Toska

by ficamaze

Again, his patience was tested, and he rose to the challenge of waiting once more. Daniel comforts himself by saying that – this time – he knew what he was waiting for. Maybe, this time, it won't take so much time after all. He was wrong, and he hated it.

TOSKA

NOTES: So this is me taking a break from the series (ahem, shameless self-plugging, ahem) and trying my hand at something a little new for me: angst (as I am a generally happy person).

You know the drill – for feedback and brave volunteers for future beta purposes, leave a comment (or two or three) or email me directly at ficamaze .

This is primarily a Lover's Death story. I do not own anyone (i.e., characters, etc) or anything (i.e., lines, scenes, concepts, etc) from the Now You See Me series.

Absolutely no copyright infringement intended. I really am just a hopeless fan girl refreshing my feed for more stories about Lover's Death and Hermit+Priestess (daily, twice a day, might I add).

At the lowest level it grades into ennui, boredom.

For someone who brought a little magic into ordinary people's lives every day, J. Daniel Atlas was bored.

It was the same damn routine each day, only without the stability and security that was usually the perk of routine: wake up, stay on the streets for a couple of hours for a couple of dollars, grab a bite, walk around the city and possibly be inspired to learn a new magic trick, perform again for a couple of dollars, and – if he was lucky that day – take an amazed spectator home for the night.

During those nights Daniel didn't have to spend alone, he was content, thinking that what he did was worth it. But every time the sun came up, he'd kick said person out of his apartment, never to get in touch with him or her again. The reason why he pushed people away escaped his conscious mind, but deep inside, he supposed that maybe he was just waiting for a certain person to come along and make it right in his mind.

He was bored, but he was a pretty patient guy. And though he didn't quite know what he was waiting for, he waited, getting through each day for the next year of his life knowing that he was waiting for something that was definitely, definitely worth it.

Daniel just knew it when he saw the card sticking out from his shoe, wondering how the hell it got there. He paid absolutely no attention to the indignant words of the girl he had taken home for the night – he was vaguely aware of some dismissive words coming out of his mouth and the door slamming, but those didn't matter, not when he flipped the card and was filled with that feeling that this was it.

The wait was over. It was time for some real magic.

In particular cases it may be the desire for somebody or something specific, nostalgia, lovesickness.

It was four months with The Horsemen that Daniel realized something changed. He was no longer bored – not at all! – but a new feeling close to desire, but not quite, gnawed at him constantly, and he couldn't exactly pinpoint what the source was, or even what the exact feeling was to begin with.

At first, he thought it was seeing the budding relationship between Henley and Merritt: after all, he and Henley did have history, and seeing how well the Hermit and the Priestess gelled together from the very day they all met in front of that dingy New York apartment was probably making a sentimental fool out of him. But as time passed, he realized more and more that whatever this feeling was had absolutely nothing to do with Henley and Merritt.

After all, the feeling didn't fill him wordlessly whenever Henley or Merritt walked into the room with a half-smile and his signature leather jacket, flipping through his cards carelessly. Daniel realized that there was never supposed to be a revelation to speak of: he knew it from the first day that they met, seeing the sleight light up and knowing it was because of him, his sincerity in saying that it was so nice to meet a true fan, someone who – finally – looked up to him and the one thing he was proud of.

Again, his patience was tested, and he rose to the challenge of waiting once more. Daniel comforts himself by saying that – this time – he knew what he was waiting for. Maybe, this time, it won't take so much time after all.

He was wrong, and he hated it.

At less morbid levels it is a dull ache of the soul, a longing with nothing to long for, a sick pining, a vague restlessness, mental throes, yearning.

The first show went without a hitch, marking exactly one year since the Hermit, the High Priestess, the Lover, and Death met in New York City. There was the anguishing wait in their hotel room, their long interrogation sessions with the FBI, getting away with everything, extracting their benefactor's personal information on the plane. Daniel had to feign so many things in that last task: lingering affection for Henley, resentment towards Merritt, indifference toward him, complete with a passive double pat on the cheek. It was beginning to wear him out inexplicably, and he felt restless just thinking about how long he had waited, and how – still – nothing happened.

For the first time, he felt his patience was being tested. Exactly how long was he supposed to wait?

Later on, following the explosive chase with the FBI after their show, Daniel would wish he knew that he didn't have to wait much longer – maybe he could have been a bit more animated and enthusiastic about their second successful show, and maybe he would have been able to better enjoy the look on everyone's face when they realized that The Four Horsemen were getting away with this second heist.

