A.N.: By their behaviour in the previous chapter, hopefully you've picked up that Renard went through the purification ritual to kiss Nicolette awake from her Zaubertränke coma, so things are gonna get messy from here. And, if I do say so myself, what I've got coming up is rather clever! It takes the themes of what happens in canon and makes them applicable to a female Nick.

So, this case was inspired by Criminal Minds, and there will be repercussions that I'm tying into the story later on. I didn't want to go straight into the Mauvais-Dentes and Kelly too quickly, mostly because Nicolette and Renard need some time to stew in their obsession! For a little while, because Nicolette can't remember she's a Grimm, the story will be sans-Wesen.

Fantastic Beasts and How to Fight Them

02

A Fresh Case

He glanced at Nicolette as she drove them out of the city, observing her, and wondering why she had been at a café with the Captain. Ever since waking from the coma, Nicolette had been different – more the Nicolette he remembered first meeting, young but wise, charismatic and fun but dedicated and deeply professional when it came to doing their job. When the badge came off, Nick was a different woman; fun. Quirky, hilarious and sweet – she adored movies, junk-food, flirting and anything artistic, Banangrams, cocktails and lazy afternoons doing gardening in her pyjamas and glitter gumboots. The job had a way of changing them, weighing on them; everything they saw, they couldn't help but carry some of it around with them, especially the gruesome stuff.

To him, she seemed…lighter.

Without remembering who Charlie was, she had had her grief stolen from her. She was a little more wary, on account of Kimura's assault on her in her own home, but it was as if she had never met Charlie; the person she had become while with him all these years…she had forgotten her. She was dealing with her memory-loss and whatever else she hadn't told anyone about the symptoms of waking from her coma; but she also didn't have to handle her grief, or the stress of being a Grimm. Monroe had told Hank just how much time Nicolette had put into their cases, not wearing her badge. She had spent hours, nights, in her aunt's trailer, researching the unexplainable.

Without remembering Charlie, or that she was a Grimm, Hank guessed she had a lot more time on her hands. And that affected her, too. She seemed happier, more care-free than he remembered her being in a while – more like the young, motivated beat-cop who had just passed her exams and been paired with him as a newbie detective. Tireless, cheerful and intuitive. She hadn't earned the nickname Sunny for no reason – she was a ray of sunshine in the office, always cheery and helpful; and she was the most kind-hearted and generous person Hank knew. She always had time for anyone, and she noticed things other people wouldn't. Sometimes he thought she spread herself too thin, being so unselfish. But it was part of Nicolette's nature that she liked knowing people could come to her for anything.

Behaviourally, she was different, and even the way she dressed had changed. More colour had come back into her wardrobe, she wore a little jewellery, did something with her hair more than tugging it into a ponytail. Because she had the time. She wasn't running around fighting Wesen; she didn't have to worry about unexplainable bloodstains on her clothes, or leaving jewellery behind as evidence, getting hurt when earrings were ripped out, or the risk of rings getting caught. She always looked smart – professional, and intimidating because of her natural prettiness – but now she looked like she was making the effort to look especially nice.

She chattered away happily, and Hank just watched her, thinking to himself that…much as he regretted what had been taken from her, maybe it was better for her not to be a Grimm. Not good for the Wesen that Monroe said she had helped, but for Nicolette herself – she seemed much healthier. Maybe it was better she didn't remember that she had lost Charlie; if she ever remembered him, it would devastate her.

Nicolette's chatter about her mini Dachshund's antics with Phoebe the hedgehog stopped as they reached the scene. It always did; the moment they needed to be Detectives Griffin and Burkhardt, the goofy, sexy, loveable marshmallow Nicolette was filed away – Nick joked that she folded her up and tucked her into her bra. Nick the tough but compassionate cop came out, solemn and diligent, professional, always ready to work.

