A/N: Just a disclaimer or two: I don't own Person of Interest, Grimm, or any of the characters. I'm just borrowing them. And the opinions expressed by the characters are not necessarily shared by me!

Also, in response to the Chapter 1 reviewer Azteka: yes, this is a companion piece to "A Rare Bird," and yes, you will be finding out what type of Wesen John Reese is! (I'll give you a hint: he's not a Seelengut!)


Nick's introduction to the NYPD Homicide Task Force hadn't gone nearly as well as he'd hoped it would. Detective Fusco didn't exactly roll out the red carpet for a visiting out-of-state colleague, did he?

He raised an eyebrow as he watched the slightly overweight detective step into an unoccupied office to take his phone call. No doubt this was the guy on the bottom of the food chain in this precinct, especially if his attitude was anything to go by. Nick nudged a "Dutch for Dummies"-type book out of the way to sit on the edge of Fusco's desk.

The desk also featured a silly-looking cop doll, which no self-respecting police detective would actually display if it weren't a gift from a loved one. Fortunately, Juliette hadn't really been the type-

Juliette.

Nick sighed deeply. The situation with Juliette was not growing any easier - for either of them - and he was getting increasingly frustrated with sleeping on the couch. He'd jumped at the opportunity to get out of Portland for a while, much to the ill-concealed relief of Monroe and Hank.

His friends' concern for his well being was appreciated, but unless they could cure her amnesia, there wasn't much a blutbad or a fellow detective could do. And with Rosalee out of town, looking after her ill aunt...

A slammed drawer drew his attention to the desk across from Fusco's, where a handsome, dark-skinned woman in a professional-looking pantsuit tapped away at a few keys on her computer as she leaned over her chair. She had obviously just come in and was already on her way out when she noticed him and frowned, her eyes narrowing. She seemed about to say something to him when Detective Fusco came out of the empty office, his phone call apparently a short one.

"Carter," Fusco said with a nod. This, then, was the man's partner. Much better than he probably deserved, in Nick's estimation.

"We got another body, Fusco," the other detective informed him grimly.

Nick stood up and extended his hand to the woman. "I'm Nick Burkhardt, Portland Police Bureau."

"Joss Carter," she replied with a firm handshake and a tight smile, though she seemed much less annoyed at his presence than Fusco did. "You must be our ride-along that's been on the books for months. They picked a hell of a time to actually make it happen."

Nick cocked his head slightly in curiosity. "How so?"

"We've had a series of murders, got a lotta people on edge. You know the phrase 'ripped limb from limb'?" she asked, not a scrap of humor in her voice. Nick nodded briefly, and she continued. "Well, this gives it a whole new meaning. And we just caught another one, on the steps of a church. Part of him, at any rate."

"Any connection between the victims?" Nick asked, frowning a bit.

This question Fusco answered, as he grabbed his jacket and pulled it on. "Only that they were all wearing red."

"Red?"

"Yeah, red," the grumpy NYPD detective repeated, as if he thought Nick were an idiot. Maybe he did. But Nick knew something these guys didn't, a certain type of person who went crazy for the color red...

"What is it?" Carter asked, noticing his expression.

Nick shook his head, smiling to cover up his unease. "Nothing."

"Well, come on, then, we don't have all day," Fusco gestured impatiently as he led the way out of the bullpen.

As he sat in the backseat of their sedan on the way to the crime scene, Nick stared out the window at the sidewalks, packed with pedestrians. It shouldn't have surprised him, really. If there were a large number of Wesen in a city the size of Portland, how many more could be found in the crowded streets of New York? For all he knew, either or both of these detectives could be Wesen, too. Unless he saw them woge, even he couldn't tell.

The red clothing on the victims had instantly caught his attention. His very first case as a Grimm - as Aunt Marie lay dying - involved a rogue Blutbad tearing apart a co-ed wearing a red hoodie, and later kidnapping a little girl in a red sweater, intending to fatten her up for a future meal.

That case was bad enough, but a rogue Blutbad on the loose in the giant sardine can that was New York City? Blutbaden were basically on the top of the Wesen food chain, brutal and violent and almost unstoppable when enraged. Almost. A well-placed bullet could kill them just as effectively as any human, luckily. If you got the chance to draw your gun before the Blutbad ripped your arm out of its socket. Looking back on that first case, he realized how unbelievably lucky he'd been.

Strange, he mused, how cases involving Wesen always seemed to come across his desk...

Stuffing his hands deeper in his pockets did nothing to dispel the chill creeping up his fingertips.