Disclaimer: sadly, I own none of the Grimm characters. They would be having pretty bananas conversations if I did.

I'm new to these communities and have really enjoyed reading your fics. Forgive me if I stuff up getting chapters up in proper format etc, I'm still slightly wrestling with the mechanics! Any views or reviews would be much appreciated if you have the time or inclination to do so.

"Nick, if you're holding a beer, put it down. Hank's been shot. Can you drive down to Portland General, or do we need to send a car?"

He wasn't holding a beer, but he was trying to calm an...Eisbaby, and the shock sent Nick dropping into the pits of his armchair.

"You there, Nick?" Wu pressed, "I know it's a shock but he's been through the whole pain, surgery, recovery thing, and I think he'd appreciate seeing a friendly face. So... pick your choices. Ahh... is that a baby I can hear?"

"Yeah, itsababy" Nick blurted, leaping out of his seat and bouncing round the room doing the jiggle dance while trying to pin the mobile between his shoulder and his ear. The little guy knew how to make noise. "Look, I've got some child custody issues that I can't walk away from right now, but I'll be at the General as soon as possible. Please tell Hank not to hate me."

"Ah, he'll get that. What's the problem? Domestic violence?"'

"He's an abandoned baby," Nick admitted, leaving out the part where he'd found Choo (he had to call him something) on his front doorstep. "I've got social care coming round at six, but I'm hoping to get someone to relieve me before then."

"I'll let Hank know. Good luck with the baby. Sounds like he has a cold. Babies are hell with a cold."

Nick rang off and let his mobile drop to the floor. He eased Choo, still howling and sneezing, down onto his forearms. "I don't think this is a cold. What are you allergic to, little guy? Shall we bob over to the window and see if that helps?"

Over they bobbed, and Choo quit wailing. He peeped up at Nick with huge brown eyes, framed by impossibly long lashes. He had neat little lips and that soft roundness that holds you helplessly in baby's thrall. He reckoned Choo was about 6-9 months old. He could see teeth starting to come through, but there still wasn't much in the way of hair – the soft brown tuft on top sticking bolt upright and floating of its own accord. Nick chuckled: Choo looked like he'd been sitting on a Van-de-Graaf generator. Moving the kid into a cradling position in his left arm, he gave the little button nose an affectionate flick which of course brought on another sneeze. The nose turned into a black snout, blonde down burst out on Choo's face and Nick got a face full of beaver spray.

"Great!" He made a cushion nest on the corner of his couch, sat Choo into it and wiped his face clean with the bottom of his tee-shirt. He could feel the clock ticking accusingly. He'd left messages for Monroe. For Juliette, who'd called back and would have laughed in his face if she'd been there to do it. He'd called Rosalee. He'd left a message for Bud. He was seriously running out of support network.

His mobile did ring then and he had to scramble around the floor looking for it. It had smuggled itself a good foot under the couch but he snatched it and thumbed the green. "Monroe!"

"Rosalie, actually. Thanks for the panic-fest you left on my answer machine. So, what's the emergency? Should I come round with a first-aid kit?"

Boy, she sounded snitty. "Actually, what I could really do with, please please please, is some diapers, wipes, and baby formula. And some help."

There was this long groan at the other end of the line. "I'll swing by the drugstore and pick some stuff up for you. What kind of 'help' do you have in mind?"

"I gotta go out. It's really urgent. If you could just stay with him-"

"No. I'd rather lapdance halfway up the Eiffel during an electrical storm."

Nick blinked at his mobile. "It's just for a couple of ho-"

"Really, Nick. No way. I'm presuming that this baby is wesen, or you'd just be calling one of your regular friends. Wesen babies need their own parents – they react violently to surrogates, even temporary ones. I'll bring you the stuff, then you're on your own."

Nick had been absently playing with Choo's fingers while on the phone to keep him happy and he couldn't help grinning as the little guy grabbed his thumb in a pudgy fist, stared adoringly at the tip of it from about two inches away, and then popped it in his mouth for a chew. Cuteness over. Nick gasped a gasp worthy of a credit card bill, sucked the oxygen clean from the room, felt his eyes water, and eventually blasted: "Fuck, TEETH!"

"Exactly," Rosie said primly. "Teething wesen – you can keep them."

He wondered what he'd done to piss her off so monumentally and drew out his last card. "Look, I wouldn't ask, but it's really urgent. Hank's been shot. I gotta go see him, but I can't just leave the kid here."

"Oh God. How is he? Is he going to be ok?"

Nick took a deep breath. "I really, really hope so. He was asking for me."

"He was? That's great! It means he'll be fine. I'll be round in a half hour with the stuff." She hung up with no noticeable u-turn in her babysitting policy. Cold!

He got up to wash his thumb off, eliciting an instant scream from Choo, who had no intention of letting him go more than a meter away unaccompanied. "'Kay, come with me to the tap then. But I got to tell you, this is going to be AWKWARD." Nick popped Choo back on his shoulder and headed for the sink, struggling to get his thumb clean and a sticky plaster on it without double-wrapping or getting the sticky part of it all messed up. Choo nuzzled into the side of his neck, getting all droopy and now only sneezing once in a while. Nick racked his brain for german lullabies. That didn't take long. Choo seemed happy when he was mumbling or singing low, so he went for the only kids' song he knew in full, slowing it right down.

"Whooooo... lives... in a pine-apple... under the sea? Sponge-bob Square-pants. Yel-low, ab-sor-bent and por-ous is heeee... sponge-bob squ-"

The doorbell rang and he almost sprinted to get it open. Rosalee was faster. There was a huge bag of stuff on his doorstep but all that could be seen of the evasive fuschbau was her silhouette streaking along the sidewalk back to her car.