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seaflowerThe wonderful Grimm world and its characters are own by NBC. This story is purely for the enjoyment of the fans. Please review!
Metal hugs my ribs with the subtlety of a Mack truck and the closeness of a corset.
The force sends my gun flying to the other end of the alley. Tired, mad and unable to see my assailant, my highly train Grimm body smoothly falls into a Krav Maga stance as I recall a rumour that Anthony Ziplock, one of the worse enforcers for the Real IRA was supposedly in town to negotiate a major gun deal with the Sons of Anarchy. I grab hold of the other end of the metal trashcan hugging my ribs, swinging myself along the momentum of force expel from my assailant, causing the assailant to be flung towards the alleyway wall.
Smack. The sweet sound of bone hitting brick.
The small splattering of streetlight allows me to estimate the height of my assailant as the faceless man tries to shake off the shock of the impact.
I quickly employ a palm heel strike to the solar plexus, cutting his ability to rush, followed by an elbow strike to the throat and a front knee strike to the groin.
A hellish "GRIMM!" explodes from his voice before he coughs up blood on his way to the ground.
Wait. I know that voice.
Sometimes I wish I had Monroe's sense of smell.
Grabbing my flashlight out of my leather pocket, the source of light reveals spiking blond hair bobbing up and down as the man struggles to get up. A normal human would have passed out from the combination of strikes hitting those exact pressure points with maximum force.
However this wasn't a human.
"Barry?" I took this moment to crutch ribs that in half an hour were going to be a lovely purple.
The young man quickly flashed his bear face as I called his name.
For the sake of my head, I quickly grabbed my second service weapon strapped to my ankle and trained it on the young man slowly standing up.
"How are you even here?"
His dead stared burrowed into me as his hands fought to rub the competing pain from his throat and groin.
"It's all gone..." Barry said, his voice horse, hard to hear.
Two months after the Roh-Hatz incident, I found out Mrs. Rabe committed suicide. It was hard to honour one's ancestors from the confines of a wheelchair. The few times I saw Frank Rabe in town the man looked like a ghost.
The young man clutch at his chest. I remembered his tribal bear tattoo.
"Your ancestors…" I said.
The young man began to snort at the comment.
"I doubt I have any left after they observe this fight and aren't disgusted by the fact Dad's use of money to get me out of jail."
Moments like this make me sick.
With enough money and pressure, certain cases dealing with "upstanding" citizens could be thrown out of court. The victims handsomely paid to forget the transgressions against their dignity. Victims hip deep in home invasion allegations.
"Good to know there's a reason I get out of bed in the morning" I said sarcastically.
"Lets just finish this" he whispered, bowing his head in front of me. Offering.
Oh fuck. I really need to improve my relationship with my bed. Maybe buy it those Egyptian cotton sheets Monroe raves over.
"Get up Barry." He doesn't move.
I put away my service weapon. "Get up Barry!" I yell, he bites his lip in painful meditation.
"GET UP! I yell again. Surprise how angry the sight of his defeat makes me.
"What in the hell are you doing?" I exclaimed. I grab his collar and force him to stand up.
Lost brown eyes of an intelligent yet messed up young man answered me.
Was this how Monroe looked all those years ago when he lived life closer to the edge?
Sometimes I can catch the pain of his memories hiding during our rare midnight conversations.
How did he come back from the edge?
"You're an idiot!, do you know how many people have almost died or misguidedly ruin themselves all in the pursuit to make you a man! And now you tracked me down to throw it all away?"I said tersely, demanding to shake something in those shiftless eyes.
"Wake up, cause am only going to say this once. Being a grown up isn't about how many lives you take or attacking a man behind his back !"
Barry's lips begin to tremble.
I let go of his collar. I run a hand through my hair, exhausted and needing a beer.
"Look, many people are going to tell you who you should be and what you should do. Most guys with your criminal history would never get the second chance your father just bought you. Die now and you'll be another over privileged punk with no future opportunity to honour your ancestors."
Barry sat down once, leaning his back against the wall as I went to retrieve my other service weapon.
A part of me felt like hugging the young man, but haunted look of his eyes, hugging his legs for warmth told to me to keep my distance.
"Barry?" The young man turn his head "I…um, if you ever need to talk…" I hand him my card.
"call me, anytime, even if all you want to do is bitch." He cradle the card softly.
If Barry was 13 and more emotionally isolated…and had grey eyes and black hair...he could be...
I shake my head.
"I know what it is like to lose a mother…"
Barry squeezed my hand before running off into the darkness.
I finish my examination of the alleyway, finding no evidence of business transactions for Vice. Called it in to a friend and went home. The beer young when Morpheus made his entrance. A Monroe world simmering in moonlight.
One week later…
Homicide and several cranky phone messages from Monroe about miss dinner invitations clouded my mind, when Barry showed up at my desk one week later. Some Grimm force has a vendetta against me and sleep.
"Nick, you never told me you had a fan club?" Wu said evilly.
"What?" I said as I tried to read Barry's sheepish features.
