Chapter Two
Revolutionary Therapy and Rude Interruptions
Nick
All the way to Matt's place, I think about how I’d never seen Elliot open up like he did when he saw Sam at his door.
I’ve never seen him that comfortable. Didn’t even know his niceness spectrum stretched that far.
I want to be jealous and angry, but it’s honestly just really nice to see Elliot has that. A friend he could always rely on.
I have friends who’ll do anything for me. They’re my family. They know everything about me. Well, almost everything. And Elliot barely has anyone, mostly by choice. He really doesn’t make it easy for anyone.
Sam seems like a nice guy. A bit of a shit stirrer, but he’s friends with Elliot, so I wouldn’t expect anything less. The idea that Elliot could be like that with me someday, too, fills my heart with happiness.
I don't realize I'm grinning at the red light until the guy in the car beside me gives me the finger. He’s lucky I’m not petty enough to pull out my siren. I mean, it wouldn’t be the right thing to do, but when has that ever stopped me? I drive away when the light turns green.
Besides, I’m already in hot water with the department.
My strongly suggested leave after the shooting is ending tomorrow, and who knows what awaits me on the other side.
When they cleared me, I was ready to go back right away, but Captain won’t let me, and now I’m worried she’ll move me to desk duty if she doesn’t think I'm well.
Which I am. Completely. I’ve barely thought about Dominic at all.
About the shift in his face when I entered the basement where he held Elliot hostage.
The hatred in his eyes right before he noticed me, the doubt when he did.
How his hard eyes turned trusting as we talked.
How his demeanor shifted when he thought I was going to shoot Elliot.
I don’t think about his frown right before I pulled the trigger, the moment he realized what was happening. It was too late by then. It was already too late the minute I found him. I wouldn’t have let anyone harm Elliot. No one can touch him.
My hands tighten on the steering wheel. When I realized Elliot was the Vigilante Wolf Hunter, the serial killer the Bureau had been hunting for years, I was angry. Of course, I was. I wanted to confront him.
But all my feelings took the backseat because the next minute, I’d learned Elliot had been taken by another serial killer who had been murdering humans in the most cruel ways. And now he had his ultimate target, the person he’d been hunting for years, just like us.
So, no, I had no sympathy for Dominic. My choice was simple, if I even had one. It was always going to be Elliot. That look of fear in his eyes when Dominic had his claws trained on his throat, that was all the reason I needed to justify that bullet.
I take a deep breath and relax my hold before I get more cracks on the wheel.
As Matt's place draws closer, dread settles in my stomach. I’m meeting my Werewolf Regulation Bureau, aka the Bureau team, for work.
But the problem is they’re my best friends too.
That means they’ll want to talk about the shooting.
And the more I talk about it, the harder it is to explain without spilling the beans.
Someone has tried to broach the subject every time we’ve met since. It’s always followed by a sympathetic head tilt from everyone. I’d find it funny if it didn’t make me want to roll over and confess everything.
I want to turn my car around and drive back to Elliot’s place, where we spent an entire week doing nothing but fucking, cuddling, and watching sitcoms. I used the strongly suggested leave from work for its intended purpose. Destressing in the best ways known to mankind.
But I can’t escape anymore. I asked. So, it’s time to wear my big boy pants and face the music, even if it’s just because everyone’s making me do it.
I park outside Matt’s building for quick-exit purposes. Hopefully, I won't need it. But you never know. I make my reluctant way towards their building, then up to their apartment. Every step makes the pit in my stomach grow.
When I’m at the door, I put on a big smile and knock.
Matt frowns when he opens the door. “Are you hurt or something?”
I cool off my smile. As someone who’s not generally in the business of faking smiles, I clearly need some practice. “That’s a rude question to ask someone at your door, Matt.”
Mickey pokes his nose out beside Matt. Oliver and Matt picked him up from Elliot’s yesterday because Oliver was missing him, having not seen him for a week. I was just happy they rang the doorbell and politely asked to take him rather than rolling up in a van and breaking into Elliot’s house.
With Oliver’s history of constantly kidnapping Mickey, I was kind of disappointed by the lack of action. Fine, I miss my job a tiny bit.
I sneak past Matt to walk inside, leaving him to frown at the door.
“Hey, buddy! Did you miss me?” I kneel to give my baby some scratches while he’s still paying me some attention, which is a surprise with the number of people in the apartment.
