purely because i can't stay away from my love of jack and lula and more specifically, jack and lula together.
obviously i don't own now you see me because if i did, i'd be out making more movies and partying with dave franco instead of sitting in front of a computer and writing shitty fanfiction.
enjoy.
warning: slight implied sex (?) like, very, very minor. but i'm paranoid. so...
Jack Wilder is angry.
Well, he's feeling a lot of things right now, and they're jumbled up inside of him and the emotions are hard to tell apart, but mostly, he's angry. And maybe a little sad.
He's angry at Daniel for leaving, for following in Henley's footsteps and slamming the door behind him. Danny'll come back in a few days (and Jack knows this because this isn't the first time it's happened) and he'll apologize and say that he will never leave again. But Jack's still angry.
He's angry at Merritt for being drunk, again, because the mentalist is the oldest, and he's supposed to be the responsible one, damn it, and yet empty bottles litter the floor around the couch and the whole place reeks of alcohol. And Merritt will wake sober and thank him and promise to do the dishes next time Jack's turn comes around as some form of apology. But Jack's still angry.
He's angry at the world, too, for giving him a taste of the idealistic family they could be and then yanking the spoon right out of his mouth. Because he thought that maybe, just maybe, that after the addition of a brand-new horsemen and the success of an epic plan to ruin a billionare and after everything they've been through together, they could've been something like a real team and the family Jack never had and it could've been perfect. But it's not. And he's angry.
He's angry at everything around him, and at himself for making the same mistakes over and over again. He's angry.
And maybe a little sad, too.
The butts of half-smoked cigarettes fall in a ring around him, like some black-charred halo of ashes and sputtering sparks. The fire escape is submerged in a cloud of smoke, and Jack inhales it as though it's oxygen, lighting stick after stick until a third of his once-full pack is gone. A roll of paper and tobacco balances on his lip as he flips through his deck and digs crescents into the palm of his hand with his nails.
To anyone else, he's just an addicted chainsmoker. But Lula May knows him well enough to see the stiffness in his shoulders and the tension that just seems to flood from him. She knows something's wrong.
He doesn't even look up as she places her elbows on the railing next to him. Instead, his eyes stay trained on the doll-like figures on the street below them, far too preoccupied with his own thoughts.
"That's a nasty habit, you know," Lula says finally, and for a moment the silence is syrupy and thick and refuses to part.
Then his gaze flits upward and his shoulders lift with the slightest of shrugs. "Live fast, die hard, right?" he replies swiflty as he lets out another puff of smoke, his tone impassive.
Lula huffs impatiently and leans over, plucking the cigarette from Jack's mouth and dropping it over the rail.
This gets a reaction. "Hey!" he says indignantly, then rolls his eyes, exhaling sharply, and says, "I've got more." But when he goes to grab a new one, his hand gropes at nothing but an empty pocket. "Lula!" he protests.
"What?" She blinks innocently at him, a smirk tugging at her lips. "I'm saving your life, Jack. You should be thanking me."
And normally this would be the part where he makes some wisecrack or jokes around and laughs with her, but he just stares ahead in stony silence.
The humor fades from her eyes and she nudges him gently. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," he says far too quickly, shaking his head with far too much finality. But his hands beg to differ; as he flicks a card into the air it flutters for a moment and slowly drifts to the pavement below. The throw was beyond weak, even for someone who hasn't dedicated their life to cutting pencils in half with playing cards, and Lula catches Jack's grimace and the slump of his shoulders as he watches it fall.
The next one goes a bit farther, and pretty soon he's dishing out an array of spades and hearts and clubs and diamonds before she grabs his wrist. "Don't you think people will find it a bit suspicious that cards are raining from the sky?"
He pauses and gives a small, sheepish nod, sliding the cards back in his pocket before resting his forearms on the edge and regaining that hard stare.
"So, you're being uncharacteristically quiet."
He glances at her. "And I thought Merritt was the mentalist."
"You're also mad about something. Wanna talk about it?"
He shakes his head.
"Okay, strong and silent type. I can live with that," she quips.
At this, a fleeting smile flashes on his face and the smallest of chuckles escapes his lips. Lula mentally pats herself on the back.
But it disappears as quickly as it came and Jack goes back to brooding.
"Jack-"
"Can I have my smokes back?" he interrupts before she can say anything else, and as his hand twitches with obvious desperation, there's a moment where Lula worries about an addiction.
She opens her mouth but shuts it again quickly. Jack can practically see a lightbulb go off over her head, and the smirk growing on her face is rather terrifying.
She fishes the pack of cigarettes out of her pocket. "Alright, Jackie-Boy, you can have your cancer sticks back. But first-" she says, whipping the box away as he reaches for it, a triumphant and tautning grin dancing across her face. "-you have to come with me."
He raises a slow, tentative eyebrow. "Where?"
"Now that's the question, isn't it?" she smirks. "You'll find out soon enough."
In no time at all they're flying down the fire escape, Jack leaping four steps at a time with surprising speed as Lula slides down the railing, a broad smile plastered on her face. They hit the ground running, feet pounding in rhythm against the pavement.
