[Oh my, I'm quite pleased with this fic. When I realized that there were no meaningful relationship fics that weren't romantic in this fandom, I decided to contribute a little piece I had in my mind to create more variety. Oh, and it didn't help there's BARELY any Merritt fics! I mean, sure, I initially went to see this movie because a) it was my birthday, and b) I have a ginormous crush on Mark Ruffalo. But, when I left the theater, I was obsessed with Woody Harrelson as Merritt McKinney, and he was a huge part of the reason why I went to see Now You See Me two more times. I kind of want to be best friends with Merritt, haha! :)
Part of the reason I love this so much is because it took a sudden turn I myself wasn't expecting. When I write, a lot of times I set out a goal. I want to explore how characters would react in this scenario, or something I had realized that people tended to not notice. I began this fic with a specific goal, but instead, the end taught me something I hadn't realized myself: that - in many ways - Dylan and Merritt are just alike, and have so much potential for a strong friendship.
Obviously, I own nothing. It is rated T for language (as in apparently all I can write is the f-bomb. Eeep!). I'm going to blame Merritt for the language this time, although I was the one writing it.
Babbling session over! I hope you enjoy!]
It might be surprising to some, but Merritt McKinney struggled most nights to fall asleep. He often blamed this on his restless mind, one that suffered from being too overwhelmed by his "ability" to relax. Perhaps he was right; perhaps he wasn't.
Most people would be frustrated by their insomnia, but Merritt had been struggling with it for most of his life. He'd grown used to catching naps whenever he could, sleeping as long as his mind would allow, and making use of every moment he was awake.
Most nights, now that they were living in the countryside—not New York, since his new hobby would be near impossible and very unsafe—he chose to take late-night strolls by himself. It aggravated the rest of the Horsemen to no end; Danny liked to know where everyone was at every moment of every day—"We can't have someone getting caught by authorities!"—and he tended to irritate the others with his complaining, leading to their irritation toward Merritt. But, Merritt didn't mind their complaints; it was his time, and they'd eventually grow used to his leaving.
That's what he was doing, strolling through the fields of their property, when the sudden sound of footsteps began behind him. He didn't even have to think long before he knew who it was.
"Dylan Rhoades," he said, smirking as he refused to turn around, to demonstrate how obvious the fraud FBI agent was being right now.
The footsteps immediately halted, and then Dylan said, "Merritt McKinney."
Turning around—making sure to leave the smirk on his face—he scanned his eyes over the middle-aged man. Sure, Dylan had been keeping contact with all four of them, just to provide information from the Eye and keep them updated on when they could possibly relocate. However, this was the first time the hypnotist had seen the magician since he had revealed that he orchestrated the entire thing. He looked very much the same, if not more well-kept, for obvious reasons. Even though Merritt and Henley constantly bickered back and forth about the issue, Merritt knew for a fact that Dylan was frequently with that Interpol chick. It was written all over his face, programmed into his expressions and the way his body moved.
For someone who had been able to pull off the greatest magic trick the world had ever seen, he sure was awful at hiding that he'd been fucking the pretty little French girl.
"What are you doing here?" Merritt asked, somewhat suspicious of the man's sudden appearance.
"I could ask you the same," responded Dylan, not even budging from where he stood. Yeah, he was nowhere near the same guy who had interrogated them a few months ago. That guy was way too gullible, easy to trick; Merritt never would've guessed that Dylan Rhoades was magic material. And yet, it was like he had shed his skin. The old, false detective was gone, and in his place was a mysterious, unpredictable, better Dylan Rhoades, one who had a knack for disappearing within seconds. A Dylan Rhoades 2.0.
Merritt wondered briefly what the French girl thought of her new boyfriend's completely different personality. She probably thought it was incredibly sexy.
Shoving his hands in his pockets and making sure to smile really big—people had told him that his smile could come across as really menacing, so he'd made sure to use it all of the time—the hypnotist remarked, "I couldn't sleep, so I decided to take a walk. What about you?" he asked, taking a couple of strides forward before stopping again. "What sort of secretive chaos are you causing?"
"Some nights," Dylan commented, mimicking his company's steps forward, "I like to come by, and guess as to what you guys are doing. I would imagine a set of magicians have plenty of resources and ideas for entertaining themselves."
"Liar. You just missed us."
Surprisingly, Dylan nodded. "That too. Even though I never approach any of you guys, just being near your house makes me feel… less alone." He wasn't looking at Merritt anymore; instead his eyes were fixed on the charming little residence they were calling home for the meantime, looking as if he were deep in thought.
"Except for tonight," Merritt added, and Dylan chuckled, now looking down toward his feet.
"Except for tonight," he echoed in agreement.
"And the Interpol agent?" Merritt decided to add, wanting confirmation so he could rub it in Henley's face. While he had been polite enough to not call her his "French fuck-buddy," nobody could keep Merritt from being nosy. As a hypnotist with very good body-reading skills, curiosity was as in his nature as forcing shy people to do the chicken dance in front of an audience.
