The Coolness of A Dead Man's Hand - Prodigal Son

five - it's just like it was twenty years ago

"Jess, please, sit down." Gil reaches his hand ou"t to the frantic woman.

"I can't sit down, not now." She snaps, taking another drink of the wine in her hand. "What did you want to say about Nicolas?"

"I will tell you when you sit down--please, you're working yourself up, you need to calm down." He says, grabbing Jessica's free hand. Finally, she stops pacing and the clicking of her heels stops.

With an exasperated sigh, she sits on the overstuffed sofa beside Gil and takes another drink of her wine.

Looking closer at the glass, Gil sees the lipstick stains on the rim. He furrowed his eyebrows and looked at her.

"How many drinks have you had?" He asks, looking half at Jessica and half at the glass.

"Only one." She lies. Gil gives a sterner look and she sighs again. "Fine. Six. Are you happy?"

"No, I'm not." He frowns. "Give me the glass, Jessica."

"No!" She scowls. His glare doesn't release until she grumbles and sets it on the coffee table. "There, now I don't have it anymore. Happy?"

"Yes, but... there's still something I need to talk to you about." Gil's voice turns grave. "It's about Nicolas."

"What about him?" Jessica begins to panic. "If you're going to tell me he's been murdered, I'd rather you tell me while I was drunk. It'd be easier to take."

"No, he hasn't been murdered."

"Good. He isn't in any trouble, is he?" She asks.

"Not that I know of, but that isn't what I was trying to say." Gil turns to Jessica and takes her hands in his. He holds tightly, and for a minute, he forgets where he's at.

It's just like it was twenty years ago, Gil thinks. When I held her hands and told her everything would be okay.

She was so vulnerable then. She had to take care of her babies alone, both of whom had seen their father be drug out of their home in cuffs. I was the only one who was there for her--I held her and wiped away her tears and told her she would be okay.

I've loved her ever since.

Ever since that day, I've loved Jessica Whitly, but I couldn't ever tell anyone. I kept it to myself.

Eventually, the feeling went away. Then I met Jackie, and I never thought I would love again.

But as he sits now, clutching Jessica's hands, he realizes his love never really went away.

"Gil, what is it?" Her fingers intertwine with his and she feels his nervousness.

It's just like it was twenty years ago, Jessica thinks. When he held my hands and told me everything would be okay.

I was so alone. Martin was gone, the bastard, but I was alone. I had to care for Malcolm and Ainsley alone and explain to them why their daddy wasn't coming home again.

Gil was the only one who told me everything would be okay. He held me and wiped my tears and convinced me I would be okay.

I've loved him ever since.

Breaking the silence, Gil finally speaks: "Nicolas is not who you think he is."

Jessica tries to pull her hands away as the shock sets in, but Gil doesn't let go. He can't let go.

"What do you mean?" Jessica asks, stunned. "I trust him! He's not a bad man, I know it."

"The murders, at the ballet, we have reason to believe he was behind them. Not directly, but he was involved. He warped those dancers' minds until they killed each other." He pauses for a moment. "Jessica, Nicolas Endicot is a monster."

"I don't believe you." Jessica says. She doesn't mean it, but she says it anyways. Why would he lie? "He's... he's not, you're wrong. You've got the wrong man, Nicolas isn't a murderer."

"He is, Jessica. Nicolas Endicot is a very bad man," He pulls one hand from her grasp and cups her face gently, tugging lightly at her brown hair as her hazel eyes fill with tears. "And you must get away from him before he does what he did to those dancers to you."

"He can't be..." She breathes. Her breathing becomes heavy and her vision becomes blurry with tears. Softly, she whispers: "Are you sure?"

"We're sure." He says.

Two words. Two words sends Jessica to her breaking point.

The tears that had welled in her hazel eyes finally began to fall. They slipped down her cheeks and she didn't bother to wipe them away.

As she broke farther and farther, she fell towards Gil's chest and clung to him as if he was her grasp on life--maybe, she thought, if I hold tight enough, none of this would be real.

The more she weeped, the more Gil was taken back to twenty years ago.

He remembers how he held her, how small she seemed, how vulnerable and afraid--she even wears the same expensive perfume that lingers on his cheap coat after every visit.

Finally, she pulls herself together enough to sit up straight and wipe away her tears and try and look strong, but Gil knows what's inside--he knows how truly afraid she is behind her designer clothes and expensive perfume and intricate makeup.

"I'm sorry," Jessica mumbles, wiping at her eyes where the tears still stain.

"You don't have anything to be sorry about," Gil replies, still clutching at her left hand. He rubs his thumb over her palm absentmindedly, a small comfort to them both.

He slowly tucks a lock of her brown hair that had fallen loose behind her ear.

With a shaky breath and trembling body, Jessica moves closer to Gil, craving any sort of comfort he has to offer. The closer she gets, the more she feels his warmth and is taken back to twenty years ago.

Gil too moves closer, and in that moment he wanted to do nothing more than hold her close and tell her how much he loves her.

They both pause for just a minute. They stop breathing and the world stops spinning, for just a minute.

Almost perfectly in time, they come together.

Their lips touch and simultaneously they crave more, more, more.

Slowly and carefully, Jessica lays her head on Gil's shoulder and curls into his warmth. She feels small and frail, but safe and warm.

"I've wanted to do that for twenty years..." Gil whispers, and she can't help but smile.