris had trusted her to carry through their plan and left for a call in ER sparing them awkward explanations. Another quarter hour or so and she could treat the pain Nick was exhausting himself to ignore.
A big and hearty handshake to LittleBounce for helping edit, yet again. Words alone can never express how much better this story is thanks to you.
Elf