With a smile inflecting in his voice—Merritt could tell he knew that he couldn't have kept that hidden from him—Dylan answered, "Yes, I am seeing Alma. Except, France is considerably further than here, so I can't exactly make midnight visits very easily."
"Understandable," Merritt agreed, reaching up to tilt his hat in acknowledgement. "I'm just glad to hear we make perfectly suitable substitutes for having sex with your foreign girlfriend." Who ever said Merritt McKinney could be polite for very long?
Dylan laughed, admitting, "Yeah, I kind of walked myself into that one, didn't I?"
"Sure did!" Now Merritt was laughing with him, and he found himself loosening up some. Dylan didn't seem as superior anymore, and Merritt found that he could relax and lower some of his guards.
"It's good to see you, old friend," he announced, stepping forward to give him a bear hug, which was quickly reciprocated.
"I'm glad you decided to take a walk tonight," Dylan told him, smiling as he let go. And then, suddenly, he asked, "Did I tell you that you were the closest of the Four Horsemen to figuring me out?"
The words, "I was?" spilled out of Merritt's mouth before he could come up with a very cocky retort. It was a shame; if he'd had a second to think, he could've said something brilliant.
Nodding, Dylan confirmed, "Yeah, you were. Remember? Daddy issues?"
Merritt instantly remembered his first encounter with the son of Lionel Shrike. Sure, he would never forget that moment—the reaction he had earned was too hilarious to forget (although it would never beat Mr. Tranny Tuesdays)—but this was the first time he drew a connection between the interrogation and what he now knew to be true. "Ah," he said. "I guess I kind of did."
"Despite all of my precautions, you caught of glimpse of what I was hiding." Beginning to walk—with Merritt taking similar strides next to him—he added, "Even though I had no doubts about any of your abilities, that moment reassured anything nagging in the back of my mind. If the others didn't prove themselves to the Eye, I wouldn't regret it, because you were so much better than I expected."
For once in his life, Merritt had no response fitting for this moment. He always had believed that he was the burden; sure, he could hypnotize people, and detect parts of someone's life from the way they moved or talked, but he couldn't do much more than that. Danny was born a leader—thanks to his inability to tolerate things being out of his control—Henley had so many mind-boggling tricks up her sleeves—as well as had a fantastic body—and Jack might as well be a fucking ninja.
If anything, Merritt believed he was there to be the comic relief; that is, if Danny wasn't already stealing that particular show.
Finally, when Merritt found it was impossible to express his thanks in words—he was not the type for being sentimental—he uttered a simple, "Thanks," before addressing what had been bugging him.
"How… how were you able to plan the entire trick? How were you able to hide so well in the open that nobody even suspected you?"
There was silence when Dylan quit walking, but Merritt didn't notice at first. He realized it after a couple of steps, and had to turn around to catch a glimpse of the saddest expression he had ever seen on someone's face. Dylan looked absolutely heartbroken when he spoke.
"That's something you'll learn very quickly about the Eye. It requires planning, so many hellish years of planning—you have to have a plan, a backup plan, a backup plan for your backup plan, and so on—and so many sacrifices to be able to pull off anything the Eye asks of you. I had been plotting for years, teaching myself magic and coming up with clever approaches, when the Eye found me. I happened to get lucky; the Eye and I had the same objective. We wanted to remove Thaddeus Bradley from the throne he had created for himself. In that way, it was a little easier for me.
"As for becoming Dylan Rhoades, FBI agent? Well, let's say shortly after the Eye recruited me, I realized I couldn't remain as Dylan Rhoades, son of the late Lionel Shrike, and be able to pull off my plan without attracting attention. Luckily, I was still young enough to be able to completely reform myself, to become a false identity, the identity of a boy who desperately wants to fight crime. I gave up my true self just to satisfy my thirst for revenge…" he trailed off, and Merritt found himself placing a hand on his shoulder. He felt bad, for the man had no real identity now that he'd had his revenge. He was a clean slate, with nothing to live for except the Eye.
Suddenly, Dylan was looking up at him, a sad smirk on his lips. "C'mon, Mr. Hypnotist, you should probably head on back. It's late."
Nodding—according to his own wristwatch, it was just past three in the morning—Merritt was beginning to walk away, when he suddenly found words.
"I'm sorry, Dylan."
Because, in a way, he understood completely. Sure, he hadn't lost his father, but he had lost his career before the Eye had sought him out. He had nothing left, nothing more than a shell of a greater man and a few who remembered that man's glory days.
As if, for once, Dylan was reading him, he gave Merritt a sympathetic smile. "Of you four, you'll adjust to life under the Eye best, because you have nothing to lose."
Merritt's throat beginning to close up from emotions he had hidden away, emotions he didn't want to revisit, he turned to walk away, to hide the expression he knew was on his face, but glanced back.
Dylan was already gone.