Lula leads him into the parking lot of a used car dealership and whirls around, her eyes glinting with mischief. "You know how to hotwire a car, right?" she asks eagerly.
He gives her a strange look. "Umm, yes...?"
As she surveys a run-down Jeep, Jack raises an eyebrow at her. "Lula, why are we stealing a car?"
"Stop asking questions, Jack. It's supposed to be a goddamn surprise."
He's done worse for less, so he holds his hands up in surrender as she points him to the Jeep and orders him to start working.
A few minutes later, the engine is roaring to life and the pair is climbing into the worn leather seats, Lula looking incredibly comfortable behind the steering wheel of a stolen car. She turns on the radio, which is blasting the tune of some pop song, and immediately hisses in disgust and twists the dial until it lands on a station that is currently playing something that sounds like Bon Jovi that Jack can't remember the name of. It occurs to him how long it's been since he's listened to the radio.
Lula hums along to the music, her gaze set firmly on the road as her head bobs to the beat. She obviously has no intention of telling him where they're going, so Jack leans back and rolls down a window, letting the cold night air brush past his face.
A red light blurs by, but Lula's foot is pressed firmly against the gas pedal and the stoplights and loud honks are mere annoyances as they streak down the road. Pretty soon, Jack smiles, and Lula's grinning at him with a smirk of ruby-red lipstick.
She speeds away, makes a few (probably illegal) turns, and pretty soon they're pulling up in front of a neglected building.
The plaster on the walls is chipping away, replaced by layers of graffitied words in neon letters. Several of the windows are either boarded up or shattered and the roof seems to be on the verge of collapse. But Lula's looking at it like it's a palace.
"Oh good," she says with a broad smile. "It's still here. I mean, any old abandoned building would work but I've always liked this one best."
Jack cocks his head at her, giving her a questioning half-smile. "For what? What exactly are we doing here?"
She just smirks at him before disappearing into the building.
He's about to call her back because the place seems like it could crumble any second but Lula emerges a moment later, holding a bright green pail that looks as though it belongs at the gift shop of a beach resort. Her face is lit up with excitement. "Okay, so, you're angry, right?"
He gives a dry smile, shoving his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and shrugging. "Who said I was angry?"
"Like it's not obvious. It's written all over your face, and I don't have to be a mentalist to figure it out," Lula says, smirking a little.
Jack huffs. She recognizes this as a sign that she's won and punches his shoulder affectionately.
"Alright, so, I'm not really the best with feelings," she begins, "but I know that the best thing to do when you're angry is break things."
There's skepticism in the raise of his eyebrow and Lula sighs loudly. "Just trust me, Wilder."
She holds the plastic bucket out to him, dangling it almost teasingly, and he grudgingly reaches in and pulls out...a stone.
Lula's giving him an encouraging smile, like this rock is supposed to solve all the problems in the world. When he doesn't respond, just tosses the stone around in his palm and fingers it, she tilts her head back and exhales impatiently.
"Just-watch and learn." She digs another stone from the bucket and rears her arm back. It flies, crashing through a high window, and she smiles as though it's the best feeling in the world. "Go on," she eggs.
His first rock bounces harmlessly off the side of the building. He winces.
Two tries later, the sound of breaking glass follows his throw and he has to admit, it feels good. It feels good to break something, to finally have an outlet for the brewing anger that seemed desperate to drown him, to throw his worries away with every stone that leaves his grip. He throws again. And again.
Shards rain on them but they're both whooping, grins plastered on both of their faces as they fling stone after stone at the building. Each throw drains a little of his anger away and leaves him feeling a little lighter.
He counts every window he smashes (and it feels good to be counting something other than stolen money and days since Danny left and blows from his father) and they're left with twenty-one empty panes and a pool of shattered glass at the end of the night. He sends a final stone flying into one of the last intact windows for good measure, then lets out a satisfied sigh.
The sirens come soon after, wailing their way down the streets as they bathe the night in red and blue (a noise complaint? maybe the police discovered the stolen car?) Whatever the case, the magicians are laughing as they leap into the Jeep and Lula slams the gas.
They fly, they bullet down the roads and swerve between the few cars that still linger and they yell and scream and everything's a wonderful blur, a high that the few drugs he's taken in his life never gave him.
The police are good at their job, but Jack and Lula are better, and pretty soon, they're way out of sight of the cops, pulling into an alley, breathless.
"So I was right, huh?" Lula grins, eyes dancing eagerly.
He doesn't say anything, just cups her cheek and then they're kissing like there's no tomorrow, like nothing else matters and it doesn't, and it's perfect, and nothing can ever ruin this, because he's with Lula May (and family is overrated anyway).
She slides the pack of "cancer sticks" into the pocket of his jacket before she tears it off of him.
They come back to the apartment at 2 AM with their hair dishelved and their fingers interlocked, and Merritt's still wiped out from too many bottles of Vodka but Danny's sitting at the table, his mouth twisted into an anxious frown, and there's a string of apologies and the exchange of hugs that comes after.
Later, Jack goes to smoke, only to find that his lighter is gone and the cigarettes have been replaced by rolls of newspaper.
And honestly, he doesn't really mind.