Title: Observing Brett (and Danny, of course).
Author: Azpou
Fandom: The Persuaders
Pairing: Brett Sinclair/Danny Wilde implied
Rating: PG-13 (fluff, in other words <g>)
Archive: If you want to, ask first. 
Feedback: Please. Azpou@aol.com 
Disclaimer: I love "The Persuaders". I wish Brett and Danny were mine. But they're not. <sniff>


Note: I can't believe I wrote something *nice*. I sat down to write an angsty follow-up to "The Night is..." for The Bill, and this came out instead. My only excuse is that these two characters have been bothering me for quite some time now. <g> I've made no attempt to write the characters -- anyone who tries to is a braver writer than I. The characters are so well-drawn, I just don't want to touch them. I couldn't capture them. Dialogue like that can't be scripted. In fact, most of it wasn't, proving that there's no entertainment like ad-libbed escapism. <g> Any dialogue in this comes direct from the show.

Un-beta'd.


Observing Brett (and Danny, of course).


by Azpou


What is going on with these two?

There *is* something going on, or my name isn't Sandra. Long 
looks. Physical contact. 

More than that, really. They *touch* each other...

I mean, look at that. Did Danny really have to do that? It's 
so blatantly obvious... Yes, Danny, I'm sure Brett can pour 
wine into his glass *by himself*. He doesn't need you to hold 
his hand while he's doing it.

I've known Brett for a long time, since we were children. My 
father knew Sinclair senior, they had some business dealings 
together. Well, you know the modern aristocracy -- got their 
fingers in every pie they can get their hands on. Actually, 
when I put it like that, things are pretty much the same as 
they were a hundred years ago, aren't they?

Brett and I... we were like brother and sister for a time. 
Then came puberty, and... well. I'm sure you can imagine. 
Things just happened. It's a cliche, I know, but it's 
true. Hey, at least we weren't playing "Doctor". He must've 
enjoyed himself, because I've had him completely under my 
thumb ever since.

Until now.

Normally, when you go for a meal with an on/off boyfriend you've 
known for years you *expect* there to be undercurrents to the 
evening. You also expect the invitation you make to be confined 
to two people. You certainly don't expect said on/off boyfriend 
to bring along his best friend, and then pay more attention to 
*him* than he does to you.

Honestly, could they be any more explicit? One more minute of 
this and I swear I'm going to leave. I mean it.

I can't deny I'm disappointed. Brett's *mine*. I've always regarded 
him as such. It isn't as if I haven't tried -- God knows, I've 
tried everything short of throwing myself at him and shouting, 
"Fuck me, you fool!" I've managed to resist that course of 
action so far; I'm a lady, and he's a gentleman. We don't do that 
kind of thing.

Not in public, anyway.

It *is* puzzling, though. Everything is exactly the same. Brett's 
single. I'm single. I like him, and he still likes me, I'm sure of 
it, if those little smiles are anything to go by. Same as always. 
The only new addition to the whole setup is this man. Danny Wilde.

He's charming. Adorable. American, but I suppose he can't help that. 
Quick-witted and silver-tongued. He's almost as smooth as Brett.

Yes, yes. Smile, smile, wink, wink. I *know* you're an engaging 
man, Danny. It really isn't necessary. Oh, and *stop* gazing into 
Brett's eyes over the edge of your wine glass. Doe-like flirtation 
doesn't suit you.

And, Brett, you should be ashamed. Encouraging him like that. For 
God's sake, *stop smiling at him*. Those smiles are my smiles.

I know. I'm being childish. But I really can't help it. If you knew 
Brett you'd know why.

Not that Danny isn't just as intriguing in his own way. I know, put 
them together and Brett's the one you notice first. At least, 
he's the one *I* notice first. Tall, dark blond, broad shouldered 
and eyes to die for. But, Danny soon makes his presence felt. He 
opens his mouth and starts talking.

He has quite a reputation, and it's easy to see why. He flirts. He 
flatters. He touches. Plays the perfect King of Seduction. He's 
doing it with me now.

