Drabblicious: Starring a fangirling Doris.
Inspired by waffleguppies 's Doris/Frank confrontation. I really just tried to rationalize how she'd feel about the main characters, and why she'd be one of the most supportive members of the team.
In a suitably pervy fashion, of course.
Characters: Doris, Danny/Nicholas
Wordcount: 989
Rating: PG-13/R
Summary/Warnings: Voyeurism
Doris is a fangirl.
It’s not exactly the word she thinks when she finally acknowledges the concept, but concepts are long and tricky and very hard to put into snappy mantras like the old Chief used to do, and really, fangirl about sums it up.
She’s been Danny’s closest friend at the station for as long as he’s been on, and for a good deal longer beforehand. As kiddies, they used to play coppers and bandits in Aunt Jackie’s back garden, Danny nicking his dad’s old helmet for special occasions. The chase was always the fun part, Doris being faster and more agile than Danny puffing after her, helmet slipping over his eyes, climaxing in a good scolding and arrest, Danny ballsing up the official caution nearly every time. Doris had it memorized by the time she was seven, and really it’s not that surprising that she later ends up being the first policewoman Sandford’s ever seen.
It wasn’t quite what she was expecting at first. Frank treated her more like a secretary because he wasn't sure what to do with her, leaving her to handle paperwork and fetch coffees before warming to her presence, but as a job she really quite likes being the only female on staff. It gives her a chance to let her mouth off its leash in front of people who don’t mind, don’t judge, can even appreciate it.
And then Nicholas Angel rolls into town, and Danny tags at his heels and is hardly around anymore. Nevermind that there’s barely any crime for the two of them to be off solving, after the epic coup d’etat (Doris likes how filthy French can sound). The Andes tease the two mercilessly for being joined at the hip, but it makes Doris wonder.
Danny’s practically her little brother, after all. If anyone needs to be in the loop, to protect him (if not least for the gossip) she should. So one day in the locker room, she corners him, and bludgeons the blushing truth out of Danny Butterman.
She promises not to tell, of course. Not only is it Danny’s secret, keeping it to herself makes it that much more delicious to savour.
But it doesn’t stop her from watching,
Sometimes, as she rounds the corner into the breakroom, she catches Danny getting stuck-up prig Nicholas Angel to blush where she can only make him stammer. She’s seen Angel rushing to the defense of Danny under ridicule when Danny is more than capable of taking care of himself, or helping a long-recuperated Danny around the station just a little too eagerly, just a little too tenderly. The tiny peeks below the surface that everyone else, squares that they are, can’t see, only make her want to catch the two of them at it in the locker room afterhours all the more.
Doris hasn’t been exactly lucky with men in her life. To be precise, she’s been too lucky with them, charming them out of their literal pants by sheer gutsy domination and innuendo. It’s fun for a while, the pantslessness, and then it’s boring. The simple fact is that one man is never enough.
To have two men who not only don’t want her, but are secretly quite into each other is a sudden, horrific turn-on.
Sandford doesn’t have any benders, Doris is quite certain. It makes Nicholas Angel and Danny Butterman… exotic. Exotic not in the shouting rainbow sense, but in the way that they are absolutely normal people (well, as normal as you ever get with Angel), sane, good-looking in an average sort of way, in a way that you would never be able to tell without watching closely like Doris has- all while buggering each other senseless.
She gets herself off, night after night, imagining what it looks like, fuelled by the descriptions she bullies out of Danny when he’s really drunk.
And one day, unable to resist, she tucks a miniature pair of binoculars into the back of a loose pair of jeans, and follows the two of them at a distance, as they walk off into the sunset.
They don’t go home. Doris follows them to Potter’s Field, where Danny finally can’t hold it in any longer, and obviously thinking the public area private enough in the twilight, bites Nicholas on the neck.
Doris makes a note to look for a bruise there the next morning.
Nicholas keens, even behind the treeline Doris can hear it, as Danny maneuvers his occasionally-protesting, continually-yielding boss onto his back in the grass, and yanks down both their trousers to their knees.
Christ. She doesn’t even need the damn binoculars. Her hand sneaks down the front of her own trousers without it registering.
Later, she walks home through the edge of forest in her crotch-soaked jeans, thinking. She doesn’t think she needs to watch them again, she’s got enough details to keep her going until menopause. Watching the two of them at work is half the fun, anyway, waiting for them to slip up and let the professional side go, just for a second, and Doris crows silently every time that intense connection of their love is bared.
She’s not sorry she watched, though, for quite a few reasons.
Those old biddies weren’t half right about Nicholas Angel’s arse, for one thing.