A/N: Major canon divergence at the end of this chapter. You have been warned.

Chapter Five

Nick pulled his truck into a parking space in front of his favorite pizza place and turned the engine off. Another long day of interviews and background checks had put him and Hank no further on the right path than they had been that morning. With tempers flaring and vision blurring, both agreed that it was time to call it a night in the hopes that the morning would bring fresh eyes and a fresher perspective.

The two of them also failed to admit to the strategy being a long shot, but a solid night's rest beckoned.

Nick had been tempted to just head straight home and crawl into bed, but lunch had been a very long time ago. Fortunately, a quick call ahead meant only a brief stop on the way home.

Jumping out of his car, Nick headed into the pizza shop. The late hour meant no waiting in line, and Nick was able to be in and out in five minutes. He carried his box of pizza back to his car and set it in the backseat. He had been about to climb back into the driver's seat when a strangled cry reached his ears.

Nick froze, quietly closing the driver's side door and straining to hear more. He had just been about to convince himself that he was hearing things in his exhaustion when another cry sounded, this one angry and aggressive.

Pulling his gun from his holster, Nick held it low and crept stealthily to the alley beside the pizza shop. He paused, allowing his eyes to adjust to the lessening of the light.

"Please . . . it's all I have . . ."

Nick's gaze zeroed in on a trembling figure backed against the side of the pizza shop, hands raised. Facing the figure and looming over him was a bulky shape.

"Five bucks!" the looming figure hissed. "You expect me to believe that?"

Nick darted forward, raising his gun. "Police! Put the weapon down!"

Both figures' heads snapped towards Nick. Before Nick's eyes, the smaller man's features shifted into those of a Mauzhertz while the other man's face rippled into that of a Skalengeck. The two wesens' eyes widened in unison, and Nick had a sneaking suspicion it wasn't because he was a cop.

"Grimm!" the Skalengeck hissed. He swung his weapon- a six-inch blade- towards Nick.

Nick stepped closer. "Put the knife down," he ordered.

The Skalengeck edged away from the Mauzhertz, knife still pointed at Nick. The Mauzhertz's gaze swung between his attacker and Nick, clearly trying to size up his options for survival. Nick tried to keep the Mauzhertz in his peripheral vision, but the Skalengeck's predatory circling kept the majority of his focus.

"Put the knife down," Nick repeated. "I won't say it again."

A strange, ominous rumble joined his words, the threat in them plain. The Mauzhertz gave a squeak of alarm and scurried away from the two predators.

The sudden movement distracted Nick, which was the opening the Skalengeck needed. He surged forward, slashing the knife and scoring a hit on Nick's arm.

Nick cried out and reflexively retaliated. Drawing his hands toward his body, he delivered a solid kick squarely to the Skalengeck's stomach. The Skalengeck flew back, slamming into the wall behind him and tumbling to the ground. Shaking his head, the Skalengeck scrambled to his feet and took off towards the street.

Nick cursed and looked at his arm. His jacket had been sliced open, blood welling up and staining the material. Gently tugging the sleeve aside, Nick examined the cut along his forearm.

The cut was about four inches in length and steadily dripping blood, but not enough to warrant a trip to the hospital. With another curse falling from his lips, Nick trudged back to his car.

The drive home was completed on autopilot. Nick robotically parked his car, collected his pizza from the backseat, and walked up his garden path and into his house.

The house was just as Nick had left it the night before; the kitchen light was still on and the pages of his aunt Marie's letter were lying on the floor where they had fallen. Setting the pizza box down on the counter, Nick stooped down and collected the papers, tossing them on top of the pizza box before heading to the bathroom for his first aid kit.

Not immediately in view, Nick opened each cabinet in turn before locating the needed item. Sitting down on the closed lid of the commode, Nick gingerly peeled off his jacket and tossed it onto the ground. Pushing up his shirt sleeve, Nick studied his cut for a long moment before opening the kit and removing gauze squares. He used one to dab at the blood still seeping from his wound, then pressed another against the cut.

Grabbing a roll of bandages next, Nick carefully began to wind the bandage around his arm until the gauze square had been fully secured. Satisfied with the makeshift bandage, Nick cleaned up his mess, put the first aid kit back where it belonged, then headed back to the kitchen.

