"You're looking a little rough, like you didn't sleep all night. If you really can't accept reality, I can clear out a room at my place for you to stay in for a while.
Aunt Mary left plenty of books and records, journals passed down by my... uh, ancestors. Reading through them might help you get used to this sort of thing."
It wasn't even seven in the morning yet. In a breakfast café downstairs from Hancock's apartment, Nick looked at his partner's bloodshot eyes and offered the suggestion with some concern.
He had received Hancock's call before dawn. Clearly, the man hadn't slept all night, and it hadn't even been six hours since they had parted.
After seeing Monroe and Labe voluntarily transform with his own eyes the night before, Hancock had promptly drunk himself halfway into a stupor. Nick had driven him back to his apartment himself.
Now that they had met again, the Black detective looked like hell. It didn't bode well, the way he eyed everyone with suspicion.
"I just don't understand how you and Dahlia could accept something like this so calmly. At least, I'd never noticed anything unusual before."
The bitterness of the espresso made Hancock grimace. Then he clutched his head and groaned in pain, clearly still hungover.
"Every time I closed my eyes last night, I saw Monroe and that lawyer in my head. God, how many... like them are there?"
"I don't know. Quite a few, probably. As for accepting it, maybe it's because I'm a Grimm myself. And Dahlia, like I said, is a retired agent. She's used to bloodshed. This is nothing to her." Nick shrugged, making a show of treating it lightly.
Hancock rolled his eyes at him. The man had accepted the existence of Wesen, but still