Fake It Until You… Well, Don't Have to Anymore

I.

He was officially a bad cop.

It had taken less than a month, but Nick Burkhardt was targeting specific individuals based on observed characteristics. Wesen characteristics. He was profiling suspects… and not in a good way.

But Nick felt like his actions were, if not justified, then at least understandable. After all, since finding out that he was a Grimm, he had dispatched a Reaper… which Nick believed to have been a Hässlich; been attacked by and partnered with a Hexenbiest; befriended, at least according to Nick, a vegetarian Blutbad and fought a very not vegetarian Blutbad, one that Hank ended up having to shoot; tangled with what seemed like an entire clan of Jägerbars; and battled killer bees also known as Mellifers. When it came to wesen friend versus foe, the odds weren't in his favor. So, that's why, as soon as Nick watched the owner of the Bed and Breakfast woge, he knew he had found his man. Maybe he didn't know - yet - what type of wesen Billy Capra was, but he knew he was responsible for Faith Collins' murder, one way or another. Now, he just needed to prove it… and in a way that would be accepted in a court of law.

They were about to leave, and Nick was anxious to both get Hank, who, in his opinion, had been acting strangely around their suspect, away and to do some research… of the Grimm variety, but, first, he had a thought. Actually, to call it a thought was generous. He had an… instinct kick up and make him take notice.

Spinning around on the heels of his boots, Nick aimed for casual when he asked, "so, what portion of your business comes from couples who are getting engaged?" Hank flashed him a wary, nonplussed look, but he remained silent, allowing Nick to see his query through… whatever his reason for asking it. Meanwhile, Capra just looked between the two detectives, brows raised in curiosity, a smug smirk upon his face. To clarify, Nick added, "earlier, you mentioned that about a third of your business comes from newlyweds. I just wondered…?"

"He recently bought a ring," Hank supplied, his bemusement morphing into mirth at Nick's expense. Although he wasn't sure what caused the change in his partner, Nick did appreciate the help in putting their suspect at ease. Capra was no more concerned or nervous around them than he had been with the couple checking out of the B&B when Nick and Hank had first arrived. "And when I say recently, I mean a month ago. Somebody can't figure out how to propose."

"While I've never been married myself, the proposal seems like it would be the easiest part."

"Trust me," Hank snorted a laugh - one at his own expense, though Capra didn't know that. "It is."

"We don't get as many engagements as we get honeymoons, but we offer a lovely engagement package nonetheless. The details are on our website… if you're interested, Detective."

Nick offered him a tight, empty smile and a nod before walking away, Hank trailing after him. As they left the garden, his partner scoring their steps with a recitation of the various ways he had proposed in the past, Nick tuned out. His instinct had become a thought, and now he had laid the groundwork for that thought to become a plan. Asking Capra about couples coming to the Bramble House to get engaged had nothing to do with Nick's relationship with Juliette but everything to do with preparing Capra for Nick's presence at the B&B for a reason other than professional, conditioning the suspect to treat him like any other paying customer rather than a nosy detective. If he was a guest, then he wouldn't need a warrant to look around. Given that they had absolutely no probable cause to search the Bramble House, Nick needed a way to investigate the wesen owner without going through the proper, legal channels. He knew how to accomplish that; now, he just needed a cover story and a would-be fiancée. Luckily, he knew a couple of… people.

II.

Monroe wanted him to leave. Hell, he had not wanted Nick to stop by uninvited in the first place. But he let him in anyway, and he told him what he could about Ziegevolks, and now it was obvious that Nick had overstayed what very little welcome he had been shown. Monroe was holding his cello once again, and he was ignoring a still ruminating Nick - the clearest of all clear signs that it was time for the Grimm to go home. Instead, he decided to push his luck.

"I need a favor."

Monroe froze, bow poised over the strings of his instrument but stagnant. Looking up from under his heavy brows, the Blutbad queried, "and what exactly do you call the last five minutes?"

"Okay. Fine. I need another favor." Although he didn't look inclined to grant him a boon, Monroe did remain impatiently quiet, so Nick pressed forth. He figured his chances of getting what he wanted would only improve with the speed in which he asked. "I need you to book me a room at the Bramble House under your name and with your credit card. I'll pay you back, of course," he rushed to add before such a complaint or objection could be made.

"Just… use your own, man."

"I can't," Nick stated. At Monroe's disbelieving look, he explained, "I don't want it getting traced back to me. If the Ziegevolk says I was there as a guest, it'll be his word against mine. I don't like lying, especially not about a case, but it's better than doing nothing and another woman getting kidnapped and raped. Or worse. And I can't use Juliette's credit card, because…."

"Wait," Monroe interrupted him, holding up the hand with the bow in it. "Who's Juliette?"

"She's my girlfriend."

"You have a girlfriend?"