Mickey excitedly dances around, then gets bored and bounds inside, leaving me on the floor. I shake my head at his retreating backside. “They warned this moment comes in every parent’s life, but you’re still never prepared, you know?”
“Yes, it’s a tragedy. Now, get off my floor,” Matt says.
I do, then follow the loud chatter coming from inside.
Now I know I’m late because of the whole Sam of it all, and I drove extra slowly, every cell in my body hesitant to come here.
But the way everyone snaps their mouths shut the moment I close in on the dining area?
The way I almost heard five sets of jaws click?
Yeah, I was deliberately given the wrong time.
At least I wasn’t cornered in my house for whatever they’ve planned. Because this time, I can just walk away.
Matt sneaks in closer and wraps his arm around my shoulder as if he read my mind. “You know you’ll have to deal with it sometime. Let them just do this for you.” He drags me inside by the arm to face the music.
A loud chorus of “Nick,” in four different voices that should never sing together, greets me when we finally arrive.
I sigh loudly, not hiding anything. Their werewolf ears would have caught a subtle sigh just as clearly anyway. That is, if they were paying attention, which they clearly didn’t seem to be doing. “Can you all please not be weird?” I try, knowing full well I’m asking for the impossible here.
“When are we ever weird?” Sloan has the audacity to ask, face offended.
As the Bureau’s plant in the city’s forensic department, she’s responsible for fabricating and burying evidence that could expose our secret.
Oh, and she’s the most dramatic and weirdest of all.
“Anyway, take your shoes off and lie down on the couch,” she adds in the same breath. Told ya.
“I guess that’s the one we’re going with then,” Marcus huffs. The grumpy coroner has the same tolerance for dramatics as me.
Bree clears her throat. “I’ll still say acupuncture was much better.” Or maybe I spoke too soon. Bree, as smart and quick on her feet as she is in her day job as a 911 operator and at night as a Bureau agent, she is more of a free soul outside of work.
I dutifully take off my shoes. No point in delaying the inevitable. “I’m not letting any of you within ten inches of me with a needle. Except you, Cami, but only for medical reasons, not whatever the fuck this is.”
Cami nods. “That’s a wise choice. I don’t approve of anything happening here, just so you know.” Sweet, kind-hearted Dr. Camilla Reyes is often the only voice of reason in our non-work-related discussions, and, more often than not, she’s summarily ignored.
I fall onto the big couch they’ve left empty for me and rest my head on the arm while everyone sits on chairs surrounding me like an intimidating gang of built therapists trying to crack the case. Or a head or two.
Sloan folds her legs and leans forward, her elbows on her knees. “Do you think you’ve been avoiding us because hanging out with us reminds you of Dominic?”
I close my eyes and sigh. Here we go.
“Wait, you don’t lead the witness like that.” Bree’s stern voice saves me from answering. “You have to let them talk and come to the conclusion themselves. What shows are you watching?”
“You’re mixing up your courtroom dramas and therapy shows,” Marcus points out.
Maybe I can just let them bicker between themselves and take a quick nap. I close my eyes. Oliver’s couch is extremely comfortable, I’ve always said. I’m so glad they got rid of Matt's when they moved in together. That thing was a travesty.
“Yes, but hammering the point home with fists still isn’t the answer,” Bree argues.
“You think Mr. ‘Everything is Fine, Let’s Talk About Someone Else’ is going to confront his issues willingly?” I hear all of Sloan’s snark in her voice.
Hey! I don’t do that.
I get more comfortable on the cozy couch. I know it doesn’t look like it, but this is going way better than I’d imagined. My way to navigate this was always going to be a distraction. I was just going to do it by bringing up Matt’s slow descent towards groomzilla territory. Wait a second.
“We would have slowly nudged him towards it,” Bree grumbles.
“I think we’ve accidentally nudged him towards sleep,” Matt informs everyone.
I feel five sets of eyes turn to me. I force my breath into a slow, even pace and stay still under their scrutiny.
“He’s not sleeping,” Cami, the traitor, announces. Can’t believe I thought she was sweet.
I don’t accept defeat, though. I don’t move and completely ignore the goosebumps rising at the back of my neck from being under the scrutiny of predators. I’m a predator too, damnit.
Someone’s phone vibrates. “Why is Elliot calling me?” Bree says.
My eyes snap open. “Elliot is calling you?” I’m embarrassed to admit it took me a range of smirks and Bree’s grin to realize I’ve been played.