"Seems like Barry here, it is Barry right" Wu asked but doesn't bother to wait for an answer before he continues to speak "almost wrestle Tony, when he refused to bring him over."
"Why didn't you just call?"
"I lost your card…" he mumbled, obviously uncomfortable at the precinct. Most of the cops in today met Barry when he got arrested.
Wu disappeared and I direct Barry to one of our precinct's interrogation rooms.
"Feels like home" Barry jokes lamely.
I smirk, feeling a sense of déjà vu.
Whack
Ok that was not familiar. My gun touches Barry's throat before his arm can sweep me into the corner.
"Barry are you-"
"HOW DO YOU DO THAT?" Barry exclaims as his eyes go round and shiny.
How?
Wait.
What?
"Is this a Grimm thing or training? You're ridiculous fast?" Barry gushed.
Maybe Monroe's constant rant that my caffeine addiction will lead to hallucinations is coming true?
The weirdness of the situation tempts me to shoot him… I lower my gun and put it away.
"You came all this way to test my reflexes"?
Barry's excitement melted away as he began to look at the floor again. He took a deep breath, rolled his broad shoulders.
"I've been thinking about what you said" he grimance "since the roh-hatz, my life has been…insane." He gulped."I always just assumed I would honour my ancestors, be a strong Jagerbar and follow my father into law. Never really considered other possibilities…"
His sidekick is blocked and sweep aside with my forearm and a step away from my previous space.
"I thought learning the martial arts you used to kicked my ass might be a good place to start, would you teach me?" he asked eagerly.
He wanted me to teach him martial arts?
"I don't know Barry, I'm not a teacher. I could probably ask our department trainer for a -"
"NO! I want you!" Barry exclaimed loudly "I want someone who can understand me, my rage and make it useful."
A red light of danger rang off in my head as he mutters those words. Jagerbar and Krav Maga instruction are two elements that should never be put together.
"The last thing you NEED is to learn is a hard martial arts, like Krav Maga that teaches you to counter force with force in the most brutal and time efficient manner as possible. If IF I was crazy enough to consider your proposal, I would suggest a soft style. You need to to learn more control, to redirect force and moment-"
"Oh my G-d, you're going to teach me?"
Oh no.
"Barry, I'm not a master, I work long and random hours, I-"
"No worries Nick, whenever you're available." With the speed of a ninja Barry thrust a small piece of paper with his cell number on it into my shock open hand. "Here, there's a gym down the street, which lets people rent out private rooms, oh and Wu gave me one of your cards."
He give me a crippling bear hug later and runs out of the door as my mouth drops to the floor. What just happen?
"So this is what it must be like to be Monroe.''
Metal hugs my ribs with the subtlety of a Mack truck and the closeness of a corset.
The force sends my gun flying to the other end of the alley. Tired, mad and unable to see my assailant, my highly train Grimm body smoothly falls into a Krav Maga stance as I recall a rumour that Anthony Ziplock, one of the worse enforcers for the Real IRA was supposedly in town to negotiate a major gun deal with the Sons of Anarchy. I grab hold of the other end of the metal trashcan hugging my ribs, swinging myself along the momentum of force expel from my assailant, causing the assailant to be flung towards the alleyway wall.
Smack. The sweet sound of bone hitting brick.
The small splattering of streetlight allows me to estimate the height of my assailant as the faceless man tries to shake off the shock of the impact.
I quickly employ a palm heel strike to the solar plexus, cutting his ability to rush, followed by an elbow strike to the throat and a front knee strike to the groin.
A hellish "GRIMM!" explodes from his voice before he coughs up blood on his way to the ground.
Wait. I know that voice.
Sometimes I wish I had Monroe's sense of smell.
Grabbing my flashlight out of my leather pocket, the source of light reveals spiking blond hair bobbing up and down as the man struggles to get up. A normal human would have passed out from the combination of strikes hitting those exact pressure points with maximum force.
However this wasn't a human.
"Barry?" I took this moment to crutch ribs that in half an hour were going to be a lovely purple.
The young man quickly flashed his bear face as I called his name.
For the sake of my head, I quickly grabbed my second service weapon strapped to my ankle and trained it on the young man slowly standing up.
"How are you even here?"
His dead stared burrowed into me as his hands fought to rub the competing pain from his throat and groin.
"It's all gone..." Barry said, his voice horse, hard to hear.
Two months after the Roh-Hatz incident, I found out Mrs. Rabe committed suicide. It was hard to honour one's ancestors from the confines of a wheelchair. The few times I saw Frank Rabe in town the man looked like a ghost.
The young man clutch at his chest. I remembered his tribal bear tattoo.
"Your ancestors…" I said.
The young man began to snort at the comment.
"I doubt I have any left after they observe this fight and aren't disgusted by the fact Dad's use of money to get me out of jail."
Moments like this make me sick.
With enough money and pressure, certain cases dealing with "upstanding" citizens could be thrown out of court. The victims handsomely paid to forget the transgressions against their dignity. Victims hip deep in home invasion allegations.
"Good to know there's a reason I get out of bed in the morning" I said sarcastically.