"Yeah," Nick answered naturally, like it was obvious, and he wasn't sure why Monroe was suddenly so focused on the matter. Why shouldn't he have a girlfriend? No, he wasn't perfect, but he wasn't a leper either. And surely he'd mentioned Juliette to the Blutbad before… even if only in passing. "I have a girlfriend. We live together. Have for a couple of years now."

Monroe leaned forward in his chair, suddenly eager and interested. He lowered his voice… almost like they were conspirators or discussing something taboo. "What is she?"

Now Nick was the one who was becoming impatient. "She's a vet, but I don't see what that has to do with anything. For a guy who didn't even want to let me in ten minutes ago…." Refocusing their conversation, Nick explained, "I can't use Juliette's card, because, again, it could be traced back to me. Plus, I don't want this case anywhere near her."

"So, she's human?" Annoyed by Monroe's newfound tenacity and the direction in which Nick knew the Blutbad's questions were heading, he simply widened his eyes and shook his head in answer. "Dude, that's a bad idea."

"So I've already been told."

Monroe must have sensed his aggravation, because he reluctantly dropped the topic, though Nick had no doubt it would be revisited. And soon. "Even if I agree to this, as soon as the cop investigating the case of a dead woman last seen at this Bed and Breakfast shows up, the Ziegevolk will know you're up to something."

"I've already taken care of that. He'll think I'm there to get engaged, and having a friend book the room for me will just further the cover story of a surprise proposal."

"If you're not involving your girlfriend, who the hell will he think you're proposing to? Your hand?"

When Nick decided that he would ask the Blutbad for a favor, he never anticipated the other man would show an interest in hearing his entire plan. Saying it out loud made it seem a hell of a lot more complicated than it had all been in his head. The complexity wasn't enough to deter him, but he would feel more confident in it if Monroe didn't sound so doubtful. And amused.

"There's this… person, this woman. She… owes me. A lot." Nick shrugged, looked away. For some reason he either didn't want to contemplate or didn't understand, he didn't want Monroe to know about this part of his plan. "I guess you could say that I'm calling in one of those markers."

After carefully placing his cello and bow off to the side, a smirking Monroe sat back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. "It's Adalind."

"What," Nick blustered. He wasn't sure if he was denying his own transparency or the Blutbad's smugness.

"Adalind," Monroe repeated, apparently refusing to show Nick any mercy. "You know, the lawyer, the Hexenbiest, the legend."

"Now, you're just being ridiculous."

"I'm really not," Monroe defended as Nick stood up and started to pace a tight line behind the chair he had just vacated. "I've known you for just a few very long weeks now, but I'm not sure if we've ever had a conversation that didn't revolve one way or another around your Hexenbiest, yet this is the first time I'm hearing about a live-in girlfriend."

"She's not my Hexenbiest."

"Maybe. Maybe not. But she's a big part of your life - good or bad, whether you want to admit it or not. Are you sure you really want to be bringing her in on your cases now, too? Do you even trust her?"

"Not as far as I can throw her," Nick bit out.

"Dude, you're a Grimm now. You can throw her pretty far."

Monroe was right. Nick was a Grimm, and Adalind, Hexenbiest or not, was tiny. He could toss her around if he wanted to - not that she wouldn't fight back, but the idiom was more of a gut reaction and less of an accurate measurement of his feelings towards and faith in the lawyer at that point in their association. "It's… complicated," he finally admitted to Monroe. Without looking at the Blutbad, he stopped pacing and leaned against the back of his chair. "I trust in her desire to stay alive. I trust in her wits, in her knowledge of wesen ways and customs, in her intelligence. And I trust in her ability to protect herself. Everything else?" He looked up… only to be confronted with a very thoughtful, a very curious though silently so Monroe. "We're… well, I guess you can say we're working on it.

"This case will be a good test for her. For both of us. She has information I want - about who she works for and who is coming after me, but she doesn't trust me enough to tell me yet, and I don't trust her not to manipulate me... let alone to actually have my back in the fight she claims is coming. So, for now, we'll work together, and we'll see if we can… figure out a way to move past what she did to my aunt and to me and, you know, just our very natures. Luckily, the Ziegevolk didn't recognize me as a Grimm, and her powers should make her strong enough to resist him and, if not, at least fight back."

Slowly, Monroe said, "right."

Nick stood up straight, fisting his hands on his hips in challenge. "To which part?"

"Just… all of it." In perturbation, Nick tilted his head and glared. "Dude!"

Ignoring the censure, or the reprimand, or the admiration, or the… whatever it was the Blutbad was trying to express, Nick got back to the point. "So, will you book the room or not?"

"I… will," Monroe agreed slowly. "But I'm charging you interest."

"Oh, come on," he exclaimed, reaching for his wallet. "I can give you the cash right now!"

