A/N: I got a review on AO3 that sparked me to write more for the Moment in Time -drabble (ch4). I seem to be on a Halo-groove which is not what I should be writing about, but I'm not complaining.
AU, human!Cortana, somewhere 1920-40's. Or simply a crossover with some old black-and-white film.
The woman supposed she shouldn't have been surprised to see him here. His tall figure stood out from the languid crowd moving across the hall, driven by their guest for money and/or alcohol. Truth be told, she had waited to see him for some time now. It was fitting for him to appear on a dark night like this that was ridden with heavy rain and wind, strong enough to be felt indoors despite the heavy stone walls.
She walked down the last few steps of the grand staircase, the night-blue train following stiffly few steps behind her.
The man hadn't turned to look at her yet even if she had kept her eyes on him the whole journey across the lobby and the reception desk; her gaze unfaced by the running bellboys. She let her mouth form a sly grin at the sight. He was taller than anyone else, his build and stoicism scaring the people around him, worrying the players if he was there to rob them. Despite the slightly worn black suit, inch-perfect hair, and even more perfectly polished shoes, the man — John, she reminded herself with her tongue mimicking the word soundlessly — looked out of place like a camel on the Alps.
He could just pass as someone very eccentric, very rich. Creating just enough ambivalence so that the staff and the high-players didn't know if they should truckle or boast around him.
When she reached his side, the man eyed her with the slightest turn of the head.
"Have you ever played before?" She challenged.
The man's gaze shifted back to the baccarat table he had been watching, stopping his survey over the dark-haired woman in her daring evening gown.
"You don't seem the type," she managed to point out before his reply.
"It's based on a whim," he commented with his low voice.
The woman laughed — much more clearly and wholesomely than one would have expected based on her demeanor.
"Name one thing in life that isn't."
His brows tightened a notch for her words, but it was hard to tell whether he agreed or disagreed with the notion.
She looked at him, really looked at him.
She could think how he would tear the whole place down if the night would halt by a regular robbery or a pistol fight. She could envision how the man would be a force of nature in his minimalistic efficiency. How he would dominate the thieves with one hand, how he would flip the card table for protection despite the fact that its ornamented structure was made out of solid wood. She could walk to the bar in slow motion and sit back and watch the show. In the end, when the only remaining decoration would be the massive chandelier swinging quietly in the ceiling, he would come to her as if he had just walked back from the nearby kiosk after buying the day's paper.
And she would make no mention of the destruction around them; just gaze into his eyes, offering the unshaken understanding he would never ask for but would later acknowledge with a deeper kiss, further wandering hands.
"You can buy me a drink first, and then I'll teach you how to play."
The man took his time to meet her gaze, evaluating the challenge she dared to pose to him.
"I don't drink."
The woman chuckled at the refusal and the challenge he posed to her as a receptive payback.
"You owe me the equivalent of 1000 dollars. It's only polite to offer one a drink in return."
The woman was good. Appealing to his values to get him to do what she wanted. And the woman knew it would work; her smirk appeared only a split-second later when he turned to leave towards the bar.
Before they had even reached the mahogany counter, the bartender had already prepared the gin and tonic Cortana always ordered.
"One beer too."
Her eyebrows rose as a challenge towards the question he was thinking about but never said out loud. Nevertheless, her crystal-clear recollection erased the time that had passed since their last encounter.
The man sat on the bar-stool with perfect posture, arms against the counter in a 90-degree angle, whereas the woman sat with her legs crossed, her other hand holding the class while she leaned on the other.
Either one of them could have made a notion on how he had made his way to the other continent, how he had found her, how long had she stayed waiting for him, walking down the grand staircase night after night, pouring her boredom to the tables.
It didn't take long before she had emptied her class and motioned him to get up, knowing that his pint would never be drunk.
Not paying any attention to the storm raging outside, she smoothened out her gown under his gaze but he made no movement to rise from his seat.
"I don't gamble."
"I know. You said that before." She leaned closer to him, and, instead of conforming to the urge to put her hand on his thigh, she just tilted her head, "But you still took the effort to travel here."
The man swallowed, weighing his next words, "Not a gamble."
Cortana's facade was broken for a second when her gaze escaped downward; the statement made a hint of blush to battle its way to her face, unlawfully using the momentary surprise to its advantage. However, the reaction was only fleeting as her habits regained their footing. "It's foolish to be too certain." She watched the people walking through the grand entrance that separated the lobby and the tables, "Plus, you brought the chip with you," she shifted her gaze to look at the man knowingly. Many people would have considered him to be too innocent to these kinds of games, to the life that was led here, but she could read him, the same silence he used to leave his past without a present.
The man didn't deny her words nor surrendered himself to her triumph. "A loan given unasked is still a loan."
She chuckled at his words. "And now, you can begin to earn the money to pay me back."