Chapter Text
i.
The venue hall is decked out in glitzy lights and rented pinball and slot machines. Music floats among the crowd—big, explosive brass sounds and a steady beat of a snare drum. The upper echelons of New York’s society laugh and sip at dirty martinis and crystal tumblers full of expensive whiskey as they crowd around the scattered poker tables, hired blackjack and poker dealers tossing them cards and indulgently explaining the rules.
Gil moves between the tables, eyes open and peeled for their suspect. It’d been happy coincidence that they were looking for a gambling ring bubbling up in New York’s underground crime syndicate at the same time Jessica happened to be throwing the charity event of the season—her first hosted event in nearly twenty years in which she didn’t hide in the shadows behind anonymous donations and suggestions.
He hated undercover work, had never felt comfortable in someone else’s skin never mind the penguin suit he was currently stuffed into. It had been his experience as a young poker player many years ago that had earned him the opportunity to infiltrate Jessica’s party and make a big splashy name for himself. He just needed to find the high-roller table and make his move.
A deep, throaty laugh caught his ear—the way it always did when she was near—and he fought a grin as he made his way to the back of the venue where Jessica was playing the role of hostess. The sight of her paused him mid-step and he hung back a moment to simply observe her in her preferred habitat.
Draped in shiny, sparkling fabric, diamonds dripping from her ears and neck, and her hair twisted up elegantly to show off her bare shoulders and neck, Jessica Whitly looked like a modern day princess. Warmth flooded his chest, happy and so damn proud of her. It had taken a lot to put herself and her name on the line once more. The upper society circles of New York were often more backstabbing and treacherous than many of the crime rings he’d broken up.
He took his place beside her, hand low on her back and a soft press of his lips to her cheek. “Jessica,” he murmured in greeting. He was meant to be her guest tonight, her name and wealth getting the NYPD through the door. If he decided that guest meant potential suitor, at least for tonight, that was between him and his own conscience.
She turned to him, surprised, cheeks flushing pink. “Gil!”
He nodded at the small crowd of people gathered around Jessica, trying to look apologetic. “I hope you don’t mind if I steal her for a moment?”
“No, not at all,” one of the older women said, eyes flicking between them speculatively, something like a scheming grin curling at the corners of her lined mouth. “It’s so nice to see Jessica socializing with men again.”
The barb hit its mark and he could feel Jess tense beside him, ready to strike back the way only she could. But there wasn’t time for a tête-à-tête now. He guided Jessica away with an arm around her waist.
“Misty Burke can go suck a lemon, truly. Socializing. I’ll show her—“
“Maybe we can convince Ms. Burke to play a few hands of poker later and we’ll repay the favor later by stealing every penny she puts in the pot.”
Jessica looked taken aback at his cunning for a brief moment before she let out a sound resembling a low, pleased purr that gave him the urge to loosen the bow tie at his neck. “Oh, Gil. You are a devious one.” She beamed at him, slipping her arm into the crook of his elbow. “You can stay with me tonight.”
He bit back that that was exactly the plan, covering her hand with his instead and letting her lead him to the back corner where a selection of exceptionally dressed men and women were absentmindedly stacking and shuffling piles of poker chips, rolling single chips across their knuckles in what was meant to be a show of intimidation.
It made Gil grin. It had been a long time since he’d been around a poker table with moderately skilled players with larger sums of money than they knew what to do with. Although whatever winnings he’d earn tonight—and he planned to win quite a bit—would be split between the NYPD and Jessica’s choice of charity tonight, he’d take the ego win to know that he still could hold his own.
Beside him, Jessica was giving him a quick rundown on the competition in a manner that would impress any police chief. “The man with the abominable walrus mustache leans back and orders a drink every time he has a pair. The woman with the tacky sapphires has more money than sense, so I’d bank on a bluff or high-card most of the time. And the—“
“You didn’t tell me you could play poker,” he accused. She spoke quickly and confidently, throwing out terms and tells like this wasn’t her first time around a poker table.
She shot him a devious look, eyebrows raised. “Oh dear one, how do you think I came into possession of half my Coach bags? Boarding school taught me so much more than etiquette and how to have a stellar posture.”