"Lets just finish this" he whispered, bowing his head in front of me. Offering.
Oh fuck. I really need to improve my relationship with my bed. Maybe buy it those Egyptian cotton sheets Monroe raves over.
"Get up Barry." He doesn't move.
I put away my service weapon. "Get up Barry!" I yell, he bites his lip in painful meditation.
"GET UP! I yell again. Surprise how angry the sight of his defeat makes me.
"What in the hell are you doing?" I exclaimed. I grab his collar and force him to stand up.
Lost brown eyes of an intelligent yet messed up young man answered me.
Was this how Monroe looked all those years ago when he lived life closer to the edge?
Sometimes I can catch the pain of his memories hiding during our rare midnight conversations.
How did he come back from the edge?
"You're an idiot!, do you know how many people have almost died or misguidedly ruin themselves all in the pursuit to make you a man! And now you tracked me down to throw it all away?"I said tersely, demanding to shake something in those shiftless eyes.
"Wake up, cause am only going to say this once. Being a grown up isn't about how many lives you take or attacking a man behind his back !"
Barry's lips begin to tremble.
I let go of his collar. I run a hand through my hair, exhausted and needing a beer.
"Look, many people are going to tell you who you should be and what you should do. Most guys with your criminal history would never get the second chance your father just bought you. Die now and you'll be another over privileged punk with no future opportunity to honour your ancestors."
Barry sat down once, leaning his back against the wall as I went to retrieve my other service weapon.
A part of me felt like hugging the young man, but haunted look of his eyes, hugging his legs for warmth told to me to keep my distance.
"Barry?" The young man turn his head "I…um, if you ever need to talk…" I hand him my card.
"call me, anytime, even if all you want to do is bitch." He cradle the card softly.
If Barry was 13 and more emotionally isolated…and had grey eyes and black hair...he could be...
I shake my head.
"I know what it is like to lose a mother…"
Barry squeezed my hand before running off into the darkness.
I finish my examination of the alleyway, finding no evidence of business transactions for Vice. Called it in to a friend and went home. The beer young when Morpheus made his entrance. A Monroe world simmering in moonlight.
One week later…
Homicide and several cranky phone messages from Monroe about miss dinner invitations clouded my mind, when Barry showed up at my desk one week later. Some Grimm force has a vendetta against me and sleep.
"Nick, you never told me you had a fan club?" Wu said evilly.
"What?" I said as I tried to read Barry's sheepish features.
"Seems like Barry here, it is Barry right" Wu asked but doesn't bother to wait for an answer before he continues to speak "almost wrestle Tony, when he refused to bring him over."
"Why didn't you just call?"
"I lost your card…" he mumbled, obviously uncomfortable at the precinct. Most of the cops in today met Barry when he got arrested.
Wu disappeared and I direct Barry to one of our precinct's interrogation rooms.
"Feels like home" Barry jokes lamely.
I smirk, feeling a sense of déjà vu.
Whack
Ok that was not familiar. My gun touches Barry's throat before his arm can sweep me into the corner.
"Barry are you-"
"HOW DO YOU DO THAT?" Barry exclaims as his eyes go round and shiny.
How?
Wait.
What?
"Is this a Grimm thing or training? You're ridiculous fast?" Barry gushed.
Maybe Monroe's constant rant that my caffeine addiction will lead to hallucinations is coming true?
The weirdness of the situation tempts me to shoot him… I lower my gun and put it away.
"You came all this way to test my reflexes"?
Barry's excitement melted away as he began to look at the floor again. He took a deep breath, rolled his broad shoulders.
"I've been thinking about what you said" he grimance "since the roh-hatz, my life has been…insane." He gulped."I always just assumed I would honour my ancestors, be a strong Jagerbar and follow my father into law. Never really considered other possibilities…"
His sidekick is blocked and sweep aside with my forearm and a step away from my previous space.
"I thought learning the martial arts you used to kicked my ass might be a good place to start, would you teach me?" he asked eagerly.
He wanted me to teach him martial arts?
"I don't know Barry, I'm not a teacher. I could probably ask our department trainer for a -"
"NO! I want you!" Barry exclaimed loudly "I want someone who can understand me, my rage and make it useful."
A red light of danger rang off in my head as he mutters those words. Jagerbar and Krav Maga instruction are two elements that should never be put together.
"The last thing you NEED is to learn is a hard martial arts, like Krav Maga that teaches you to counter force with force in the most brutal and time efficient manner as possible. If IF I was crazy enough to consider your proposal, I would suggest a soft style. You need to to learn more control, to redirect force and moment-"
"Oh my G-d, you're going to teach me?"
Oh no.
"Barry, I'm not a master, I work long and random hours, I-"
"No worries Nick, whenever you're available." With the speed of a ninja Barry thrust a small piece of paper with his cell number on it into my shock open hand. "Here, there's a gym down the street, which lets people rent out private rooms, oh and Wu gave me one of your cards."
He give me a crippling bear hug later and runs out of the door as my mouth drops to the floor. What just happen?
"So this is what it must be like to be Monroe.''