Nick opened the cabinet that held his plates and considered them for a moment, then closed the doors. Tossing some napkins onto the pizza box, he grabbed a bottle of beer from the fridge and carried everything into the living room.

With an unfamiliar sitcom playing on his television for no other reason that to keep the silence at bay, Nick grabbed a slice of pizza and leaned back on his couch, allowing his mind to wander.

The memory of the lengthy afternoon of interviews returned first. Rather than finding any sign at all that would point to a perpetrator, each person they spoke with seemed to pull him and Hank farther away from any connection to Woods and their case. Even Holliday's personnel file from the school district's human resources department had been squeaky clean.

The strange feeling he kept getting in the bullpen tugged at his attention next. For some reason, Nick kept feeling like he was being watched, but sweeps of the bullpen had revealed nothing out of the ordinary. Nick kept trying to attribute the feeling to being hyper aware of his boss being Portland's Prince and part of the wesen world himself, but his instincts screamed at him that there was something else.

Renard.

Nick sighed, finishing his first slice and taking a long pull from his beer.

He hadn't seen hide nor hair of the captain since the disaster of a conversation earlier that day. Nick didn't know if that had been a calculated move by Renard or sheer happenstance, but Nick had to admit to feeling relieved at not having to face him again.

That thought brought him to his transfer request.

Nick didn't really want to leave the South Precinct. He liked it there; liked his partner and the cops he worked with.

Well, most of them.

He wouldn't be disappointed at seeing the back of Arnold. Nick hadn't seen him or his buddies since Renard's intervention the day before, but it was only a matter of time before they started back up again with their subtle harassment.

And he was back to Renard.

Before his aunt's confession, Nick had really admired the man. Renard had always struck Nick as the kind of captain who never failed to ensure that all of the people working under him were taken care of. Seeking Nick out after his first officer-involved shooting to make sure he was all right. Personally coming to the hospital after Stark's attack to check on him. Never hesitating to strap on a bullet-proof vest and provide backup during an arrest.

Truthfully, the realization that Renard had not only considered Marie's request but had actually gone through with it was so far out of field from the person Nick had known that Nick couldn't help feeling betrayed.

Renard's advice from earlier rose from the dregs of his confusion. Unbidden, Nick's eyes landed on the letter that had slid off of the pizza box and onto the coffee table. Leaning forward, Nick set his bottle of beer aside and lifted the pages to scan them once more.

To Nick's surprise, he noticed a third page to the letter. Shuffling the pages around, he picked up where he had left off.

I know that this decision will hurt you, and for that I am so sorry. I only hope that you might one day forgive me for this. This was truly the last option available to me, so I took it.

After I'm gone, there will be a number of people who may try to take my place. Take care who you choose to trust; now more than ever you will learn that what you see is not always the truth.

"No kidding," Nick muttered, his mind once again dredging up his most recent encounters with his boss. He took another drink from his bottle of beer, set the bottle back down, and continued reading.

There is so much more I wish I could share with you about our family, but it is best shared in person. If you are reading this letter and you don't know about our inheritance and our line, you can find the answer in my journal.

Stay alert. Trust your instincts. Kill the bad ones.

And know that I love you very much.

All my love,

Aunt Marie

Tears spilled down Nick's cheeks as he read over his aunt's final words. Clutching the letter in a tight grip, crinkling the paper, Nick closed his eyes and bent over, giving in to the grief.


"Seriously, man, there's this thing called sleep. Have you heard of it?"

The smile bloomed without Nick's consent. He looked up at Monroe as the Blutbad joined him on the park bench and held out a cup of coffee to him. "Good morning to you, too."

Monroe took the coffee, his eyes betraying a hint of concern as they took in Nick's haggard appearance. "Dude, you need to take it easy. Meditate, do Pilates, something."

"I don't know if you noticed, but the life of a cop isn't exactly stress-free," Nick said wryly. He sipped at his own coffee. "Or a Grimm, for that matter."