"You fucking moron!" was the angry shout that greeted him when Daniel entered their rendezvous point, and he found himself being slammed mercilessly against the wall. Feral brown eyes bored into him, and there was a light blush creeping on his assailant's face as he spat out, "You nearly got shot, you idiot!"

"But I didn't," Daniel said calmly, though his heart was hammering away in his chest. It was thumping so loud that he was sure the other man must have heard it, he must… "You were there."

"And if I wasn't, huh, Danny?" the sleight spat out furiously. "What would happen then? What would I do without you then?" He stopped, eyes widening as he realized what he said. His grip on Daniel slackened, and he took a step back. "What I mean is—"

Daniel shook his head roughly, taking a few predatory steps toward the younger man. He was having none of it. He saw a crack, the opportunity he had been waiting for, and damn it if he wasn't going to break the dam walls and have him pour his soul to fuse with this man's; damn it if he would ever let him go, now that he saw what he was waiting for.

He pushed himself into the sleight, locking their lips desperately, as though they could be one person if they kissed long enough. An obscene moan and a hot gasp escaped the sleight as he clung to Daniel for dear life, and neither of them knew who pushed who into one of their rooms, and they didn't care, not anymore. All they cared about was to break all barriers between them, clothing included, and Daniel was vaguely aware that they didn't even make it to the bed.

The floor was cold and hard beneath him, but it didn't matter to him, nothing did, because only one thing ever truly mattered, and that was the name that he was uttering repeatedly like a frenzied prayer for rain in the hottest drought of the century. He knew it was going to be worth it, and he felt relief at filling the inexplicable void in him, one that started the moment he saw the beautiful man on top of him and thought, this man can't possibly ever want me.

"Say my name, Danny, say it again and again," his beautiful voice begged above him, moving and causing Danny to spasm in pleasure. "I want to hear it, I want it to be the only thing that matters to you—" Daniel shuddered, nodding desperately, unable to think. "Say it, Danny."

It was a colossal effort, but it was all too worth it, like he knew from the start it was. He looked to the high heavens with a smile as he felt nimble hands all over his body, clawing and grasping for land and air like a drowning and dying man being swept away by the uncontrollable waves of the ocean.

"Say it," came a low growl.

"Jack," he whispered raggedly.

It was more than just bursts of passion in the heat of the moment for both of them, and Daniel knew it. He knew that Jack knew it, too: why else would they seek each other's company in between moments preparing for their final task, not for ragged love-making, but for quiet companionship?

Life wasn't easy for any of them. But for the first time in his twenty-six years, even now as he was on the run from authorities and in hiding, he thought that maybe this was what it was like to feel whole and completely contented. And he was certain, more than anything he ever planned for in his life, more than anything he ever thought he had control over, that Jack Wilder had spelled the difference for him.

"What are we going to do after all this, Danny?" Jack had asked one day as they sat on the park bench, observing the passersby who paid them no mind.

"The show, you mean?"

The sleight shrugged. "Yeah, everything, I guess."

"Well, our orders run out after the show," Daniel answered. "I suppose we can do what we want then."

"What do you want to do?" Jack asked carefully, looking at him with calm brown eyes.

He returned the gaze levelly. "You know full well what I want to do, Jack."

A thick eyebrow quirked as the other man smiled his signature half-smile. "Do I? Care to enlighten me?"

Daniel gave him a half smile before closing the gap between them, cupping Jack's face in his hands and kissing him deeply. It felt different this time as Jack returned the kiss enthusiastically – it was ridiculously beautiful, and delicious, and absolutely perfect. He never knew just how intoxicating it was to be so close to anyone in this life, but he knew for certain that this kind of close would only ever be perfect with Jack, and suddenly, he wished this moment would never end.

But it had to, and though he reluctantly pulled away from Jack after a long, long time, he consoled himself in knowing that this was the start of so much more of these moments that they can fully own, not as The Showman and The Sleight, but as Daniel Atlas and Jack Wilder. He bumped their foreheads together, looking at Jack laugh breathily, wondering how someone could possibly so beautiful without trying.

"You'll find out tomorrow," he promised. "It will be a new start."