"What've we got?" Hank asked, as Wu met them, climbing out of the car, and Hank suddenly remembered – this was Nicolette's first new case since waking from the coma.

"One victim. Female, early twenties, her body was dumped in a ditch at the side of the road," Wu sighed, shaking his head. "Local rancher saw her, says the body was still warm when he pulled over. He's pretty shaken up."

"Any I.D.?"

"Haven't run prints yet, we were just cleared to move her when you arrived, but there's…well, you'll see… There's nothing on her to ID her," Wu said, and they followed the Sergeant to the cluster of people working to collect evidence and photograph the scene. They ducked under the tape, pulling on gloves.

"Poor girl," Hank sighed, shaking his head. Someone had dumped a young woman at the side of the road, naked but for the tarp she had been wrapped in.

"Oh, darling, what happened to you?" Nicolette sighed, squatting down by the body. The girl couldn't have been long out of her teens, naturally blonde, and despite death, she was still very pretty. Ligature marks around her throat showed the cause of death would most likely be strangulation – the marks on her wrists suggested she had been restrained. "This how she was found?"

"Guy who found her said he had to turn her over, tried to give her CPR when he felt she was still warm," Wu said.

"No attempt whatsoever to hide her. She was dumped here like trash," Nicolette sighed, shaking her head, and carefully lifted the tarp. Hank had been working with her so long, he knew a lot of her looks, went with her gut instincts. Even before this Grimm stuff started, according to Monroe nearly a year ago, she had had an extraordinary intuition about people. He watched her frown at the girl's body, reach under the tarp.

"What're you seeing?" Hank asked.

"I think I recognise her, maybe," Nicolette said softly. "And I think she's post-partum."

"She was pregnant?"

"So where's her baby?" Hank asked quietly, squatting down beside Nicolette, sadly observing the dead girl. He glanced at Nick, observing more in her face than from the dead body.

"Shoot," Nick swore softly, shaking her head. "Mary-Elizabeth Cassel."

"You know her?"

"No – not her. A few years ago, one of my first cases, a dead body turned up in a dumpster in an abandoned industrial estate," Nick said. "Her name was Mary-Elizabeth Cassel, she was a runaway, had been missing for years, she showed up with these same ligature marks on her wrists. She had been raped often. And she was asphyxiated with a chain. I'll never forget her."

There were cases that stuck with all of them, for different reasons – he had more than his fair share of ghosts – and there came a time where the job finally caught up with them. Usually it was within a few months, that one specific case that determined whether they were able to continue.

"So we've got ourselves a serial-killer," Hank said quietly.

"We've got ourselves a name," Wu said, pulling up his laptop to show them the results of taking the victim's fingerprint. "Candice Goldman, reported missing by her aunt three years ago. A runaway. She has a record, all drug-related arrests."

"That's the same as Mary-Elizabeth Cassel," Nick said, frowning at the screen. Her bold eyebrows drew together, staring at Candice Goldman's last arrest photo. Bruised and bleeding, almost emaciated, her hair a tangled mess. "So this is Candice Goldman?" She turned back to the body, then frowned again at the photo on Wu's screen. "You wouldn't even think they were the same girl."

"Someone got her cleaned up," Hank said. He caught Nick's eye. "We've got work to do." Nick nodded in agreement, and they departed the scene for the Precinct, Nick handing over the keys so she could make calls, asking for old reports to be brought out of storage.

They had all made a pact to keep an eye on Nick, both her emotional state and keeping aware of their surroundings to make sure there would be no physical threats from vengeful Wesen. Hank couldn't see the Wesen, but he was becoming attuned to Nick's facial expressions, the slight widening of her eyes and leeching of colour from her cheeks whenever she saw an unintentional woge in front of her; she would swallow, and look away, looking startled but resolute. Today was different, though; they spent all day at the Precinct, pulling out old files, brainstorming every possible angle they could take on this case.