"Yeah, but there's such a thing as moderation." Monroe finally leaned back against the back of the bench and took a slip of his coffee. "I get burning the candle at both ends when the situation calls for it, but everyone has a limit. I don't think you want to find out what happens when you finally hit it."

A companionable silence fell between them, both drinking coffee and watching the people enjoying the park.

"What did you decide to do about, uh . . . your boss?" Monroe's tone was casual, but there was no missing the burning curiosity behind it.

Nick sighed. He had known the question was coming, but it didn't make the answer any easier. "I asked for a transfer."

Monroe startled badly, just barely rescuing his coffee from spilling. "You what?"

Nick took another sip of coffee. "He killed my aunt, Monroe. Who knows what else he's been doing behind the scenes, what other laws he's been breaking?" He looked at the Blutbad. "I can't trust him to have my back and not stick a knife in it if it would benefit his position as a Prince."

Monroe opened his mouth, an automatic protest ready, but he stopped and closed his mouth. He opened it again as another thought struck him, but this one, too, was shut down before it could see light.

Nick nodded, a sad resignation weighing down on him. "You can't even deny it," he stated.

"I wouldn't say the situation is ideal, but I just . . . there's got to be another solution," Monroe insisted. "Do you even want to leave?"

"What I want doesn't factor into this," Nick stated flatly. "How can I do my job if I can't trust the people I work with? As a cop, that's a one-way trip to the morgue."

"What about all those wesen you've helped?" Monroe tried.

"What about them?" Nick asked. "I'm leaving the department, not Portland."

"Nick." Monroe gave him a look that was half-pitying and half-remonstrative. "The Prince is the ruler of the entire city, not just your precinct. Even if you manage to remove yourself from him at work, you're not going to be able to get out from his control as royalty and Grimm."

That hadn't occurred to Nick, and he glanced down at his coffee cup. "Well, it doesn't matter right now anyway. Renard wants to wait a couple weeks before considering my request."

"Maybe that's not such a bad idea," Monroe said delicately.

Nick fiddled with his coffee cup. "Can I ask . . . do you know anything about Grimm families?"

If the switch in topics unsettled Monroe, he gave no sign of it. "Depends," he admitted. "I mean, it's probably not as accurate as your books. Why?"

"My aunt's letter," Nick replied. "She said some things about my family line, and I was wondering what it meant."

"Like what?" Monroe asked.

In response, Nick reached into his pocket and pulled out the envelope with his aunt's letter and held it out to Monroe. Monroe took it out of reflex, giving Nick a doubtful look.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

Nick nodded wordlessly.

Setting his coffee aside, Monroe gently opened the envelope. Pulling out the papers, he unfolded them and began to read. Neither man spoke as Monroe worked his way through the words, occasionally flipping back to previous paragraphs to double check something.

After several long moments, Monroe finally finished the letter. He folded it back up, tucked it inside the envelope, and passed it back to Nick who slipped it back into his pocket.

"Well?" Nick prompted.

Monroe was looking at Nick as if he had never seen him before. "I had no idea you came from one of the old lines."

"What does that even mean?" Nick asked. "Does it matter?"

"Depends on who you ask." Monroe shook his head. "I gotta say, man, it's weird being the one explaining your own history to you. It's almost like your aunt didn't want you to know any of this."

"So what's the big deal being descended from an older line?" Nick skipped over Monroe's statement, not prepared just then to dive into his aunt's motivations for her decisions.

Monroe tipped his head back, eyes skyward as he gathered his thoughts. "Okay" he said. "I can tell you a few things passed down through my family. I don't know how accurate it might be; Grimms were not generally anxious to share personal information with the wesen they hunted."

"Understood," Nick assured him.

Monroe nodded. "All right. Well, Grimms have been around for centuries, but they weren't always called Grimms. Royal families used to contract them to pretty much check the wesen armies they commanded. When wesen armies started disbanding, and wesen spread out around the world, a lot of Grimm history kinda got lost. I mean, they were probably still around, but no one really knows.

