A convenient arrangement
Disclaimer: I do not own Agatha Christie's Hercule Poirot books or tv series, any related characters or property. I write only to entertain and I make no profit from this work.
Warnings: male/male relationship, slight reference to wet dreams (nothing detailed), divorce, gay coming out, homophobia
Pairing: Starts as Hastings/wife then becomes Hastings/Poirot
AN: slightly AU (divorce of his wife happens under different circumstances)
START
The day his wife found out, Hastings was beside himself. He had been dreaming...the sort of dreams that all men had. He had moaned out a name other than his wives. This would have been bad if it was another woman. After all scandal between husband and wife was...well scandalous.
It had been a mans name. The Capitan was uncharacteristically shaken. Would they discharge him from the army for this? What would the papers say? What would those that passed him in the streets think of him?
His wife had been angry at first. She had asked him if he was having an affair. He had assured her that wasn't true. Thankfully she had believed him. She had always known him to be loyal to country, friend and wife.
She seemed to take pity on him. "I won't report you. I think we can come to an arrangement."
Hastings had remained silent. He didn't trust his words even if he had known what to say. Poirot would have known what to say...
"Does he feel the same?" she asked.
He was caught off guard. "How would I know? He is awfully affectionate but how would I know if thats just his way? His not from around here." he answered honestly. If his wife would protect him, she would protect Poirot.
"You should ask." she replied easily.
Hastings frowned. How could he put his friend in such a position? To have to protect him. To have to entertain such an absurd thought. And if the police came knocking? To lie for him. Or to turn him in.
His thoughts were interrupted by his wife's giggle. "Stop thinking so much! You know he will always be loyal to you. You know he would always be your friend. Just tell him."
He must have looked rather surprised.
"I know you, Arthur. I love you. There is not much you can hide from me." she said fondly.
He nodded. "Quite right! What about us? Surely you would want a divorce?" he said uncertainly.
He felt awful. Hearing her speak of her love was like a dagger. He had tried to love her as she deserved but it wasn't his way. He hated suggesting a divorce. He hated that it had become his only option.
His wife deserved better. His wife deserved a man that would care for her, please her and support her. He cared for her. He really did but he could not love her.
"Yes, I suppose so. Don't be upset. I am not. I love you. I want you to be happy. If Poirot makes you happy, then I will let you be with him." she said kindly.
"I don't deserve you. You should contact a lawyer, I'll make time Friday." Hastings replied, relieved.
AHHPAHHPAHHPAHHPAHHPAHHPAHHPAHHPAHHPAHHPAHHPAHHPAHHPAHHPAHHP
Poirot had been speaking for a while now...something about dressing like a proper gentleman. Everything in its place, as the man said. I smiled at that. I had always loved how well dressed the other was.
I was vaguely aware his friend had stopped speaking. I blinked back to awareness with what I hoped was a merely inquisitive look. "Is something the matter? You are so distracted." The detective spoke sounding more concerned than he should have.
I hope I don't look too much a mess...I swallow thickly, trying to ground my emotions. "Oh just some domestic matters." I reply (Its hardly a lie). "Hardly worth bothering about" I excuse.
He frowns and thinks. "You are bothering a great deal about them." he says agitated.
I know when him when gets this way, he must either know what I am hiding or try calming himself. How much truth can I offer him? "Well if you really wanted to know, I'm divorcing. Thankfully it should be quite amicable. No hard feelings." I say, trying to hide my feelings.
Poirot stills again and nods. "I see, mon ami. Did you want me to as they say... cheer you up? I understand you wish to make it easier for your wife but you should speak freely here." he says kindly.
Speak freely? How freely is too freely? Admitting his love? I laughed without realising it. Only when I see Poirot's offended look do I realise. "You think it humorous? Is my offer so...funny?" he demands.
"Of course not. Its rather touching, actually. I was lost in my thoughts. I hope your not offended." I say calmly.