Candice Goldman's aunt had to be informed of her niece's death. That was always one of the worst parts of the job. But three years later, Miss Goldman, calm and kind, in her mid-thirties, had become resigned to the fact her niece would probably end up dead somewhere.

He could see it on her face when she saw two Police detectives stood on her front-porch. People knew. They always knew. They saw two sombre faces and badges, and they knew; they were the harbingers of bad tidings. Eloisa Goldman lived in a small, pretty house with geraniums in the window-boxes in a quiet neighbourhood with a great park. Not the kind of place where teenage girls went missing from. But they had looked into Candice Goldman's file; her mother had died of an overdose three months after Candice was reported missing by her aunt. Her mother had the same history of drug-related arrests as Candice, but Eloisa Goldman was clean. Literally.

She invited them into her home, and Hank noticed the study looked more like a workshop. "I'm a jewellery designer. This is my home-studio, too. I have a workshop downtown; I sell to boutiques across Oregon and northern California. Candice doodled some of my early designs. She used to help me, I always hoped…she'd come home and join me."

"We're so sorry this happened to Candice," Nick said gently, as Eloisa covered her mouth with her hand, turning away, as tears glittered down her cheeks.

"She was a sweet girl, you know. When she was little she always had a smile on her face. It's just…my sister. She had a habit, ever since we were teenagers. She fell in with the wrong kids in high-school – dragged some of her friends in, too. Candice never really had a chance. I tried… Usually she'd run to me when things got bad with her mom. She was a good girl. It got to her, though… One afternoon I found her with my sister, both high as kites." She shook her head, tears dripping down her cheeks. "When Candice disappeared...I thought, this is it. This is the last time I'm ever gonna see her. I thought, she'll die of an overdose somewhere, and I'll never… But she was murdered?"

"We've just begun our investigation," Hank said softly, noticing the stark look flicker across Nick's face, staring at Eloisa. He thought, Wesen, taking a second look at Eloisa, but he couldn't see anything different. He would never have known there was anything more to see, if not for Nick. "But, yes, Candice was murdered."

"We…think there are links between Candice's murder and the abduction and death of another girl three years ago," Nick said, watching Miss Goldman with a slightly awed wariness. "We're hopeful Candice will lead us to who did this to them."

"Uh… When – when can I come get Candice?" Eloisa asked, wiping her face.

"Candice is still with the M.E. right now, but as soon as she's released the Precinct will contact you," Hank said.

"We'll keep you informed on our investigation," Nick said. "Again, we're very sorry this happened to your niece." Eloisa nodded, gasping and wiping her face with a Kleenex, and Nick cleared away the coffee-cups. She had always been like that; attentive, helpful, kind. But she had that look on her face, the subtle bomb-blast – she had seen someone woge, and her memory was working against her. She didn't know what it meant.

And Hank couldn't see the woge to find out whether the girl was Wesen, and whether her being Wesen had anything to do with her abduction.

They were in a frustrating position. Hank knew but couldn't see; Nick saw, but didn't understand.

And until she did, they would just have to continue on as if Nick had never found out she was a Grimm. As if the woge was a figment of her imagination; Hank had to watch her back, just in case, but really, he had no idea what he was looking for. The only hint he got that they were dealing with Wesen was the look on Nick's face. They had to handle this case as they would any other; without the knowledge that the world was a whole lot more complicated than what they knew.

Nick left Eloisa Goldman with her card, letting her know it was okay to contact them if she needed anything, and asking if there was anyone she could turn to for help, in dealing with her niece's murder, and in organising a funeral.

"You didn't mention the kid," Hank murmured, as they climbed into the car.

"I think she's had enough of a shock for one day," Nick sighed, glancing through the window at Miss Goldman's pretty house. It was hard to believe, sitting in a neighbourhood like this, that such brutal things happened in the world.

"Did you see the photos in the house?" Hank asked.