But you have to realise something about this. He only does it when 
Brett's looking. Unusual, non? It's almost as if he's putting on a 
show. I suppose, when I put aside my own irritation, it's quite 
amusing.

Brett -- I know he isn't taking it seriously. Maybe I shouldn't. 
Maybe Danny's just playing. Well, it wouldn't surprise me. Would 
it surprise you?

But Brett... Oh, yes, I've been watching you too. Don't think I 
haven't. Danny isn't quite as over-powering as you seem to 
believe. You do more than flirt, and you know it. It's no good 
smiling innocently at me over the oysters. I *know* there's 
something going on.

By the way, Brett isn't the only person who's ordered the oysters. 
Guess who? Clue: it isn't me.

Very often over the last two weeks we've made it into the bedroom. 
Things progress nicely, we start kissing, we start undressing, and 
then just when we're about to get down to business... Wham! There's 
a crash in the next room. Or there'll be a phone call. Every 
single time. It's annoying. No, more than that, it's bloody 
frustrating. Brett, Danny can take care of himself. If I had a 
pound for every instance he's left at the most important moment to, 
"help Danny," or to, "keep an eye on Danny," I'd be a millionairess by 
now. "He needs me to hold his hand through everything." That's 
bollocks, Brett, and you know it.

Oh, don't get me wrong. Sometimes he'll sigh and look angry, but 
usually he just looks anxious. If Danny's in trouble, Brett's there 
in a flash. The original Knight in Shining Armour. In a Rolls 
Royce. Lovely image.

What exactly do they do for a living?

I first met Danny, oh... around three weeks ago now. Brett 
introduced us.

"Sandra, Daniel. Daniel, Sandra."

"And when did you have the dubious pleasure of meeting his 
lordship?" he'd asked me, smiling.

I laughed. Who wouldn't? His lordship? I would never have dared, 
unless, of course, I was *trying* to bring out the caveman. Maybe 
that's what Danny was doing. But Brett didn't look at all annoyed.

He never looks annoyed when Danny insults him. And he does insult him, 
all the time, but Brett seems quite content with that. But he does make 
it quite clear he's only indulging the quaint, hyper-active little 
American. Responding to Mr Wilde is beneath a high-ranking member of 
the *British* aristocracy. 

He lets Danny do his thing, and treats it as if it's a play put on 
purely for his own amusement. It's unnerving.

Why do I get the feeling I'm not supposed to be here?

Danny introduces himself as just that. 

"Danny. Danny Wilde."

I remember giving him the once-over -- I'm not *that* much of a lady. 
Remember the caveman? Show me a woman who doesn't like a bit of a 
grapple on occassion, and I'll show you an alien from outer space. 
A girl *needs* fun sometimes, right? And slow and soft gets tedious 
after a while. A little spice never hurt anyone.

I have to admit, if Danny said he felt like a quick tumble with me, 
I wouldn't turn him down. Well, someone so... cute? Would you? He's 
maybe a little shorter than my usual type, but his shoulders are 
only slightly narrower than Brett's. He practises yoga -- he's so 
strong. But, I don't think he's interested.

I wonder *why*.

They bicker constantly as well. It's amusing for a while, but it 
does begin to grate eventually.

"Nice suit, your lordship."

"Daniel, I'll have you know this suit is made from the finest 
moleskin..."

"Ah. Perhaps if the animal had stopped screaming you might have 
heard your tailor laughing."

Brett just looked him up and down, then smiled lazily. "I see 
your tailor has a sense of humour, too."

I've had three weeks of this. I'm going insane. I'm probably 
imagining things. Brett? With another man? Unthinkable.

Why, then, am I thinking it?

But I *know* the kind of fireworks he's capable of inspiring, and 
those little smiles he's giving me... They promise so much. Brett 
and Danny? No, not ever.

"Daniel..."

But... there *is* something in the way he says that name...

Oh, the hell with it. Once I've got over the appalling waste of 
Brett's talents, maybe they'll let me stay and watch.


End.


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