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Maybe it's the pressure that finally got to him. Crawling under his skin, stinging down his belly, and pressing against the back of his skull after witnessing Nick in such a bad way after his rundown with a Siegbarste.
It's nauseating. Monroe struggles not to let his jaw drop when Nick dares to utter the words I trust you as he lays in his hospital bed, with white and blue sheets that bring the bruises across his body to glow like markings on a map.
He can't deny him. He wants to - or wishes he wanted to, more like it - because some part of him is touched that a Grimm is giving him the entryway to years of research while also shattering about a thousand folklores of his cruel ancestors that his parents used to tell him as bedtime stories, but that was already established since when he first met Nick.
Still, the fact that he was trusted with the kind of knowledge that others would kill, has killed, and will be killed for, made his brain hurt, and all that stood between him and that trailer filled with history and research now sat the palm of his hand in the shape of a silver key.
It feels heavy. And the atmosphere in the bright room is suffocating with unease. Hank is in danger, and Nick can't do anything to help him. He's helpless - vulnerable and burdened by his weakness. When Monroe takes a sniff of the sweat that clings to his hospital robe, he can smell something similar to that Siegbarste. It makes his blood boil. No traces of Juliette, or even Hank, who would have been common for Nick since he spent so much time with them daily. It made his gut turn, and he wrinkled his nose and shook his head when the stench became too much to bear.
Nick titles his head at him, confused and off-put by the expression on his face.
"Are you okay, Monroe?" His voice is small. Not loud enough to echo between them. His throat hurts from yelling in pain. His brows are pressed together in an attempt to choke down a groan as his stiff body relaxes against the mattress.
Monroe wants to lie. He wants to spare Nick from the honesty he's about to give him, but he can't. He can't keep his feelings at bay from him. He doesn't want to.
"I'm worried about leaving you here." He wants to say more, but there isn't enough time.
The words make Nick smile, but it's not real. It doesn't reach his eyes. Instead, it's sad. "There are officers outside my door, you know. And you're helping me keep Hank safe. That's more important than staying here with me. You are the only one I can trust to see this through. And I wish I didn't have to involve you in this, but I do." It's brutally honest, and it makes the words sting all the more between them as they stare at one another after Nick says his piece.
He exhales, and his chest rises, then down. Then up again, but slower as he leans his head back against the pillow at the back of his head. He stares at Monroe as he begins to shrug off his cardigan. He takes a step toward Nick, who shoots him a confused stare.
"Lean forward for me, will you?"
Nick squeezes his eyes shut as he does, it hurts but he can bear it. He sighs before he feels soft fabric meeting his skin. One sleeve is guided to slip his uncast arm through as the other one simply rests on his shoulder instead. It's soft and makes his face burn a little when he opens his eyes and finds Monroe staring at him.
He tries to understand why, but Monroe doesn't say anything. And Nick doesn't ask. Maybe it's better off this way. As Monroe fixes the buttons into their places to keep the cardigan snug against Nick's skin, Nick holds his wrist. He squeezes, pressing his fingers around Monroe's pulse point which makes him stop and stare at Nick's collarbone as he avoids his eyes.
"You should go."
Monroe can't argue with the truth. He moves his hand away, but Nick still grasps his other one. He does not attempt to pull it away from him, though. It makes sense. But Nick wants to ask about it. He feels a knot forming in his stomach, pressuring his gut with uneasiness to the fact that there are so many things he doesn't understand yet, but he can't bring himself to ask Monroe about any of it. He swallows a gulp down his throat when he lets Monroe's hand go, reluctantly.
Monroe moves away then, turning halfway around the room to leave before he calls out to Nick.
"There's more than one way to mark up a territory, you know."
After that, he's gone. And Nick is glad he left because he doesn't have the slightest idea of how to even begin to talk about any of the implications that come with Monroe claiming him. It feels right, though. He sinks into the bed, closing his eyes and letting his guard down for the first time that night.
He wonders if a Grimm had ever been claimed by a Blutbad before, and when he can't come up with a reasonable assumption, he tells himself that he doesn't mind being the first. It's Monroe, after all.