AN: Evenmoor recently suggested that I write my own PoI/Grimm crossover, and after spending a while thinking, I have come up with a great idea at last. I hope Evenmoor, at least, likes it. Everyone else, if you hate it, then something is terribly right with you.

Logic? I don't need no stinking logic! Sanity-free storytelling, that's the order of the day from me!

R&R and enjoy!

Magic Numbers

Chapter 1

New York City, November 4

4:58pm. Reese pressed his finger to the earwig to accept Finch's incoming call. "Harold. Isn't it just about dinnertime?"

Finch frowned down at his meal. "Why, yes, I was. Ms. Shaw delivered this chow mein and potstickers to me. She says it comes from a very good Chinese place in the city."

Reese smirked to himself. "Let me guess. The chow mein is full of celery, and the potstickers are huge, and all the food is unusually dry for Chinese." It wasn't a question.

"How did you guess?" Finch asked.

"Shaw stiffed you, Finch," said Reese, listening to the other noise in his earwig - a distant chuckling noise as Shaw tried and miserably failed to hide her laughter. "That Chinese food comes from Safeway. I should know, because she tricked me into eating it just last week."

"Oh." Finch was highly disappointed. "Did she now?" He took a bite of large, dry potsticker. "Well, the joke's on her. It's surprisingly delicious." Reese cringed slightly as a yacking sound erupted through the earwig. "Although I can't say the same for Bear. He clearly doesn't approve."

Reese turned and looked at the distantly setting sun. "Well, Finch, I can't imagine you called to chat about this surprisingly mundane culinary discovery of yours. Do you have something to tell us?"

"Yes." Finch put down his bowl of potstickers and moved over to the computer bank at the other end of the room. "Two numbers have just been sent our way. Their names are Nick Burkhardt and Rosalee Calvert. Very unextraordinary people from what I've found. No criminal records, no jobs of any kind involving national security. All they do is run a special exotic herbs and spices shop. Oh. This is interesting."

"What, their spice shop is a front for drug smuggling?" Reese cracked.

"No," said Finch. "It's just, we very rarely get numbers for people outside of New York. These two live clear across the country. Portland, Oregon, to be precise." He paused and took a listen to his landline phone, which had just started to ring. "Oh dear, I think we might have another number."

Reese and Shaw waited for Finch to return with his third number of the evening. "Yes, this is rather odd. Three numbers in one evening, and all are for residents of Portland. The third number is Sean Renard, and he's a police captain."

"Are they all in New York today?" Shaw asked.

"No," said Finch. "Just Renard. As far as I can tell, Burkhardt and Calvert are still in Portland. I'm afraid you two will have to split up for these, the better to keep an eye on everyone involved, whomever they may be."

Reese set off down the street, away from the sunset. "I'll go to Portland and keep an eye on the other two," he said.

"Exactly what I was planning," said Finch. "Shaw, hold the line a moment, I'll get you the location of Renard's hotel room."

While Finch undertook this info-search, Shaw sighed breezily over the earwig, which to Reese meant she could only be extremely pissed and hoping to find someone to knock out with a swift punch to the forehead. "Why do I gotta stay in town?" she muttered.

"Because Finch doesn't trust you to work an op on your own," said Reese. "Relax. You'll still have Bear and Carter and Fusco to assist you if you need them."

"Filthy Delta Bravos," groused Shaw under her breath. "You just wanna make sure I don't go apeshit on anyone, that's it. Right?"

Before anyone could answer, Reese had already cut the connection and hailed a taxi to take him to LaGuardia, and Finch had discovered where Renard was staying today. "The Waldorf-Astoria, Shaw. And get this - I've also found out that Sean Renard is not even his real name. His true name is Johannes Kronenberg, and he's an Austrian national. His brother, Eric, is staying at the hotel with him today, too."

"Austrian national?" asked Shaw. "Then how did he become a Portland cop?"

"I assume their background checks are far less rigorous than ours," Finch said. "And by the way, thanks for the Chinese food, Shaw. It was very delicious, especially considering it came from a cheap supermarket."

"It was nothing," said Shaw, grinning. "Literally." She pressed her earwig to turn it off and began walking down Fifth Avenue towards the hotel.