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Oftentimes he’s not as fast as Poirot while drawing conclusions. Oh, who is he kidding: He’s never as fast as Poirot. But one thing he always knows with certainty, and that’s the exact moment the solution of the case is imminent. And who cares if he knows because he drew the right conclusions, or whether it’s just because he knows Poirot well enough to sense that his friend has managed to solve the case. He has stopped bothering with such trivial distinctions a long time ago. What’s truly important after all, is that he knows exactly when the time has come.
The tension suddenly becomes a different one then. Poirot, of course, is highly concentrated as always, but the moment the solution is in close proximity, the tension has a different feel to it. Before this happens, the tension consists of concentration, frustration even. But that changes the moment Poirot manages to see the solution. The tension becomes almost joyful, expectant.
Sometimes he thinks that Poirot loves this moment. The solution. His grand entrance. Of course justice is important to him, to protect the innocent and to get the culprits behind bars. And surely he’d do just the same without his grand entrance. On the other hand though… if you can have it, your grand entrance, why should you abstain? For that, he even accepts collateral damage. For example letting his good friend Hastings look like an idiot. Hastings sighs internally, as Poirot initiates the grand finale. It wouldn’t be half as mind-blowing though, if the audience already suspected the ending, would it now? Still, sometimes he could almost swear that Poirot keeps clues from him on purpose.
He’d never admit that of course.
He never complains though, because the whole thing has its good points too. After such a performance, Poirot is always in an especially good mood. During their drive home, his friend contendedly sits on the passengers seat, not even complaining about the speed at which Hasting is driving. That rarely ever happens, so he gleefully takes full advantage of the situation. All the more so since he can kill two birds with one stone that way. He adores driving fast, and especially on evenings like these, he’s in a hurry to get home. Because the tension, it’s still there, just that it turned into something else entirely by the time they arrive at their apartment. Now the tension is playful, almost euphoric. Poirot never drinks, at least never enough that he’d ever seen the man drunk, or even just tipsy for that matter.
But he kind of imagines it to be similar to this, should his friend ever have one over the eight. Relaxed. Jovial. And underlying, there’s still the tension of the hunt, searching for an outlet. At the very beginning of their friendship, this used to lead to prolonged periods of restlessness, which they were only able to get under control with the help of a new case. If that didn’t happen.. well. That could lead to quite the alarming consequences. With a shudder, he thinks back to the time Poirot disappeared for days, obsessively sorting and resorting his collection of postage stamps. He’d barely been responsive, even managing to neglect his meals.
No, thankfully they’ve found better ways by now, to put the lingering tension to ... way better use.
“What amuses you so, mon cher Hastings?”
Hastings smile widens even more. “Nothing.”
Way better ways. He even dares to say that Poirot enjoys this grand finale even more than the one before. And even though there’s way less of an audience (of course), the enthusiasm of the participants more then compensates for that fact.
* Fin *