"It's not until the time of Jacob and WIlhelm Grimm that you guys even got your current name," Monroe continued. "The story pretty much goes that they were the fiercest hunters of their time. They started using their journals as stories to inspire fear among humans, but to also pass along what they knew to others like them who maybe didn't realize what they were." Monroe squinted at a memory. "I think that was when there was a sudden surge in the number of Grimms around the world; they, like you, started seeing things that they couldn't explain. The Grimm Brothers' stories told them what we were and how to kill us."

Nick winced slightly. "But Jacob and WIlhelm already knew?"

"As far as I know," Monroe confirmed. "Their line was unbroken, the ability to see us and the knowledge collected about us was passed from parent to child without skipping anyone. Some of the other lines skip over to distant relatives, or jump a couple generations. No one really knows why for sure, but one theory goes that the old lines made sure to keep true to blood."

"What does that mean?" Nick asked.

"Grimms marrying Grimms," Monroe replied. "Or at least into other Grimm lines. The Grimms with the fiercest reputations or strongest abilities usually claim to belong to either Jacob or WIlhelm's line, which was the strongest in their day."

"What kinds of abilities?" Nick asked, curious. "The only thing I've noticed is the ability to see wesen."

Monroe gave him a pointed look. "So, what, your ability to take in small clues around people and instantly read the situation correctly doesn't count?"

"I've always been able to do that!" Nick protested. "I've only been a Grimm for a few months!"

"If you're of Jacob Grimm's line, one could make the argument that you've always been a Grimm, and you've only had the ability to see wesen for a few months," Monroe stated. "Which means other abilities might start waking up."

"Like what?" Nick asked.

Monroe shrugged. "You'll probably find those answers in your aunt's trailer," he said. "Going off of the stories? Maybe extra strength. Faster reflexes, sharper senses. Those last two I've noticed when we train in the woods."

"You have?" Nick hadn't noticed anything different.

Monroe nodded. "Your reaction times are a hair quicker, and you've been faster at sensing me. I bet it'll get even stronger the more we practice."

An insistent beeping broke into their conversation. Nick pulled out his phone, noting the time as he silenced the alarm.

"Duty calls?" Monroe asked.

"Something like that." Nick stood. "I agreed to give a safety talk down at the youth center. Thanks for the information."

Monroe picked up his coffee and saluted Nick with it. "Thanks for the coffee."

Nick smiled and started to leave, but paused and turned back to Monroe. "Hey, by the way, have you heard anything else about a new Grimm in town?"

Monroe shook his head. "Nothing more than what I told you the other day," he replied. "Why? Have you?"

"No," Nick answered. "I was just curious. I mentioned it to Frank the other day and he was really concerned by it."

"I would hope so," Monroe replied. "Any normal, self-respecting wesen would."

Nick nodded, almost absently.

"Trust me, if I hear anything else, you're going to be the first person I call," Monroe told him.

Nick nodded again. "Be safe out there, just in case."

Monroe rolled his eyes. "I should be saying that to you."

With a laugh and a wave, Nick headed towards his car.


"What if we're at the store with our mom and the cashier wants to give us candy?"

Nick smiled, amused. "If your mom is there and she says it's okay, then yes, it's okay."

Another one of the younger children clustered together at the front of the audience raised her hand. Nick smiled at her and nodded.

"What if they say they lost their dog and are crying and need our help?" the girl asked.

"Anyone who needs help should be asking an adult for help," Nick answered steadily. "Especially strangers. If a stranger asks for your help, run and get an adult."

"What about police officers?" another young voice piped up. "If we don't know them, aren't they strangers?"

Nick nodded, having expected the question. "They are, but all of us made a promise to help you. As long as the police officer has one of these-," he unclipped his badge from his belt and held it up, "then the person is okay."

Several of the younger children oohed and made grabby hands up at Nick. Nick chuckled lightly and handed his badge over for them to look at.

"What about firefighters?" another voice called out.

Nick turned back to his audience and nodded. "Firefighters too."

"Teachers?"

"Yes."

"Astronauts?"

Choked laughter at the innocent query drifted over from the back of the room where the teenagers were gathered.

Nick's smile grew ever-so-slightly. "Well, an astronaut asking for directions must be really lost," he commented. "So if one finds you and asks for help, what should you do?"

"Get an adult!" the younger children all cried.

"Very good!" Nick praised.

