Work Text:
Benoit Blanc was resting there on the couch rereading a mystery novel
Wearing a nice set of prescription reading glasses that aided him in the task.
The door to the apartment opened with a creak drawing familiar blue eyes to lift up from the book then become warm in affection seeing a familiar aging man appear. the door closed softly behind Philip. A man that bought his heart and soul with little regrets falling for him in return.
A man of whom had been the recipient of Benoit's favorite hobby of saving lives and careers clearing up all that muddled the truth revealing the deception. He was nice and honest and deeply attractive. Age had simply made more attractive as the years wanted on by. His face is decorated in lines and his dark hair now layered in various bands of gray. He remembered when he used to be young with a impressive mop of dark hair that had parted bangs revealing a widows peak.
He could've made him a widow all those years ago during his dangerous cases building a name for himself. Every case was dangerous and carried a significant sum of risk
"How was your day?" Philip asked.
Benoit lowered the novel then grew a smile lifting from ear to ear.
"My day..." Philip handed over a cup of ready made tea then planted a welcome kiss on to Benoit's lips."Thank you, Philip," then he confessed as he looked toward the cup then up toward his significant other. "I don't know where to start."
"Mine was easy." Philip offered.
Benoit's blue eyes softened as if they had melted into cartoony southern puddles.
"it was frustratin' as hell." Benoit sat back down flanked by his husband. "If Hell existed," he held up his hand before clarifying. "if I were a believer in it as a eternal place," He set aside the novel then lifted up to his feet approaching his husband. "if I were not as kind..."
"Benoit Blanc unkind?" Philip repeated in a scandalous tone. "Wash your mouth out with soap!"
"It would be about a puzzle that I could not solve and unwind the predicament that a innocent has fallen into by uncaring, mean, cruel hands woven it around them."
Philip stared on warmly toward his husband quite smugly.
"See," Philip sipped from his mug of coffee then lowered the cup down and up. "I told you."
"I most certainly did not solve it." Benoit replied.
"You're here and not mopping around, Blanc." Philip reminded.
Benoit was sipping listening to his partner when the reply was made then lowered it.
"Granted, it could have ended differently." Benoit replied.
"You solved it." Philip said, arrogantly.
"The murderess solved it." Benoit argued back.
The way it rolled off his tongue was smooth, yet sweet and classic.
Philip's eyebrows shot up in response to the reply.
It's not a word that Benoit often used to describe a murderer who happened to be a woman, the man had been at his wits end in a case that had a priest trying to confess, everyone that he decided to help defend themselves did that at one point in their case to end the nightmare believing the lie that had been made for them. A lie built and left around them under their noses.
"It was his first lieutenant?" Philip was quite surprised.
"Right hand man." Benoit replied.
"That is the same thing." Philip said.
"She was Priest Wicks's wingman." Benoit argued
"Tomato tomata." Philip ended the argument.
Benoit leaned back into the couch taking another sip from the cup then sighed and looked over.
"It wasn't easy to make everyone stop talking and a innocent man to stop confessing to a crime. I tried a piano key, I tried, and then seeing they wouldn't listen, tried to make me be quiet, so I did the next best thing. I went to the old ship mantle."
"Figurehead."
"The podium."
"You did not launch into a homily."
Blanc stretched his arms out for emphasis.
"I had no choice!" Blanc replied,
Philip slumped rubbing his forehead closing his eyes.
"Oh sweet heaven and sweet Lord!" Philip remarked.
The detective was briefly offended then it was replaced by a small warm laugh.
"It wasn't a bastardization of a homily contrary to the hateful, vile, disgusting murder victim." The detective merely shuddered. Philip could believe it. "It had authority and anger and contempt," He crossed his leg over his knee. "not hate."
"Is it online?"
The detective thought about it for a moment thinking back.
"Wasn't paying all that much attention to Cy Draven." Blanc confessed.
Philip whipped out his phone then searched for his husband's name.
"I won't be surprised if it is already online under the title of 'prized detective zones out' or 'sleepy Benoit'." The detective sipped from the cup.
He searched the titles but didn't find them appearing in his search history to help him find the video.
"It hasn't been worth stalking his YouTube page since Martha's passing." A great sigh escaped from the detective. "That priest is going to be launching kind, good, inspirational homilys." His blue eyes shot afar thinking of the future that was in store for Jud. "Think a queer kid might benefit a warm mug of milk..." He swayed the cup in the air. "but verbal."
There... there... there it was the thumbnail of his husband gazing into the light.
So heavenly and full of awe that it had religious energy. As if he had seen God in it and became full of awe. As if he had realized something that was so signifciant and profound. He realized something critical that made announcing the perpetrator of the crime not his place to do. He looked beautiful gazing out into the golden light contrasted by red text around his face that were putting him down.
"The only way to draw their attention on to me was to shriek into the air!"
Philip lowered the phone then put it back into the pocket listening to the detective.
"In another life, if I had been straight, if I had been religious, or been religious and still queer and hid my real self to the detriment of my mind and soul," A sharp inhale was drawn turning his head toward Philip. "Could have presided over it in a reversed situation where it is a detective confessing."
Philip could only offer a chuckle in response.
"Reverand Blanc?" Philip said.
Blanc wore a expression of disgust.
"It's hideous on me." Blanc dismissed, shaking his head.
Philip put him in priest related clothing in his mind and admired how attractive that it made him look.
"Has it's appeals." Philip said.
"Priests can't get married." Blanc reminded.
"Civil unions are a bit of a wiggle room."
"That's still a marriage." Blanc argued back.
"Legally."
Blanc took another sip of the drink then looked over toward him.
"Darlin'... sayin' you would have fallen for me as a lying priest?" Blanc asked, unsure.
Philip was merely flabbergasted by the nature of the question.
"... Yes!" Philip answered, incredulously.
Benoit looked away torn by the situation.
"Why, that's—isn't it— considered—" the word on the mind of the detective weighed heavily before he blurted it out. "cheatin'?"
"Is it really cheating if They aren't real?" Was the rebuke.
The comment was enough to knock the detective off the train of thought. His husband wasn't above chasing after his soul mate under conventional ways, chasing him, flirting, courting, doing it all knowing he was sinning himself all the way to Hell. And it was worth it.
Because Philip couldn't imagine himself going down there alone without one beautiful and very lovely soul that would go after him and defy God's wishes. If God were all loving then They loved him and Philip, faults, mistakes, and all. Not one piece of the soul left behind. Not abandoned. Closed off. Cast aside.
"Standin' there behind that figure..." His blue eyes looking up. "Standin' above them made me feel...." A great pause was had that was popped by a single spike. "like a divine celestial being lashing out disapproval at a bunch of children goating an innocent into damnation... The immense power that I had over them."
Benoit mulled over the moment where he took action that was decisive and bold then letting it down for an old dying woman.
"Stoppin' them from ruinin' a person's life confessing to something that never happened. Stopping something preventable from happenin'. Grabbin' their attention." Another sip was taken from the drink then swallowed it. "Like a flock of birds."
he cupped the side of his face listening to his husband talk about the moment and the ensuing laughter that Benoit shed.
"Never have I thought that my voice could boom that way!" He scratched the back of his head looking aside, flattered, then looked down, thinking, remembering. "Let alone the architecture of the church doin' the real work."
Philip was leaned against the side of the couch admiring Philip.
"How did this murderess do it, Blanc?" Philip asked.
Benoit looked back over, affectionately, toward his partner then talked to the delight of his partner who's eyebrows raised at such a elaborate con that turned into murder.