"Alright. Fine. No interest." Monroe stood up, holding out a hand for the money. Nick placed it in the Blutbad's grip. "But what about a commission?"

He let go of the crisp bills he had just taken out of the ATM on the way over from the trailer. "You're a horrible friend. And no."

"See, I don't recall us actually having a discussion where we decided how to label this imbalanced interaction you've practically foisted upon me."

Nick was striding towards the front entrance as he said, "don't you have a room to book and a cello to play?"

"And don't you have a fake girlfriend to propose to? I hope you splurged on the ring. Hexenbiests are notoriously… particular."

In response, Nick slammed the heavy wooden door behind him, its stained glass rattling slightly in its pane.

III.

He got there early, driving his personal vehicle and parking outside to make sure he didn't miss her. Despite not being on duty, he was prepared to use his badge if anyone complained about how long he sat there. Luckily, no one did. So, there he remained, waiting. Watching.

And, great, not only was he now the judge, jury, and sometimes executioner of the wesen world, but, apparently, he was also a stalker… which, sadly, felt like a natural progression - or perhaps regression - in his life these days.

Unlike when on stakeouts, he found that the time went by quickly, his mind otherwise too busy and preoccupied to notice the inactivity. Plus, the peaceful solitude was a reprieve after the sleepless night he had spent tossing and turning, debating if he was doing the right thing, if his plan was the right way to catch Capra, if there even was a right way anymore now that he was a Grimm. Those minutes he sat in the car felt like his quiet before the storm. But then she arrived, and he followed her inside, and the bell over the door was like a thunderclap announcing the tempest's arrival.

Too engrossed in her morning ritual, she failed to notice his presence, so he was able to sidle up behind her, bending down so as to discreetly whisper in her ear, "we need to talk."

She jumped slightly but, otherwise, didn't react to him. Under her breath, Adalind whispered, "I thought I told you that we shouldn't be seen together."

"And we're not. We're just two, random people, waiting in line for their morning caffeine fix."

Hissing, she demanded, "what do you want? What was so important that you decided it was a good idea to risk us being caught together? Do you have any idea how many lawyers from my firm also get their coffee here?"

"Remember our deal," Nick prompted her. Without waiting for confirmation, he proceeded to say, "well, I'm calling in my first mark."

Adalind casually perused the menu on the wall… as though she, just like everyone else in the world, didn't have a certain drink that she ordered every day. "What do you want to know? What did you come across this time?"

"A Ziegevolk," Nick told her.

His answer must have surprised her, because, forgetting who, and what, and where they were, she whirled around to look at him. "And, what, you can't handle a Blue Beard on your own," Adalind scoffed. She scorned. "They're goats. How much more do you need to know?"

"I'm not here for information." She still didn't turn back around, so he rushed to finish his explanation, wanting to see her reaction. "I actually need your help with a case. How do you feel about going undercover?"

"What part of not being seen together and not being connected to one another do you not understand," Adalind seethed before pivoting on her dangerously high and deadly sharp stilettos to once more face the counter. Her rich, red coat flared around her, a silent warning if Nick ever saw one.

She was next in line to order, so Nick decided to get to the point, telling her as much as he could while he still could. "It's off the books. No one will know about it. They can't. Once we have the information I need, I'll call it in as an anonymous tip, and it'll be the suspect's word against mine. And I've covered my tracks. The reservations are in a friend's name - a friend no one at the department is aware of, and we'll take taxis, so our cars can't be traced."

Other than placing an order for a drink that was overly complicated - in fact, Nick was pretty sure she made up a few words just to test the barista or confound him – maybe both, Adalind didn't say a thing. He, on the other hand, just asked for a plain, black cup of coffee. Even that required explanation, though, because, apparently, you couldn't just say what you wanted. Instead, you had to use the cafe's trademarked vernacular. Then, on top of that frustration and all of her protests to his presence, Adalind added insult to injury and told the cashier that he was paying for both of their drinks… despite the fact that, of the two of them, she was the one wearing an outfit which probably cost more than most cars - certainly more than his.

She was already striding towards the door when he caught up with her, his order somehow taking longer which was… concerning. Nick would have just tossed the coffee and settled for the precinct's tar-like swill that he usually drank if he wasn't in desperate need of the caffeine, his lack of sleep making itself known already despite the fact that he had a long day and night awaiting him. With Adalind obviously unswayed by his assurances of circumspection and her promises of loyalty and favor, Nick tried one last tactic. "We think this guy is a serial rapist." Her steps slowed, though she didn't stop. "So far, here in Portland, one woman is dead, and there are three more missing, but we've connected him to seventeen other cases of kidnapping and rape. Fifteen of those cases resulted in pregnancies."