"Of Candice Goldman? Yeah, I saw them," Nick sighed. "Her mother was a mess, but Candice was definitely beloved. In her file, it said Candice was put in the hospital a few times as a kid; Eloisa petitioned the court to take custody of her, but was refused."

"Imagine how Candice's life would've turned out if the court had allowed it," Hank shook his head.

"I'm guessing that's exactly what Eloisa's been doing the last three years," Nick said. "This is one of those times that I hate the system. Sometimes it does more harm than good."

"What the –?" Hank sighed, shaking his head, at the state of their desks. Cardboard boxes were piled up, evidence and paperwork on old cases.

"I see you found my gift," Wu smirked. He glanced at Nick. "Pulled all the files on Mary-Elizabeth Cassel like you asked, got a hit on another two open murder-cases with our guy's MO. Tiffany Valente, nineteen, found in a back-alley five years ago. Ligature marks are identical. Alyssa Grover, her body was found last year on an access road to Mount Hood. They're both cold-cases, I had all the files brought up."

"So we've got four victims," Hank said, as Nick took a manila folder from Wu.

"Four's good," Nick murmured, frowning at the file. "Four gives us patterns. And maybe a couple mistakes."

"Let's get to work," Hank said, glad they had stopped for lunch on the way back to the Precinct. It was going to be a long day.

"Hank. Nicolette. What've you got," a voice said, and Hank glanced up to find the Captain. They had been working solidly for three hours, piecing together what they knew of Candice Goldman's case, connecting her to the three other girls whose bodies had been found in similar circumstances. Hank glanced at Nick, who nodded, taking a deep breath.

"A body turned up this morning. Candice Goldman was a runaway and drug-addict, reported missing three years ago; her body was found at the side of a freeway," Nick said, gesturing to the last two images on their board, two photographs of Candice Goldman, her last arrest photo and a crime-scene photograph, side-by-side and absurdly different. "She's the last of four known victims all murdered by the same guy; ligature marks from restraints and their cause of death are identical, except the first. We're still waiting for Harper to determine the cause of death officially as asphyxiation by chain but… I recognise the signature. The victims were all between nineteen to twenty-one years old at the time of their deaths, runaways. Mary-Elizabeth Cassel was reported missing by her parents when she was sixteen, a history of running away from home, problems with partying that got out of hand, she was arrested for drunk and disorderly, petty theft and possession. She was one of my earliest cases. Her parents are good people… This is Alyssa Grover, last seen when she was seventeen years old; she was in a group-home, reported missing by one of the other girls who lived there. Said Alyssa had been trying to turn her life around. Alyssa was last seen on surveillance footage in a Macy's, no-one connected it at the time but she shoplifted a good four hundred dollars' worth of clothes and jewellery. Her friend said she was most likely fencing it for drugs."

"And the fourth?"

"Tiffany Valente. She was dumped in an alley near an abandoned dockyard six years ago. The ligature marks are consistent with the other victims," Nick said. "They're all pretty Caucasians, between sixteen and nineteen at the time of their disappearances. Each of these girls were sexually assaulted frequently over the course of their captivity, really quite brutally, and they endured it for a long time. There's an average of two years between the girls disappearing and them turning up dead. Wherever they were kept, they were restrained. They each have the same ligature marks on their wrists and ankles."

"So our man likes chains."

"Mary-Elizabeth Cassel, Alyssa Grover and Candice Goldman were all asphyxiated," Nick said. "It's easier to garrotte someone with a chain than strangle them with your bare hands."

"So our guy abducts high-risk girls, keeps them restrained, rapes them over the course of years, and dumps their bodies, and no-one has found any leads on him," Renard frowned, settling back against Nick's desk as she stood in front of their board, all of the most important information pinned there.

"These girls were runaways, it's likely they were abducted from different cities, their bodies were found in different counties," Hank said.

"This guy knows what he's doing," Renard sighed. "Do we have any idea why he kept these girls so long?" Hank exchanged a dark look with Nick.

