Questions of Science

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, this text was written for the purpose of entertainment only.

*A/N* So, Blue Obsidian Butterfly asked for something like this and I was more than happy to write it ;) I had a completely different take on it in mind at first, but (unlike my protagonist...) I'm not very good at planning, so I stuck with something a little more improvised.

Please excuse my more or less British English and enjoy!

I was just guessing at numbers and figures,
Pulling the puzzles apart
Questions of science, science and progress
Cannot speak as loud as my heart

-from "The Scientist" by Coldplay

Daniel was very fond of facts, a man of plans and lists and schedules. They gave things an order, they made the world a place he could understand and that was what he needed to feel safe.

To most people, he probably seemed a little too logical and disciplined to fall in love with something as irrational as magic, but to him, that was part of the appeal - everybody else saw the impossible, things that defied all sorts of rules and laws and logic, but he knew better. In the end, a good illusion was all about the planning.

And no one was better at planning than he was.

Which was why he was generally opposed to the idea of love, because most of all it meant losing control over himself and then willingly handing over the small amount he had left.

That didn't mean he had never been in love, nor did it mean he had no love life at all. In fact the others would probably agree he had more than enough experience on that subject.

He'd learned to fear things he couldn't control (from what most people would probably call a difficult childhood), being such a control freak enabled him to be so incredibly good at what he did.

Daniel always had a plan. And a backup plan. And a plan in case the backup plan failed.

Except of course when it came to Henley Reeves.

He'd met her because a plan had failed (he hadn't managed to get a cab, then got a coffee to pass the time and ran straight into her, spilling said coffee all over her coat) and he'd lost her because a plan had failed (to cut it short, he'd got a lot more drunk than he'd intended, then she got very drunk, too, they ended up in her flat, then when he woke up and realised what he'd done, he ran away, she left town and he refrained from calling. End of story).

He wasn't sure whether or not she knew that he loved her (that he had always loved her), but he knew very well that in some way she still was in love with him - even though she was nowhere near ready to forgive him.

Probably all she wanted was for him to fall on his knees and apologise, but for that he was far too proud.

But fact was, he was stuck in a situation that he couldn't stand for much longer, and sooner or later he would have to do something. Even if it meant sacrificing the shred of dignity he had left.

.

.

It began with a spontaneous stop on his way back to their flat. Henley had announced to cook dinner and he was running late already - it wasn't his fault, the stupid cab got stuck in the traffic - but the flower caught his eye and he slowed down his steps, smiling when a very short, but significant memory came rushing back to him.

Perhaps the time had come to make up for a thing or two.

.

"I'm back," he yelled in no particular direction, feeling stupid before he even closed his mouth - he sounded like the husband in some ridiculous soap opera. Hi honey, I'm home.

When had he started doing this when he came home?

Better question: when had this flat become "home"?

"Danny." Henley threw him an accusing look. "You're late."

"I know. Sorry. Where are the others?"

She shrugged and placed a big bowl on the table. "I said you were late, not that the others weren't."

He shook his head, smiling inwardly, helped her lay the table and casually made the rose appear in her glass.

"Is that… is that a black rose?" she asked, looking at him in surprise.

"I don't know, is it? I'm not too good with flowers," he shot back grinning and poured red wine in their glasses - the only incentive for Merritt to join them at the table at all.

Gathering them all for dinner was a form of art, anyway. Jack was always hungry, so he wouldn't have been a problem. Only somehow he always managed to eat at some sort of fast-food restaurant minutes before dinner (sometimes Daniel wondered whether the pickpocket was even able to read a watch). Then there was Merritt who couldn't be bothered with interpersonal conventions and whose usual diet seemed to mostly consist of liquor anyway. Daniel himself ate normally - that was, unless he was busy. It was not a disorder or anything, he just forgot to eat sometimes.

But Henley had the special talent to get them all at the table at the same time - not every night, not every week, not even every month, but from time to time.

"Thanks," she muttered, nodding towards the flower.

"It was a lot cheaper than dinner would have been," Daniel gave back and she laughed.

"That embarrassing line about roses, by the way, I remember saying it," he added quietly (not very subtle, but points for effort).

"You do?"

"Of course. Your jerk of a boyfriend, Craig or whatever the idiot's name was, left you and I forced you to work nevertheless," she threw him a pointed look and he added hastily, "not very thoughtful of me. I bought you roses because like that I didn't actually have to say sorry."

Henley burst out laughing. "Really? That's all you had in mind? Very romantic."

"It wasn't supposed to be romantic, we were not a couple," he pointed out.

"Right, like you were out for a purely platonic relationship at any point of it."

"That's rubbish, I did." For at least two minutes.

"I didn't know we were having dinner on Memory Lane." Merritt waltzed in and downed his entire glass of wine at once, ignoring Daniel's disapproving glance.

"Yeah well, I didn't know we were having cold dinner," Henley gave back and dropped on her chair. "You're late. And Jack, where the hell have you been?"

"I was trying to make him go home," Jack explained somewhat defensively. "I told him we'd be late."

"Of course." Daniel threw him a look and started to dish out pasta.

"I did!"

"Alright, alright, just eat! I didn't stand around here for two hours for nothing."

"You stood in the kitchen 'cause you're a woman and that's where you belong," Merritt teased. Apparently the alcohol had made him reckless. Henley threw a napkin at him and Daniel let the bottle disappear (fine, he just slipped it off the table when Merritt wasn't looking - he was not on stage and three magicians, okay, two proper ones, were watching and could have told the trick anyway ).

There was no need to let the friendly banter get anywhere uncomfortable.

.

