Winter in the city was always so depressing it seemed. Everything had a grey rather steely Quality to it, from the crushed rock salt coding all of the cars to the snow that had turned into slush And soaked through the careless trespassers' socks. Even the sky looked grey With an over cast of clouds clinging to it and threatening to start snowing at any moment. People hurried down the sidewalks, Shoulders hunched in and dark clothing blending them into one Never-ending mass, only adding to the gray atmosphere that hung thick Over everything.

But then, like a fish swimming to the surface of murky water, a splash Of color appeared, coming in the form of a bright blue knitted hat. Only adding to the effect was the fact that a rather tall man was wearing it, making the hat stand out among the crowd by a handful of inches. The man himself was mild in comparison to his head adornment however, With average pleasant features that didn't make him immediately stand out, while still managing to come off as somewhat handsome. Like everyone else, he Was wearing a dark coat, dark gray wool That came down to the tops of his calves, Underneath of which was a bright white button up shirt. This was carefully tucked Into a pair of neatly pressed black slacks. Simple, durable Black shoes finished the ensemble, obviously chosen to cope with the weather rather then be fashionable. But unlike everyone else, he actually seemed to be comfortable with the snow, even if his expression was slightly dark.

Joseph Grant, As the man was known, Was in and Of himself an anomaly. That was part in Parcel something that came along with being a werewolf, he supposed.

He had once been like the people walking around him, weak, Oblivious by choice or design to the supernatural world, and completely human. He had had a family once, had just started to get his first grey hairs and had begun to develop laugh lines around his eyes and mouth. But then his own naivety had been shattered when he and his family had been attacked. He, his wife, and his three young children had gone on a hike, enjoying some time away from the city out in the wilderness. He hadn't seen where the werewolf had come from initially, But it had killed the youngest of his children before he had had the chance to react. A Walkingstick and a rock. That was what he had been able to use to break several of the creature's bones, horrified by the strength and sheer impossibility of refusing to die under the attacks the beast showed. Eventually, he had had the opportunity to retrieve a knife from his bag, The creature's clause having ripped through the fabric and spilling the contents across the ground. He hadn't known then that the silver coating the blade was the ultimate factor that had saved his life. His family dead around him, the rogue werewolf having long since run away, Joseph had lain in the dirt awaiting his own death, an arm pressed over his stomach where it had been ripped open. He hadn't been able to save them and he welcomed death.

Only he didn't die. Joseph had eventually woken up in a bed that was placed in a room with bars across the high Windows and bars where a door should have been. Two men were there, waiting for him to wake up. They explained to him what he had become, tried to impress upon him the changes that he had gone through. At first, he hadn't believed them. Until one of the men changed into a wolf before his eyes.

Joseph had quickly discovered that he had been picked up by some members of the local werewolf pack and the Alpha intended to bring him into the "family", As he called it. And he had spent the last 80 years within his new family, learning how to control and become one with his wolf, keeping the secret of his existence.

Recently, that secret had begun to change. After years of counseling and debating, the elders of his kind had agreed, along with some of the other supernatural creatures that lived in the world, that it would be better for their survival if some of their numbers came out to the public. Human technology and science was progressing to the point where it was becoming near impossible for the supernatural world to stay hidden for much longer. If they preemptively came out, this would hopefully be a sign of nonaggression to the human population. They wouldn't all come out at once, no. The werewolves would reveal themselves first. Some secrets still had to be kept after all. But those of higher power carefully selected those beneath them to be The front of the revelation, the face of the species. Joseph hadn't really expected to be one of those chosen. But his Alpha had come to him, informing him that there was a special assignment that needed to be done, something that would form positive relations with the humans, and for some reason, Joseph was the chosen candidate. He hadn't been happy with it, but there wasn't much arguing when your Alpha gave a direct order.

He had, he found out, the unpleasant task of not working alone. Some other poor soul had also been recruited for the assignment. But Joseph hadn't been given very many details about who this would be. All he knew was that they would be someone sent by the FBI. He hadn’t even gotten a name. Because of the lack of information, he had chosen to wear a distinctive hat, making himself purposefully stand out so that the other person coming on this investigation could find him, Informing his Alpha that he would be doing so. And then he had gotten on the plane that had taken him to this snowy city.