Gil shook his head at her, wondering if he would ever stop being surprised by the woman on his arm.
“Does this mean you’ll be sitting beside me for a few hands?”
“I run this game, Gil. I’ll be across from you and taking every penny the NYPD lined your pockets with tonight.”
Her eyes flicked to his cheek, like she was considering returning his earlier gesture and wanted to press a chaste kiss to his cheek. Instead, she squeezed his arm and slipped away from him, hips sauntering and a teasing, “Good luck,” hanging in the air between them.
It was impossible to not look after her, to let his eyes drift over the swell of her hips and the shapely line of her legs in a pair of sky-high heels. He considered it a win every time Jess looked at him, reached for him, showed him that she wanted to push past whatever it was that held her back from touching him.
(It was hard for him to swallow that down and not remember a time she leaned on him so easily, her head on his shoulder after a long day at court with Martin or the way she let him draw her body against his for an embrace to bolster her mood when Malcolm and Ainsley came home brokenhearted and alone.
That was then—before. They were both different now, but he was confident with time she would remember how to trust him with herself again.)
He took his seat at the round table, made his hellos and introductions, ordered an Old Fashioned, and leaned back in his chair, ready to receive the first round of cards.
Gil kept his attention split between his own hand and the reactions and actions of the other members at the table. No one seemed too terribly out of place based solely on appearance and mannerisms.
But this wasn’t his world. It was Jessica’s.
Which is why he felt an immense rush of pride when she leaned forward, elbow planted firmly on the green felt of the table, and began making light conversation with the two people to her left and right—clearly outsiders to her.
Gil watched with amazement as she deftly navigated hand after hand of poker, raising and calling and checking and folding as appropriate, while also asking seemingly innocuous questions—questions not for her own benefit but for his and his investigation’s.
“I do so apologize, dear, but I don’t think we’ve met. Who are you here with?”
She danced the line of gracious, curious host and probing investigator and Gil wanted to record the show she was putting on for Vice to show them how it was done. Jess was a natural and he was content to let her take the lead, making note of the way she flicked her eyes to his every once in a while to indicate that the answer given was unsatisfactory or questionable.
The woman to her left—Patricia—seemed to be the most annoyed and discomfited by Jessica’s probing and Gil watched as she took stock of the room before folding her hand, making her excuses and scooping the remaining chips in her stack into her handbag to make a hasty exit, leaving behind only Gil and Jessica at the high-roller’s table.
Gil lifted the hidden microphone in his shirtsleeve up to his mouth and gave the order for JT, Dani, and Bright to intercept the woman and bring her in for questioning. His team rattled off their acknowledgment in his ear and that was that—undercover sting over.
Except a small crowd of curious socialites had gathered around the table to watch the final showdown between Jessica Whitly and her mysterious man. Jessica gave him a leonine smile—all sharpness and predatory intent.
“What do you say, Gil? Care to go head-to-head?”
A rush of competitive spirit filled him, eager to prove that he still had what it took to hang at tables like this. The way Jessica’s eyes sparkled with excitement and promise helped him along to his final decision, even as he noted that their chip stacks were relatively even matched.
She wanted to play.
And so did he.
He turned his attention to the dealer who was shuffling the cards uncertainly. “You heard the lady,” he told him. “Deal.”
The trouble with playing Texas Hold ‘Em now with Jessica Whitly compared to playing poker with a bunch of no-name gambling addicts then is that Jessica Whitly, despite a lengthy absence from his life, knows him.
He isn’t sure what it is he’s doing that gives him away, but she seems to be three steps ahead of him, raising and calling and manipulating each hand until her stack is almost double the size of his.
For her part, Jessica seems to be basking in the attention. The crowd around their table seems to have doubled and with each win, each scoop of the winnings over to her own stack, the crowd murmurs and applauds her efforts, clearly surprised by the return of Jessica Whitly in such a manner to the socialite scene.
Gil knows if he wants to win he needs to go all in soon, make a dent in her stack and try and swing momentum his way. He shoves almost all of his stack into the pot with a pair of King-Queen that had earned him a possible open-ended straight draw on the flop. He’s fairly confident he could beat her if they take the hand to the River.