"Well, anyway, I'm off. You people just don't know how to party," Merritt announced half an hour later, having finished dessert and noticed the mysterious disappearance of the wine bottle.

Jack announced he had somewhere to go, too (he was suspiciously vague about his exact destination), so Daniel was left with the washing up, half a bottle of red wine, an imaginative collection of bad movies, a handful of good books and Henley Reeves.

"So... crappy prequel or unnecessary sequel?" she asked and held up two DVDs.

He eyed them both for a while. "We've really got nothing else?"

"The rest's even worse."

"Fine then, you pick one, I don't care."

She shrugged. "Okay, but don't complain."

He smiled. "I'll complain to Jack, he bought them."

"Nice idea." She dropped down next to him on the sofa. "Stay away from that bottle, though."

"Why, are you scared of history repeating itself?"

He'd expected her to snort and tell him to not be an idiot, but she didn't say anything. Interesting.

.

"Good Lord, that's the most boring movie I've ever seen."

"I know, right?" Henley grinned. "I mean, it's been going on for ages and all that guy does is drive around in that ugly car."

"Please put it out, Henley. Please."

"You've got absolutely no endurance, Danny."

"I don't care, just make it end, Reeves, I beg you," he whined and lunged for the remote control, but she was faster and held it out of his reach.

"What would I get in return?"

He frowned. Was she… flirting with him?

Well, he hadn't been prepared for it, but flirting was nothing he couldn't handle.

"Anything, Henley. Anything you want. Just give me the damned remote."

A smile spread out on her lips. "Come and get it."

If he moved any closer, he'd practically be lying on top of her, and as much as he'd like that, he wouldn't want to take it too far. (It was only ten thirty after all).

So he got to his feet. "Let me work some magic, Ms Reeves. I'll just press this button here and…," he pressed the off-switch on the DVD-player, "abracadabra, the screen goes black."

"Wow. Impressive trick, Danny."

Pulling out his cards, he sat back down on the sofa. "Okay, here's a better one. Pick a card."

"Spare me."

"C'mon, pick one."

She sighed dramatically. "Show-off." She grabbed one and took a brief look at it.

"Now put it in your pocket."

She shoved it into the back pocket of her jeans and threw him a questioning look.

"Where are you going with this, Henley?" he asked while he started shuffling his cards.

"Going with what?"

"You, me, tonight?"

Henley scoffed. "You're extraordinarily full of yourself today, Danny."

"Am I?" he shot back, registering with satisfaction how she had to force her eyes back on his hands.

"Yes, you are," she answered, still staring fixedly on the cards.

He was not Merritt, but he didn't exactly need to be. Her words were getting slower and her tense position on that couch looked damn uncomfortable. Clearly she found him a bit … distracting, and the faint blush appearing on her cheeks was more evidence than he needed.

He stopped shuffling and her eyes darted up to his face. For a moment (perhaps a moment too long) he held her gaze, then grinned at her and held out his hand. "Is this your card?"

Her eyes flickered to the card for a second. "Yes of course it is," she whined with a pained smile. Then suddenly, she frowned and slipped a hand in her pocket. "Hang on, how the hell did you-"

He chuckled. "You're pretty easily distracted, Henley."

"You could do that to anyone."

"Are you talking about the card or the distraction?"

Henley smiled and leaned closer. "Stop your tricks, Danny."

"It's not a trick, it's a question," he answered quietly (was it his imagination or did his voice become a little slurred, too?).

"It's a trick question," she insisted.

"Don't be picky."

"No matter what I answer, you'll use it against me."

He desperately tried to find something else to stare at than her large brown eyes, but she was so close now the only alternative were her lips and that was no improvement.

Hell, seven years and she still made him so nervous he felt like his lungs were failing him.

"That's Merritt's area of expertise," he muttered.

"Liar. Playing people is all you have."

Daniel was seconds away from cursing. He could interpret his own body language without a mirror, damn it, he was behaving like an amateur. Like a teenager on his first date. Shaking hands, quickened breaths, accelerated heartbeat, probably even the good old dilated pupils.

"Right back at you, Henley."

"Are you telling me I can play you?"

He'd run straight into that one, hadn't he?

"Of course you can. And you're enjoying it far too much."

"Right back at you."

Breathe, Daniel.

To hell with it. This wasn't fair, he'd been missing that woman for seven bloody years, he was slightly tipsy, had had little sleep all week, he was lonely (maybe a tiny bit desperate), she was way too close for her own good and he really was not to blame if he couldn't resist any longer.

So he crossed those last few inches left between them and kissed her, his hands shaking worse than ever and his heart beating like he'd run a mile, because maybe he was more than a little desperate.

Somewhere in the back of his head he had expected her to resist, to protest, but she didn't. Of course she didn't, she was Henley and he should have learned by now he couldn't calculate her behaviour.

Instead, she wrapped her arms around him, kissing him back until he felt completely dazed and shaky and something that was either very happy or very, very sad, he couldn't tell.

"Wait," he muttered and pulled back just a bit. "Wait. I'm… I'm trying not to screw up this time. Can we get this working?"

"I don't know," she whispered. "Maybe."

He could see something flicker in her hazel eyes, fear perhaps. And he was afraid, too - afraid of losing control, afraid of getting his heart broken again, afraid of breaking something they'd only just fixed - but if he had ever trusted anyone, then it was her.

She buried her fingers in his hair and pulled him closer, and for a second, before his brain shut off completely, he thought maybe getting it work wouldn't be so hard after all.

.

Hiding it from the others, however - because there was no way they could just tell them - hiding it would be hell.

(But if this was what he got in return, he was willing to take it).

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