Now, standing in the middle of Central Square and blinking up at the oppressing looking clouds overhead, pushing back the memories that had surfaced, Joseph Cradled a large cup of hot chocolate in his hands as he waited for his partner to arrive so that they could discuss their upcoming assignment. The heat That radiated through the plastic cup to his fingers felt nice as he shifted his weight Back onto his heels as he Waited, carefully scanning the crowd of faces that ever changed around him for a glint Of recognition that would come to his chosen partner's eyes. He Would quietly sip At the sweet creamy liquid and offer intense stares to those who showed far too much interest in him and most likely his hat without the acknowledgment of Understanding of Who he actually was. At that point, they would either walk away rather hastily, casting nervous glances over their shoulders, or Return his stare With a slightly unsure And rather dazed Expression, walking away with puzzlement Afterwards. It Didn't bother him in the slightest. Shrugging His broad shoulders with a small rustle of silk lining, his light blue gaze Continued to sweep over the faces.

Kate’s breath plumed out white as she stepped out of her car (an unremarkable blue Ford Taurus – the intention was for it to blend in with the other cars on the street), locking the door almost absently. A gust of wind plucked at a loose strand of red hair and she absently hooked it back behind one ear before she shoved her hands in her pockets as she made her way to Central Square.

Her boot soles crunched on the rock salt and semi-melted slush as she walked down the street, her eyes scanning the people around her. It seemed the … people … the FBI were working with could be as cagey as her own superiors. A name, that was all she’d been given, and the question about what they looked like had received an odd answer: <i>he’ll be wearing a blue knitted hat.</I> She hadn’t known at the time whether to laugh or roll her eyes. Remembering that moment now, she couldn’t supress a slight smile.

She hunched her shoulders, pulling the dark folds of her black coat closer against the cold. Underneath she wore a high necked white blouse and a black jacket, along with black tactical pants (her favourite clothing since training) and Hi-Tec walking boots; the soles copied with slippery conditions well. She was as unremarkable as her brilliant red hair would allow her to be; she’d thought about dying it or cutting it short before now, but a streak of stubborn pride made her keep it as long as she could get away with while still meeting the ‘neat and professional’ FBI guidelines. Her grandmother had always seemed so happy that the colouring thought of as typical for people of their Irish heritage had come out strongly in one of her grandchildren that the thought of dying it seemed almost like a betrayal.

She caught a glimpse of a blue hat – a very bright blue hat – that looked rather incongruous against the grey sky. Then her eyes dropped to the man wearing the hat and the word ‘incongruous’ didn’t even cover it; it looked almost absurd on him.

She met his steely blue gaze and felt a slight shiver go through her. To her there was something that said hunter, predator in his gaze. But perhaps that was because she’d been told what he was.

She walked over to meet him, her path slightly wandering as though she was simply making her way in that direction by chance rather than intending to meet someone. Closer, she could smell that it was hot chocolate rather than coffee in his cup – another incongruity. “Joseph Grant?” She asked. “I’m Kathleen O’Connell – Kate.” She offered him her hand to shake, her already pale skin whitened further by the cold. No X-Files jokes, please; I’ve heard them all already, she almost added, but didn’t; he didn’t look the sort who would make jokes – certainly not about such things.

“I believe we need to talk. Preferably somewhere warmer.” She glanced at his cup. “Care for a re-fill?” She invited, nodding towards the nearest Starbucks.

After what seemed to be a long time, Joseph’s attention flickered to someone who was looking at his hat with an expression of recognition crossing their face. He took her in with an assessing sweep of his eyes and couldn’t help the slight frown that tugged down The corners of his mouth. He hadn’t been expecting to work with a woman. Even after living through years of change, he still felt uncomfortable with the idea of a woman putting herself in danger on purpose. Old fashioned, as some of the younger wolves in his pack would have said. But that was just who he was. So he watched unhappily as the redhead approached, her steps stealthy and misdirecting.

As she eventually stopped near him, leaving no doubt that she was the partner who had been sent to work with him, Joseph flared his nostrils slightly, taking in her scent. Over The smell of his hot chocolate, he caught hints of the people flowing around them, of the car the woman had been driving, her shampoo, the hint of gun powder and metal that spoke of a concealed weapon, and the underlying essence of who she was. Who Kathleen O’Connell was. Or rather, who she was on the surface. Considering her hand as she offered it after giving her name, Joseph took it politely, Giving her hand a small shake before dropping it quickly.

“Yes, we do need to talk.” He at last responded, meeting the woman‘s eyes thoughtfully. “ and if you would prefer to do so somewhere warm, then I wouldn’t say no to getting another drink.”

Glancing in the direction Kate had tilted her head, the werewolf started off at a brisk pace, pausing only long enough to hold the door open for her. Coffee scented hot air washed over Joseph as he stood next to the open door, tempting him to crinkle his nose with distaste, though he managed to keep his expression neutral. He had never been one to enjoy the taste, or smell, of coffee.