"Candice's autopsy report will show the most important link between these victims," Nick said sadly.

"We think she was pregnant," Hank said grimly.

"She had just given birth," Nick corrected. "Very soon after, she was killed."

"How soon after?"

"Within at least a few days. Alyssa Grover's autopsy report showed she suffered miscarriages, but she carried her last pregnancy to term and delivered the baby. The drugs in her system suggests she was induced with an artificial hormone," Nick said.

"She was on a schedule," Renard frowned. "If she lost the child, our guy would get her pregnant again immediately. He's forcing these girls to become mothers, before he kills them. What about the fourth victim, the first girl who was found?"

"Tiffany Valente," Nick said, frowning at the photograph. Dark-haired and beautiful in the photograph her parents had given the police, angry and bruised in her arrest photo, plump and healthy and beautiful again even in her death. None of the girls looked alike; Tiffany was brunette, Mary-Elizabeth and Candice Goldman blonde, Alyssa Grover was a vivid redhead. Physically they were different, too; Alyssa was petite, Candice Goldman tall and willowy, Tiffany athletic, Mary-Elizabeth was curvy. Hank looked at the photos, and with dread in his stomach he wondered if Candice Goldman – all of the girls – were chosen by their perp because they were Wesen. "We think she was the first victim. But she was the only one who wasn't asphyxiated. And that's because her cause of death was massive multi-organ failure due to eclampsia. She was in her seventh month of pregnancy; she didn't deliver the child before she died."

"What about Candice Goldman? Were there any signs of the infant?" Renard asked.

"No, and that worries me. My initial thought was, what if he's killing them specifically because they got pregnant and gave birth – but he chooses to abduct girls who because of their age are at their most fertile. And after reading Alyssa Grover's autopsy report, he wants them pregnant. He dumped each girl's body like she was trash, I'm wondering if they weren't just the means to an end."

"What if it's the babies he wants?" Renard confirmed, and Nick nodded.

"Each of our victims had records; these are photos taken when they were arrested, and, well…we've seen Candice Goldman," Nick said. "At the time of her death, she was healthy, well-nourished, it was a healthy pregnancy; the same was true of Alyssa Grover, and Mary-Elizabeth Cassel. In both of their autopsies, the M.E. found a cocktail of prenatal drugs in their system, as well as the hormone to induce labour."

"We've got a sexual-sadist who abducts young women, chains them up, rapes them – but gives them prenatal drugs to ensure as healthy a pregnancy as possible, then murders them after they deliver his children," Renard frowned.

"What kind of serial-killer does that?"

"The kind that looks after the babies," Hank sighed, shaking his head. "He protects the infants but gets off on torturing the mothers."

"Do you think he's keeping the children?"

"The M.E. at the scene said Candice Goldman had been dead barely two hours when we arrived," Hank said.

"So whoever he is, he had a dead body and a newborn to deal with, and that's even more alarming," Nick winced. "Who looked after the baby while he dumped the body?"

"An accomplice?"

"Or…he has more girls locked away."

"A harem of imprisoned women forced to bear their captor's children isn't unheard of," Renard pointed out.

"There is an overlap between all four of these girls, when they were last seen and when a body surfaced," Nick said. "As if there's already another girl ready to take the place of the one he's killed."

"We're compiling missing person's reports right now, it's possible now he's killed Candice he needs another girl to fill her place, or he's already snatched one, but he doesn't have a specific victimology," Hank sighed, staring at the four girls.

"So we've got a serial-killer abducting young women, to impregnate them, murder them just after delivery," Renard sighed. "Do we have any ideas what he's doing with the babies?"

"We're not near enough the border to make me think human-trafficking but it's always a possibility," Hank said. "We've got calls in with Child Protective Services and adoption agencies across the city."

"Unless he's keeping some of them," Nick remarked, glancing away from the board.

"Why do you say 'some'?"