Another hand shot up and waved excitedly. "What if-?"

The director of the youth center, sensing that the questions were beginning to take on more creative directions, clapped her hands and stepped forward. "Boys and girls, let's tell Detective Burkhardt 'thank you' for taking the time to come and talk to us about being safe."

From sullen and disappointed mumbles to enthusiastic shouts and everything in between, Nick was inundated with thanks. Nick smiled brightly and waved while the adults in the room and several of the older teenagers began shooing the children out of the room.

The director rescued Nick's badge from the hands of a small girl and walked over to Nick, handing it back to him.

"Thanks again for taking the time to speak to the kids," she told him as he clipped his badge back onto his belt.

"It was my pleasure," Nick replied. "My partner gives me grief about it, but I really like talking to the kids."

They started walking towards the main entrance of the building.

"You're really good with them," the director commented. "You should consider volunteering with us."

Nick's smile became bashful. "Giving safety talks? Can't imagine they need a lot of those. Or do they?"

The director chuckled. "Some might, but really there are other ways you can volunteer. In fact, a lot of our kids would benefit from a strong male role model. I'm sure you noticed that many of our volunteers are women; not that they don't do a terrific job. I mean, Rachel . . ."

They paused just outside of the building, the director's words fading as she stopped and fought back the sudden surge of grief at the mention of the slain woman. Nick stood patiently and waited for the woman to collect herself.

Without warning, the director's features shifted before Nick's eyes. He noted the low brows and elongated ears and recognized her as a Schakal.

The director met Nick's shocked gaze and, to Nick's further surprise, smiled ruefully as she shifted back into her human form.

"Don't worry," she said. "I'm reformed. Actually, it's how I stumbled into this gig."

"I . . . you don't seem surprised to find out I'm a Grimm," Nick replied. "Or scared."

"Well, I did have some insider information," the director admitted.

Nick gave her a quizzical look.

"Barry," the director said. "He actually talks about you quite a lot. His friends, too."

"I . . . don't honestly know if that's a good thing or a bad thing," Nick stated.

"It's a very good thing," the director assured him. "Especially for our kids, like Barry, who need to see someone like you as someone to depend on."

"A Grimm?" Nick said doubtfully.

"As a protector," the director agreed. "I think that's a positive image of Grimms instead of nightmares, don't you?"

Nick's head ducked slightly.

"No pressure," the director said. "Just something to think about."

Nick nodded, pulling out a business card and handing it to the director. "I need to get back to work, but I'll keep the offer in mind. If anything comes up, please give me a call."

The director nodded, accepting the card.

Nick jogged down the steps and strode to his car. His mind began to turn towards the case, but part of it remained with the director of the youth center and her offer.


The bullpen was crowded again.

Nick hesitated just inside the door, his eyes passing over the unexpectedly high number of people crowding the room. Most of the visitors appeared to be in their late teens and early twenties, but Nick couldn't find anyone in particular who stuck out in the crowd.

He headed for his desk, absently noting Hank's empty work space. Nick had just reached his desk when he glanced towards Renard's office and spied two newcomers in the room with him. Renard, as if sensing the attention, glanced quickly at Nick, then returned his attention to his visitors.

Oddly enough, the younger of the two men also glanced Nick's way, but unlike Renard, his gaze lingered. Nick took in his features, noting short brown hair and sharp brown eyes. He had the strangest sense that he had seen the man before, but Nick knew they had never met.

The man's attention returned to Renard, breaking the spell. Nick glanced around, spying Wu and beckoning him over.

"Hey," Nick said when Wu was close enough. He nodded at Renard's office. "Who's that in there with the captain?"

Wu glanced their way. "Apparently, a couple of US Marshals have heard about your beheadings and thought it might be connected to this guy they've been tracking."

That didn't seem right to Nick. "They heard about our case?" Nick asked. "It hasn't even hit the media yet."

"Don't look at me," Wu replied. "Your partner's in the conference room, by the way. Been there all morning."

"Sounds like a good idea anyway," Nick replied. "Looks like we've got a full house today."

"You're telling me." Wu glanced around the room and turned back to Nick. "I'm not sure exactly why they're here or who they're here to see, but if I trip over one more kid here to 'give a statement', I'm tossing the lot out."