Finally, she stopped, and then she turned to face him where they were standing on the sidewalk. Her position was eerily similar to that from the day he first saw her, though there was no shy, flirtatious smile for Nick this time. "Hello, have we met? I'm Adalind Schade, evil incarnate if you were to ask a certain detective I unfortunately know." Before he could respond, she continued, "I may be a female, but I'm not a feminist. If those women were too weak to protect themselves against a Ziegevolk, then they were probably a lost cause anyway."

"They were humans, not wesen."

"Buy a gun. Take a self-defense class. Have some standards!"

Becoming impatient with her insolence, Nick snapped, "you know it's not that simple."

"No, what I know is that this is not what we agreed upon," Adalind snapped, glaring at him. Other professionals surged around them on their way into and out of the coffee shop, but neither Nick nor Adalind paid their surroundings the attention they deserved. "Give me one good reason why I should do this."

"Besides the fact that it's the right thing to do," Nick scoffed.

"Eventually, you're going to realize that, in our world, right and wrong aren't as clear cut as you believe, as you'd like for them to be. And I think we both know your right is definitely my wrong."

"Fine." He took several steps closer to her, lowering his voice. "What about the fact that I saved your life, and we're supposed to be learning how to trust one another so that you will tell me who you work for?"

"I'm starting to think I made a mistake when I presented you with that offer."

"Well, it's too late now."

"Fine," Adalind snarled, glowering at him. "If you want to borrow my books, I'll make you a library card. If you need a potion, I'll start a fire. But you and I," she motioned between them, "will not be going anywhere or doing anything together."

"Too bad the room has already been booked, and the suspect is expecting me and my girlfriend for a romantic, overnight proposal."

"Wait," and Adalind physically held a hand up to ward off his response. She was grinning broadly, her mood morphing faster than her face when it woged. "What exactly do you want me to do, because, if it's wear a diamond and consummate an engagement, I might be able to make an exception to our rules."

It always amazed Nick how quickly Adalind's reactions towards him could shift, the duality of her nature. Hell, he was pretty sure she had mentally run the complete 'Kill, Marry, Fuck' gamut with him alone several times already during the course of their association. What was even more disconcerting was his own responses to her, especially when she flirted with him. Despite everything she had done to him and everything he knew her to be capable of, Nick found her physical appreciation and objectification to be gratifying; despite everything she had done to him and everything he knew her to be capable of, he couldn't deny that she was an attractive woman. He'd say that her personality was a reflection of her rotting, corpse-like wesen, but Nick wasn't sure if he had actually met the real Adalind yet. Between all of her defenses, and her lies, and her manipulations, and her ability to adapt to any and all situations, she was a chameleon.

A poisonous one.

"I don't have probable cause for a warrant, but I know this Ziegevolk is guilty. If I can get inside and look around, I know I'll be able to find the evidence I need. I can't do that as Detective Burkhardt, but I can do it as Nick Burkhardt, boyfriend and guy who is about to propose. Only… this isn't an official undercover assignment, so I can't get a female cop to pose as my to-be fiancée, and I can't put anyone at risk. You can hold your own, and you owe me, so I need you to pose as my girlfriend. But there will be no wearing of diamonds, and there definitely will be no consummating."

Adalind took a drink of her coffee, grinning around the rim of the cup. "Buzzkill."

He ignored her. "So, will you help me or not?"

For several moments, she observed him carefully. Closely. He wasn't sure if she was looking for something from his expression to help her make up her mind, or if she was just drawing out the moment to keep him on edge. With anyone else, it most likely would have been the former, but, since this was Adalind, Nick was leaning more towards her simply taking advantage of an opportunity to torture him… even if just a little.

"I'll do it," she finally answered. "But let the record show that I am only agreeing to this terrible plan of yours because, for once in your boring, do-gooder life, you, the straight-laced detective, are breaking the rules, and I need to see how that turns out. Call me curious."

"Let's hope then that you're like the cats you're so fond of." Nick didn't know if she had a cat, but he'd read about her kind's affinity for felines in one of his aunt's books, and he knew Adalind would also be aware of the information.

"Only if satisfaction brings me back as well. After all, I'm too pretty to die young." She ran her lingering, leering gaze down his body before once more locking her blue eyes onto his own much darker gaze. "Will you be able to handle that, Nick?"

Outright ignoring her, he redirected them back to practical matters. "Do you know the Bramble House?"

"I was born and raised in Portland. Of course I know the Bramble House. Why?"

"Meet me there tonight after work. And, remember, take a taxi."

He turned away and started back towards his car when he heard her call out behind him, "any requests for what I should… or shouldn't pack, Nick?"

His answer was the slamming of his door and the turning over of the Land Cruiser's engine. Before he pulled away, though, he saw a grinning Adalind in his rearview mirror, laughing at his expense. Nick had a feeling it wouldn't be the last time either.