"He's kept these girls long enough they might've delivered more than one child," Nick said. "Mary-Elizabeth, Alyssa and Candice were all healthy young women. Mary-Elizabeth and Alyssa hadn't had complications like Tiffany did; they were late-teens, early-twenties when their bodies were found. They were so young, they had at least a decade of potential childbearing before them, so why did he kill them? If he wants the children, what prompted him to get rid of these girls so soon after childbirth?"

The Captain sighed heavily, staring at their board. After a moment, he spoke up: "You've got a lot to go on already," Renard said, glancing at Nick. "You won't be able to do more until Harper finishes the autopsy on Candice Goldman. Both of you go home, you can pick this up first thing." Hank raised his eyebrows in surprise, glancing between Nick and the Captain, who was giving Nick a sidelong look. He remembered they had been walking back together from the bakery this morning, and wondered about it. The Captain sighed at the board, at the four girls' photographs, and made his way back to his office.

He raised her eyebrows at the Captain, grinning at Nick. "You think he's feeling okay?"

"I don't know!" Nick laughed softly. "You heading home?"

"I'm not gonna look a gift-horse in the mouth," Hank chuckled. "Besides, no more we can do tonight. Ballistics won't get back to us on the corner-store holdup 'til Thursday, we've got a warrant out on Dougie Collins and we've got Amber and Amelia Rossini coming in first thing to make statements; Harper's got a full refrigerator and won't be done with Candice Goldman's autopsy until the end of the week… So, obey your superior officer; get your butt home and get some sleep."

"I make no promises," Nick said grimly. She sighed and glanced at the photographs of the four girls, at the picture of Mary-Elizabeth Cassel.

"She one of the ghosts, Nick?" he asked. He'd told her about a few of his; he was learning a little more every day about the walk-in closet that contained the skeletons Nick had created.

"Yeah," Nick nodded, tugging on her jacket, and Hank led the way to the parking-garage. "Her parents are just…the nicest people."

"Are?"

"We're still in contact," Nick said quietly. "I see them every few months; we exchange Christmas cards and they've sponsored my marathons, I talk to Mrs Cassel on the phone occasionally – she brought a casserole over when I woke up from the coma. I ate the whole thing in one sitting… I guess they lost their daughter, and they know I'm on my own… I – hate that they know what happened to their daughter and I couldn't give them any justice for her."

"Well, now maybe we can," Hank sighed. "Give them some closure."

"I think we're going to unearth a lot more questions that…maybe will make the wounds hurt even more," Nick said. "If all of those girls were forced into motherhood before they were murdered, it's more than likely Mary-Elizabeth was too. And we have no idea if these children survived, if they're…lost."

"Candice Goldman may help us find this guy. And those kids," Hank reassured her. "Hey – back at Eloisa Goldman's house…you seemed wigged out. You're not usually squeamish about crying women. Everything okay?"

"Just thought I saw something, that's all," Nick said, shrugging, pulling her car-keys out of her purse.

"What'd you see?" he coaxed gently. "Come on. Make my day. Take my mind off my impending microwave-dinner."

"A fox."

"Well, she was pretty," Hank shrugged, glancing at her, and waved her goodbye. A fox. Like Rosalee. What did she call herself – a Fuchsbau.

He hoped Candice Goldman wasn't a Wesen – or that her being Wesen had anything to do with why she was abducted. Maybe it didn't matter – she was a victim, it was his job to find whoever had done this to her. But he had no idea how Nick had been able to keep it a secret that she had this…gift. How she had kept it secret that she knew the secrets behind the most mysterious mind-bending cases he had ever worked. The details no other cop could unearth because they were blind to a world no-one else knew existed.

How had she handled living a double-life for so long? Figuring out how to do it, on her own?

Hank smiled sadly to himself, pulling on his seatbelt. Whatever Nicolette Burkhardt attempted, she conquered.

A.N.: What do you guys think?