Nick gave Wu a half-smile of commiseration and his thanks and headed towards the conference room.

Hank was seated at the table, the file folders open and spread before him in some sort of order. Nick slipped into the room and closed the door behind him.

His partner barely spared him a glance. "How was class?"

"The usual." Nick glanced around the rest of the room, then turned his attention back to Hank. "Did you see the feds in with the captain?"

Hank looked up, scowling at him. "You jinxed us yesterday. It's only a matter of time before they swoop in here and clear out all of our notes and evidence."

"Well, then, let this be a lesson to you next time," Nick teased. "Solve the case before the feds show up so they have nothing to steal."

Hank lightly smacked his palm against his forehead. "Now you tell me!"

Nick huffed a laugh. "So? Anything new on our second victim?"

"Other than she apparently qualifies for sainthood?" Hank leaned back in his chair, slouching slightly. "I have gone over and over the searches we've run on both Woods and Holliday, and there is absolutely nothing connecting them together. Woods has no kids, no nieces, no nephews, or young cousins. Never even worked with kids, so no reason to cross paths with Holliday. Holliday never even took her car to Woods' garage. Hell, they never even shopped at the same Walmart. Whatever ties these two together, if anything, doesn't have any kind of paper trail.

Nick leaned against the wall by the door and folded his arms, frowning. "What else could there possibly be? What about their church?"

"Woods was a Methodist, Holliday an atheist," Hank replied.

"Hobbies?" Nick threw out.

"Woods played basketball at the Y," Hank answered. "Holliday jogged in the park.

"Family members?" Nick tried.

"Holliday was born and raised here in Portland," Hank said. "Woods is originally from Texas."

"Pets?" Nick suggested, grasping at straws.

"Nick, man, I'm telling you, there's nothing there," Hank insisted. "These two may as well have been living on different planets for all they crossed paths. Not even forensics could find anything on them. The only thing tying them together is their cause of death."

"This guy had some reason for selecting them," Nick argued.

Hank gestured to the files spread out over the table before him. "Be my guest."

A knock on the door interrupted their conversation. Both partners turned their heads to watch as the door opened and one of the uniformed cops Nick vaguely remembered as Chavez poked his head in.

"Cap wants to see you both in his office," Chavez stated, glancing between the two of them.

Hank pushed his chair back from the table and stood. "Guess it's time to beard the lion in his den," he stated.

"Which lion would that be?" Nick asked, moving to walk side by side with his partner back into the bullpen.

The minute Nick set foot into the crowded room, his instincts went on alert. There was something different in the air; an anticipation that hadn't been there before, but Nick couldn't put his finger on what it was, or what had changed. His eyes swept the room, noting each face and watching as several began to shift.

Skalengeck.

Geier.

Cat-looking wesen.

Lausenschlange.

A crocodile-like wesen.

Nick's body tensed as he slowed his pace. Hank noticed and turned to his partner, noting his reaction and frowning in concern.

"Nick?" he asked. "What's wrong?"

A flurry of movement to Nick's left caught the Grimm's attention. Nick's hand snapped out, clamping down on the wrist of a Skalengeck who had darted forward with a switchblade. A deft twist of Nick's wrist sent the blade dropping from nerveless fingers.

Hank gave a start. "The hell?"

One of the uniformed officers nearby grabbed the Skalengeck and hauled him away from Nick, but no sooner had he been removed when another wesen shoved Hank aside and dove at Nick.

The room erupted into chaos, cops, wesen, and humans all dissolving into a brawl. Nick blocked a punch from one wesen and turned to block another knife aimed for his back. He disarmed the wesen and glanced over to Hank. His eyes widened.

"Hank!" he yelled.

A truncheon had found its way into the hands of the Lausenschlange and was being swung towards Hank's head. Hank, bent over the back of another wesen and in the middle of handcuffing him, was defenseless.

A hand suddenly shot out, catching the truncheon mid-swing and wrenching it out of the Lausenschlange's hand. Nick watched as the younger US Marshal from Renard's office expertly flipped the truncheon around one-handed and drove it solidly under the Lausenschlange's chin. The Lausenschlange's head snapped back, and he collapsed on the ground, out cold.

