Paul Haggis and Paul Gross hold the rights to due South
, and Petfly (if it still exists) holds the rights to The Sentinel
. Jim Butcher, whom I adore and whose minion I would gladly be, is the copyright holder for all the books in The Dresden Files
. In terms of the timeline, it’s late 2007 for dS and TS. The mash-up with TDF occurs right at the beginning of Book Six, Blood Rites
This fic has no socially redeeming value. It’s crack!fic, which is all I seem to be writing these days. That said, I’m having a hell of a lot of fun writing it.
Doctor Lebowski, not the most cheerful person Ray had ever met, looked up from a chart to give him the evil eye. “Detective.”
Man, there was a wealth of ugly in that one word. Still, Ray had survived Vegas for a year, Florida for three years and being Kowalski’s partner for the last five years, so there was no way in hell he was backing down now.
Even if the woman did
make Thatcher look like Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm.
“I’ve been looking all over for you. I just talked to Kowalski’s folks, and they —”
“They,” she interrupted, “and you will be happy to know that I’m releasing your partner this afternoon. Now if you’ll excuse me —”
Before she could walk off, Ray grabbed her arm. “What do you mean you’re letting him go today?”
“I think the statement speaks for itself.” She looked at her arm and then at Ray. This time, it was enough to make him take a step back. But not away, because damn it, Kowalski wasn’t ready to leave. Not just like that. The guy had spent ten days in complete isolation, which, as far as Ray was concerned, meant Kowalski should spend at least the next month or two in the hospital, preferably the one with the nice padded rooms.
“What about that rash?” His voice was a little loud, so he dropped it some. “He’s had it since he got here.”
“I’ve given him a referral to an allergist. Meanwhile, hydrocortisone will take care of the itching.”
She tried to walk off again, but Ray stepped in front of her. “He’s hearing voices!”
“As it turns out, he’s hearing actual conversations.” Lebowski’s expression softened a little from the death glare she usually sported around Ray and Kowalski. “His aural acuity is remarkable.”
“What the hell are you talking about? He could barely string two sentences together before he got grabbed. It’s even worse now.”
Ray and Lebowski stared at each other for a full minute before the light went on over her head. “Aural. As in relating to his hearing. Not oral as in speech.”
“Oh.” She tried to step around him, but he wouldn’t let her. “Okay, fine. His hearing’s remarkable. Whatcha gonna do about it?”
“Do? Nothing. It’s hardly surprising that his hearing is somewhat hyperactive, given the conditions of his captivity. Now that he’s back in the world, so to speak, things should calm down in a few days or so.”
“What about the part where he fucking whimpers whenever I leave the room?” This was the only question Ray actually gave a damn about. He asked the others first, because he didn’t want the doctor thinking he was a completely selfish bastard — though why he gave a shit to begin with was a mystery he absolutely didn’t want to solve.
“You’ll be happy to know I’ve also referred him to a psychiatrist who is well-qualified to treat patients after a traumatic event.” Lebowski shifted to the left, and Ray matched her move, but it turned out it was a fake, because she scampered to the right and dived for the elevator just before the doors closed.
“Goddamn doctors. Goddamn Kowalski,” he muttered under his breath.
Four doors down, Kowalski yelled out, “I heard that, Vecchio!”