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A New York State of Mind

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This story is No. 2 in the series "Sketches-verse". You may wish to read the series introduction and the preceeding stories first.

Summary: New York City's oldest detective has fathered many children over the centuries, including the one stolen by the Order of Dagon. BtVS/ New Amsterdam

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Television > New AmsterdamLMiCFR131021,70614815,30525 Mar 082 Nov 14No

Guy vs. Man

Guy vs. Man


Spoilers: Same as first chapter.  Still set in the “Sketches verse.”  It helps to have read Sketches in the Dirt first but it is not essential. 


Disclaimer: I still do not own the shows that I’m twisting around to play together.  I’m just borrowing them to make the plot bunnies go away. 


This was actually the first chapter I wrote of the sequel.  I had to go back and write the back story just so it would make sense.  Thank you Duchess for betaing so quickly through all the gobbledygook that email added.



Summers’ Restoration and Book Binding


“You know you’re an idiot, right?” Dawn Summers said the minute the tall man walked through the door of the bookstore. 


Detective John Amsterdam grimaced at the glare the young woman was giving him.  “Oh, for goodness sakes, I’m not even completely across the threshold and the insults start?  What have I done this time?”


“Don’t even pretend you don’t know,” she practically growled as she walked around the counter leaving the half finished work behind.  “I talk to Omar every day.  She’s not divorced, John!” 


John sighed, “I almost regret introducing you to your half brother. You are both so meddlesome.  Look, I think she is ‘the one.’  I let her know I was interested after I found out she was separated, she sought me out a little later.  I followed her lead.”


“Separated is not free, you moron.  She is not legally free to choose you yet.  She is still matrimonially bound to some other poor sod, who may think his wife actually just needs a break due to a crazy work schedule or something,” she waved her arms wildly while pacing in front of him.  “My point is do you really think The Powers, or whoever is keeping you alive, are going to sanction your return to mortality based on breaking the rules?  They said you would get that gift ‘when you find the one and your souls are wed.’  I’m pretty sure they didn’t mean, ‘when you hit that,’ but I could be wrong.” 


“There’s no need to be crude, Dawn,” he said clenching his jaw.


Dawn sighed, as her arms dropped back to her sides. “John, look, if you’ve pursued all the women in your life like the helpful conqueror then maybe its time to change the game.  I know that this may sound cheesy but to borrow a sentiment from a classic Eighties movie, ‘It’s time to stop acting like a guy and start acting like a man.’  You were a guy with Lily and my mother (before the damn monks took away her memory of me.) You’re starting to act like ‘conqueror guy’ with your doctor friend.  Maybe it’s time to be a man and take a step back until she is free, because then her soul will be free too.”


“I’ll think about it,” he said, nodding slightly. Then he tilted his head studying the face of his twenty something daughter.  “So, your daughter Danielle’s father, was he a guy or a man?”


“He was a man.  An archeologist and a widower, he was a paying guest at a school sponsored dig my last summer of college. We were going to meet up sometime after I graduated but he died a couple of months later in Colorado.  I don’t usually talk about him.  It’s too personal to share with the others, but I miss him and I really hate that he never met his daughter,” Dawn finished with pain in her eyes.


“I bet you never lambasted him for being an idiot,” John teased, trying to lighten the mood.


“You’d lose that bet.  I verbally abused his ego while protecting his fine ass from the local nightlife before we were properly introduced.  Mind you, I’d been admiring that fine ass for days,” she smirked as she remembered.


“And you call me a ‘guy,’” he said dryly.  “I did want to check to see what you thought of that book I brought you.”


“The Whitman? It’s beautiful but I can’t sell it here.  I don’t have the right clientele.  You’ve probably noticed the original Grimm’s Fairytales over there complete with grotesque pictures.  That’s the clientele for this neighborhood.  For yours, put together its provenance and take it to one of the big money rare book dealers, preferably one with auction capabilities.  If they even got a hint that it had crossed the threshold of a repair shop it would devalue it by reputation,” Dawn stated practically. “In fact, Omar has it in your shop in a protected packet so that you will not be seen leaving here with it.”


“You are too good to me,” he laughed, then kissed her forehead as he turned to leave.


“I know it.  Think about what I said, and be careful out there.  I know you hate waking up in the morgue,” she teased as he walked back out of the bookstore.  Then she returned to her work.

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