Hands suddenly grabbed at Nick from behind, taking advantage of his distraction. An arm snaked around Nick's throat and pulled him back against his unknown assailant. Something cold an metallic and smelling distinctly of gun oil was pressed solidly against the side of his head.

"You're coming with me," Nick's captor hissed under the noise of the chaos around them.

Nick twisted his body and dragged his feet, but he was no match for his captor's strength as he was pulled away. With every cop in the room busy with trying to subdue the brawlers, no one was looking Nick's way.

Almost no one.

Nick felt himself being turned only to be met with the form of a supremely pissed off police captain.

"Let him go." Each word dripped with contempt from Sean Renard's mouth.

Nick grunted as the arm around his throat tightened. The barrel of the gun dug into the side of his face with bruising force.

"Let me outta here or I'll blow his head off!" Nick's captor ordered.

Renard didn't so much as flinch. "Harm my detective and you'll never see the sun again. Let. Him. Go."

Nick could hear the cocking of the hammer of a gun, but it was too far away to be the one pressed against his head. The stiffening of the body holding him told Nick someone else had joined them.

"If you don't let him go in the next three seconds, it'll be your head that'll be blown off your shoulders," stated an unfamiliar voice.

Whether the loosened grip was unconscious or deliberate Nick didn't know, but he twisted free of his captor and spun around to face him.

Renard moved quickly, inserting himself between Nick and the assailant as the Marshal reached over the man's shoulder to take the gun. As soon as he was disarmed, Renard holstered his gun, leaving the Marshal to cuff the man.

"You okay, Nick?" Renard asked, casting an assessing eye over the younger man.

Nick nodded, too relieved to feel much of anything else.

The rest of the room was beginning to settle, the officers looking a little worse for wear as they finished handcuffing the last of the brawlers and escorting them out of the room for processing.

Hank made his way over to them as the Marshal shoved Nick's assailant into the waiting hands of another uniformed office. "What the hell was that all about?" he demanded, bewildered.

"Flash mob gone horribly wrong?" the Marshal suggested flippantly.

Renard was unamused. "If it was, God help whoever organized it."

Nick looked at the Marshal. "Hey, thanks for your help."

The Marshal flashed Nick a grin with a distinctly predatory edge. "My pleasure."

The Marshal's partner, an older man with salt-and-pepper hair and goatee joined them. "Please don't encourage him," he said to Nick.

"I need to handle this, but there's no reason you four can't continue with the case," Renard stated. He gestured to the Marshals. "Hank, Nick, this is Hector Ruiz and Matthew Becker from the US Marshal Service. Gentlemen, Detectives Hank Griffin and Nick Burkhardt are the ones assigned to your case."

The older of the two Marshals, Hector, nodded in acknowledgement, but the younger man did a double-take at hearing Nick's name. "Nick? Nick Burkhardt?"

Nick glanced at Hank and Renard. "Yes?"

Matthew's brow furrowed. "Your parents were Kelly and Reed Burkhardt?"

Nick found himself tensing up once more. "Do I know you?"

Hector was giving his partner a concerned look. Matthew pulled out his wallet, rifling around in it before pulling out an old photo which he held out to Nick.

Uncertain, Nick took the photo and looked at it.

The image was at least twenty years old, likely older, but there was no mistaking the smiling faces of his parents. They were sitting on a couch in a room that Nick vaguely recognized. Kelly had her arm around a boy of about ten with brown hair and eyes. On the other side of the boy sat Reed, cradling an infant wrapped in a yellow blanket.

"Where did you get this?" Nick demanded, looking up at Matthew in shock. He could feel Hank peering at the photo over his shoulder, but he only had eyes for the Marshal. "Who are you?"

Matthew looked no less surprised as he met Nick's gaze steadily.

"I'm your brother," he stated.


end chapter 5

A/N, cont'd: Couple more things: Kelly Burkhardt is still dead in the 'verse. I gave Nick a surprise brother instead. And hey; I love the hostage-taking trope and wanted to find a way to sneak it into this story.