It seemed like that was the last lucid memory Daniel had for the next few days, if it wasn't alternating with the memories of a black car doing several 360s – as planned – or of black smoke rising – as planned – or of the orange flames eating up his struggling body, before exploding into a raging inferno that ate up everything in sight...

Later on, when the three had convened to say that there would be no blaming and pointing fingers, that it was absolutely no one's fault, Daniel knew it in his mind: he missed his cue by a split second, and it was only because he chanced a glanced at the rearview mirror, to make sure that Jack was okay, that the FBI was still in check, and they were, but he missed his fucking cue and Jack missed his chance to disappear as the car behind him accelerated to keep up, and the carefully formed plan promptly fell apart in a blaze of glory.

Failure was never so painful for him. All the reasons he had for being a control freak, for wanting to be on top of things, for having absolutely no attachments but to the plan on hand – all these reasons came back to him as he watched on national TV as paramedics extracted a charred corpse, a corpse that should have been dead from the start, a corpse that should not have been that of the man he—

Daniel felt like he was drowning, but in a voice he no longer recognized as his own, he said that the show must go on as he turned off the television set and took a seat on the couch, preparing the recording device that would tell the world where The Horsemen would go from here. It was all an act, and he got through it with no problems at all. There was a plan waiting to unfold, and he had to follow through, he had to make sure everything went without a hitch, everything proceeded perfectly, because no way in fucking hell would he ever allow it to be all for nothing.

Later on, the revelation in Central Park would have meant something to Daniel in another world, and there was an overwhelming feeling that he couldn't describe as Agent Dylan Rhodes stepped into the light, and the pained look in his eyes reminded Daniel of everything that he was trying to forget.

Only one word fell from his lips. "Jack?"

Dylan said nothing, and didn't move. He only hung his head in shame, because it was his plan, but Daniel knew that the plan was perfect, and Daniel failed the plan, and Daniel failed him. Daniel gulped and nodded cordially, handing over his card.

Dylan took it wordlessly. Henley was crying, and Merritt was watching him with haunted eyes as he started to walk away from everything he lost.

At its deepest and most painful, it is a sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without a specific cause.

Los Angeles was not the place he remembered, but then again, no place would probably be as he remembered from now on. When he returned to the apartment he gave up so many months ago, he was not surprised that it was perfectly clean and completely habitable, and a manila envelope on the kitchen counter gave him a new identity, and a new start.

It was like everything was fading: one day, his hands started shaking so bad that he knew he would never again be able to do even a simple shuffle. That was the day he lost magic.

One day, his voice started cracking, and the more he tried to talk, the more he couldn't breathe, let alone put on a moderately decent show. That was the day he lost the show.

One day, he woke up to a room that smelled overly sterile and clean, and he heard some low voices talking about malnutrition, and losing the will to live, and he wondered who they were talking to… hell, he wondered who he was. That was probably the day he lost his sanity.

He seemed to have forgotten his name, too. But he didn't forget the one name he uttered again and again, like a frenzied prayer for rain in the middle of the hottest summer drought of the century.

He wished it was the one thing he never lost.

The Eye, apparently, never stopped watching over him, and they took an empty shell back with them. There was a small Chinese woman, and her tall grandson, who would talk to him, trying to reach him underneath layers of blank stares and nothingness.

It took months before he got his first words out, and his voice was rough with disuse as he said, "I want back in."

The Horsemen celebrated the return of their showman, and Daniel thought that life could go back to normal – it actually did, a little bit, even with the new girl in the team, Lula May. He laughed, he had fun, his magic was back, the show was back, and most days, he felt pretty good. Hell, he even felt exhilarated when the Big Ben struck midnight, ushering in a New Year with the whole of London, the father and son criminal tandem, and his fellow Horsemen. The happiness all around him was overwhelming, and Daniel put his hands in his coat pocket, taking in the celebration taking place all around him.

As people made speeches about new memories in the new year, an indescribable feeling washed over him as he remembered the anger, the fear, that brought the showman and the sleight together in New Orleans; he remembered seeing Death for the first time, awestruck at the Lover in front of a dingy New York apartment; he remembered the park, where they were just Danny and Jack, with a promise that was never fulfilled.

There was a pang in his chest as he stroked the velvet box in his pocket with his nimble fingers, his way of stealing a quiet moment with the one person he would never forget, and never really lose. Daniel smiled to himself, for the new year and the new start he would make for two. The wait was over, and it was high time he kept that promise.

It was time for some real magic.