This is set sometime between the first and second performance of the Four Horsemen.
Disclaimer: I don't own the movie Now You See Me. If I did there would probably be a movie filled purely with Denley - yeah, I'm pretty obsessed with them!
He hates seeing her like this.
It feels strange just thinking those words – she's Henley, for god's sake, with her flaming hair and cherry-red lips and no one, no one should hate anything about her, or have him to deal with – but this time, it's true.
She's lying on her side, a pillow over her face. It muffles her voice as she tries to tell him to leave her alone, whining that she looks horrible. But he can't do that – her hair's sticking out of her head in every direction, her glowing complexion pale and washed out, her laughing eyes closed with exhaustion. Still, she's the most beautiful girl he's ever seen. She's never needed the tight, slinky dresses, or the stage make-up, or even the pointy sky-high heels that she'd always paraded around in as his assistant. Seeing her collapsed on her bed, looking so vulnerable and still and young, brings awash protective instincts that Danny is starting to realize he only feels when Henley is around.
You don't look terrible – you're beautiful, he tries to tell her, but as always, his throat closes on his words, forcing them back inside. Coward. Instead, he approaches her bed, his feet padding quietly on the plush rug. "Can I get you anything?" he asks, the arrogance in his voice gone, leaving it soft, quiet. Hesitant. "Henley?"
She pushes the pillow aside, making a face as she sits up onto her mound of pillows. Her head must be killing her, but she musters up enough energy to raise an eyebrow at him. "Are you being nice to me?"
His cheeks flush; he can suddenly hear the thump-thump-thump of his heartbeat racing through his veins. "I need you well for our next performance," he blurts, words rushing together, his cheeks turning an even darker shade of red as he tries to cover himself. Smooth, Danny, he scolds himself, taking a deep breath before he continues, "And besides, this isn't the first time I've taken care of you."
And so it isn't, and they both know it. He casts his mind to what seems like eons ago, back when they used to be magician and assistant, living together in a tiny two-bedroom flat. She had gotten sick a couple of times, being that she'd had to parade around in a tiny, see-through outfit in an air-conditioned room a couple of times a week. Danny had felt guilty enough to stay home and take care of her, always managing to nurse her back to health despite his one atrocious attempt at making chicken broth.
She shrugs, a hint of a smile evident on her face - watching him uncomfortable had probably made her day. "Sure. Can you get me some Panadol? And a glass of water?"
He smiles, relieved that she hadn't requested anything he'd have to cook – but then again, she probably remembers the chicken broth incident, he thinks wryly. "I can do that," He nods.
She smiles widely this time, her features lighting up for a moment or two, and dear god, he swears the sun just came up. "Thanks, Danny."
And so, for the first time in years, Danny takes care of Henley. Much to his amazement, she lets him, even keeping the sarcastic comments to a minimum.
Later that day, Danny wonders if he's on the road for redemption; he berates himself, for what feels like the millionth time, for being young and breathtakingly stupid enough to let her walk out of the door all those years ago. Never again, he promises himself.
And he knows that one of these days, when he tries to tell her she's beautiful, his throat won't close on the words.
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