And then—to his surprise—Jessica does something that he’s seen her only do a few times all night right before he knows she bluffed. She freezes for a moment after he makes his move and then neatly squares her cards in front of her, thinking with her bottom lip between her teeth.
Gotcha.
All he needs is for her to call and he’ll shove the rest of his stack and it’ll be game over. He’s got her.
Her eyes flick to the crowd of her peers, the people she’s been desperately trying to claw her way back to with all the grace, poise, and fight she could muster.
As satisfying as it would be to win and show her just what he’s made of, it suddenly all seems so empty in light of the longing, open expression on Jessica’s face. She wants this more than he ever could.
He mutes the sound of Bright in his ear. “Gil, I’ve been watching my mother all night. She’s got this tell and it’s—“
He doesn’t need a profiler to tell him how to read Jessica Whitly. And he doesn’t need Malcolm to help him right now. This isn’t about winning—not any more.
Predictably, she lifts her chin up stubbornly and pushes her stack into the middle. “All in.”
The noise of the crowd’s reaction seems to bolster her, makes her sit taller and pull her shoulders back. And he desperately wants this win for her.
It’s the easiest fold of his life.
(Jessica’s beaming smile, her little yip of excitement, the way she allows the crowd to swarm her with congratulations and compliments and support is worth every penny lost.)
Pushing himself away from the poker table, he makes his way back to his team outside. They have their suspect in custody and it’s time to stop playing pretend and get back to work.
“Gil! Gil, wait!”
He closes his eyes, stopping in his tracks. It would have been better—easier—if she had just let him go. But her fingers wrap around his wrist and pull him around to face her, face lined with confusion and brows furrowed.
“I know you had me beat,” she challenges.
“You didn’t,” he insists, hoping she’ll buy the lie. But she is a woman who has long stopped buying lies because they were easier than facing a hard truth. She’s learned that the hard way.
“I know you did. I had Ace-high back there. You had a straight or a pair or something.”
He looks at her helplessly, palms up. “What do you want me to say, Jess? Yes, okay, I had you beat.”
“Then why?”
Gil looks away, swallowing hard. If she wanted honesty, if she wanted to read him and probe past the mask, he would give her that. “I know how important tonight was to you, Jessica. And you were--" He searched for the right word, finally settling on, "Radiant. You showed everyone what I see—what I’ve always seen—a woman with fight and fire and guts. You just...you deserved to win it all tonight. I wanted that for you."
“Gil...” Her eyes sparkle with unshed tears and he can feel her wanting to reach out to him, to reinforce the connection between them.
But she's not ready for that step, not yet. That's why he's there for her, to show her that she can touch him without fear of rejection or that it will be used against her.
He takes her hand in his and strokes his thumbs over the back of her hand, his other hand reaching for her face and rubbing his thumb over her bottom lip where her teeth are sunk into the soft flesh.
“But just so you know for next time,” he murmurs, gaze flicking between her eyes and her mouth, “When you’re thinking of making a risky move—a bluff or a bigger than normal bet—you bite your lip,” he tells her, voice low and husky.
Against his the pad of his thumb he can feel her shaky breath of exhalation. The moment hangs between them heavy and full of promise and it would be so easy to crack open he window to the past and lean in and press a soft kiss to worried bottom lip, soothing it with his tongue and lips and tender touch.
But his radio crackles to life in his ear and an exasperated Bright chatters in his ear that they’re ready to go and he has a theory about the gambling ring they’re after and Gil is reminded that this isn’t the time or place for this.
He pulls his hand away from her mouth, fingers detouring ever so briefly to stroke at the soft curve of her cheek, before stepping back.
“Just something to think about before our rematch.”
“R-rematch?”
He likes the way she sounds out of breath and uncertain, like he’s rocked her off her feet with a simple touch and a few well-placed words.
“Oh yeah,” he affirms with a grin. “Next time, no holding back.”
Her eyes go wide at that and before she can respond, he turns on his heel and heads back to his team.
“See ya at the next event, Jess.”