Not surprisingly he calms instantly. I did so love his passions. "What is the reason you divorce, mon ami?" he asks curiously.
How do I tell him why? How could I possibly explain it? I decide on a half truth. "We were not working out. I couldn't give her what she wanted." I say.
He seems to be waiting for more. What else can I say? 'Oh Poirot, I love you. Won't you be my boyfriend? I mean we can't tell anyone and I offend your religious sensibilities but...' I don't bother finishing the thought. He would have to refuse me.
"Do not look so unhappy. I'm sure you will find a new wife in no time!" he exclaims kindly.
I can't help myself. "I doubt that!" I say without thinking.
He seems to notice something, glancing at me strangely. "Something troubles you." he states, cocking his head to one side.
I don't reply...
I decide to trust him with my life. "You see, old boy. I'm not sure I should say. I wouldn't want to put you in a bad position." I pause.
He is smiling again. I can see he is unfazed. He merely looks encouraging. I find myself relaxing. How can I doubt his loyalty? "My marriage was a farce. I cared for her but I could never love her." I start, pausing to collect my thoughts.
I feel nervous. I feel angry. I feel sad. I feel frustrated. I can't help but ask: Why?
"I guess I should have known. I never had any serious girlfriends at school. I guess it never felt right." I say softly. I refuse to look up, to see the disgust in his eyes.
To my surprise, I feel his warm hands grasp mine. "Mon ami, do not fret. Speak what is upsetting you so!" he urges kindly. If has come to the correct conclusion, its not apparent.
"Oh damn it all! I'm gay!" I exclaim. The quicker the better! I don't hear Poirot say anything, nor does he move his hands.
After some silence he speaks. "This is what was causing you the bother?!" he asks amazed.
I look up, feeling wet tears on my face. He doesn't look angry or upset. He doesn't even look uncomfortable. He looks perplexed not disgusted. "You'd still have me?" I ask.
Poirot sighs. "Of course, mon ami. Why would I not? What business it is of mine who you choose to be happy with?" he asks simply. "This is the reason for your divorce, no?"
I nod. "Yes. We both agree it is for the best. She can find someone to make her happy." I say, much calmer now.
"And what of your happiness?" Poirot asks.
I laugh. "I'm afraid he would turn me down. In any case, I'd rather not put anyone in an unfavourable position." I reply.
Suddenly I feel nervous again. His eyes assess me, his expert eye taking in every detail. "Maybe not so. You should ask. Then you would know." he says briskly.
He hands his handkerchief to me. "Now dry those eyes! This is no time to be upset when you can be happy. We must find him." he insists, firmly but not unkindly.
I smile at the gesture. He must consider me highly to present me his handkerchief! "Oh, your a dear!" I reply. I take a calming breath. Its now or never. Where is that courage now? "I'm afraid we won't need to search far. Please don't be alarmed but..." I pause.
He looks frustrated but excited for me. "Who is the lucky one?" he asks.
"Lucky?" I ask, off topic.
He simply nods. "Yes, anyone would be lucky to have someone as brave, loyal and so utterly kind as you." he replies easily.
I laugh. "I'll understand if you want me to go...its you. I will take my things and leave now." I say dejectedly.
Now he looks confused. "Go? Leave? Do not be absurd!" he exclaims.
I dare to ask. "You accept?"
He laughs now. "Mon cher, Mon amour...how could I refuse?" he says as if it the most obvious thing in the world. He moves to sit beside me, placing an arm around my waist. "You permit Hercule to comfort?" he asks.
I grunt affirming my approval.
I feel him pull me into his own warm body, one hand running through my hair. I can't help the giddy school girl smile on my face. I hear him muttering in his native language. It sounds nice, even if I can't understand more than a few words. Without meaning to I close my eyes and drift asleep.
AN: R and R. Mon ami – my friend, Mon cher – my dear, Mon amour – my love. (all in French)
