THE LESS YOU'LL SEE
NOTES: I know, I know. I'm sorry.
I've received encouragement in the last months, and I'm honestly grateful for each like, follow, and comment on the story. I will never abandon this ship, but with a doubled workload and an engagement to the man of my dreams, Jack and Danny had to take a backseat for a while.
I'm back, and as you can see in this chapter, it's largely inspired by the lovely song "Sex and Candy". 3 Advanced apologies for anything that might be out of place, as I'm trying to regain my grasp on our lovely boys and their supporting cast. This is what a six-month hiatus does.
The usual drill: I cannot stress these points enough, so I will put these at the start of every chapter:
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).
Some events in this story are inspired by my own experiences, and should you see yourself in the story, then let me give you a high five, but that honestly was not my intention.
Should anyone be willing to beta read the magic technicalities in future chapters, then raise your hand so we can talk. And can more of you please share awesome Lover's Death and Hermit+Priestess stories? We would all love that.
May 2008: This Surely Is A Dream
"That's quite a song."
"Hmm?"
"The song. It's… it's cool."
"Yeah, isn't it?"
Danny raised his eyebrows. "Sex and Candy, I assume is the title?"
"Oh, what gave it away?" Jack said teasingly.
"You've had that song on repeat for the last two hours," Danny observed, not looking up from the book he read, making sure he didn't give away so much of what exactly the said song made him feel at the moment. "Any particular reason why?"
Jack, hunched over a small diagram while idly flipping his cards from across the room, paused before he shrugged. "I didn't notice, sorry. It's pretty catchy. I'll turn it down," came the passive reply.
Without waiting for Danny's response, Jack lowered the speaker's volume, the song suddenly barely audible. Silence fell on the pair, the sleight once more focused on the diagram, while the showman shot a furtive and concerned glance at his boyfriend.
Danny ran through the brief exchange in his mind, wondering where his cues had gone wrong. Henley had all these ridiculous magazines in her room, and they all said the same thing: be coy, drop hints, and he'll go crazy. Well, it wasn't happening right now. He fidgeted slightly in his seat, wondering what to say, or if he should even say anything at all, and what Jack would—
"Danny, I can hear you thinking again. Stop that and just spit it out," Jack deadpanned, but his lips were turned upward as he continued to rearrange the model before him.
"No," Danny protested, his voice breaking slightly. He cleared his throat. "I meant, uh, no, I'm not… I guess I just… the song's pretty suggestive, and I was thinking if you wanted to… well…"
Jack's head snapped up, his shit-eating grin wide, and all attention on Danny now. "Are you telling me to—Danny, what exactly are you trying to tell me?" His thick eyebrows wagged as he stood up and started walking to Danny. "Was that a world-famous J. Daniel Atlas seduction technique we just ran through?"
There was no mistaking the incredible blush that colored Danny's face as he watched Jack predatorily stride toward him. His voice was barely more than a whisper. "You know exactly what I'm trying to tell you, Jack."
Jack shook his head playfully. "We aren't having that, Danny. You need to tell me what you want. We ain't got time for things that aren't clear between us."
The words barely escaped him when he stopped right in front of Danny, looking down at his boyfriend, their impact hitting home. It was just a little more than a month to the next show, the show that would signal the fake-real-fake death that only he and Merritt knew about. Three months of silence, of staying away, of pulling the collegiate scams apart from the inside.
Three months of being apart.
Danny must have sensed a change in Jack's demeanor, because he sat up straight and held Jack by the wrists. "Hey, you drifted off again. Where do you keep going that I can't follow, Wilder?" Danny said teasingly, but concern was evident in his blue eyes.
The sleight chuckled, shaking his head. Sometimes, Danny was far too perceptive for his liking – especially during these times. He held the sides of Danny's face, looking down at the face he loved the most in the world, wondering what he possible did right to see that same face looking back up at him like he was the only light at the end of the pitch-black tunnel.
"I don't remember a time without you, you know that?" Jack said gently.
Danny smiled slightly. "Someone's a touch sentimental today." When Jack said nothing in response, Danny sobered and nodded. "Well, I don't want to know a time without you."
Jack gulped, trying to cover up his anxiety with a smile. "Your heart will take it, lover boy," he said in jest as he bent down to kiss Danny on the lips. He closed his eyes, savoring the feel and the taste of his boyfriend's lips, the sweet warmth of his breath mixing with his own, the light stubbles he detected on his otherwise smooth face. It lasted about a minute before he pulled away and righted Danny's position.
Electricity crackled in Danny's blue eyes as he opened them and shook his head. "No. It can't. It won't."
Before Jack could think of a response to Danny's statement, the front door opened, Henley and Merritt bounding in to the apartment excitedly. Jack fluidly took a step back as he raised a hand in greeting.
"Hey guys," Henley said hurriedly. "We come bearing news from the man himself."
Danny suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. "Could you be more specific, Hen?"
"Tressler, asswipe," Merritt supplied as he took a seat across the showman, taking off his hat. "He's doubled the audience size for his charity show, so he said, and I quote, 'You twats better not fuck me up'. Jokingly, of course." His impersonation of the older man was quite uncanny.
"But obviously with a warning. I think he meant it," Henley said, her eyes crackling with delight. "I wonder how it is that people seem to know exactly what's coming to them, but still deny it? And no, that was rhetorical, Mer, I don't want to hear your psychobabble," she finished exasperatedly as Merritt opened his mouth, no doubt to explain what went on in the recesses of the average human mind.
"Hey, can't a man randomly say how beautiful a woman is?" Merritt said in mock-hurt.
"Probably not randomly, unless he wants a punch to the face," Danny said helpfully.
Merritt flipped him off.
The Horsemen were set to perform for Arthur Tressler's charity show in a week. The insurance magnate's way of keeping up pretenses, Dylan assumed, and a way to make another quick buck, but that wasn't what he was after. He had his eye on the prize, and to get it, he knew he had to outsmart all the players on the board now – the Horsemen, Tressler, Bradley, even his colleagues in the FBI. No one could get in the way of his mission.
"Agent Rhodes?" came a softly accented voice which had become all too familiar in the last weeks.
No one.
"Ms. Dray," he said cordially, gesturing to a seat in front of his table. "Please."
"Thank you." The Frenchwoman took a seat carefully, carefully smoothing the minute creases on her dress. She did not at all seem nervous about this meeting. Against himself, Dylan found that he quite liked it. When Dylan said nothing, she shrugged and raised an eyebrow. "Agent Rhodes…?"
The agent shook his head slightly. "Sorry. Train of thought."
"Must be quite a ride," Alma said with a small smile.
He gave a lopsided grin. "I've had better rides."
She choked back a laugh, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. "I'm sure you have, Agent."
He smiled lightly, gesturing to the platter in front of them. "I hope you don't mind, I ordered ahead. Please."
They spent the next few minutes buttering their toasts and sipping coffee, chit chatting idly about the weather, school curricula, and the upcoming concert that everyone seemed to want to sell body parts for. It quickly turned into a regaling of some of the strangest personalities that Dylan had handled in his few years in the force. The young woman's laughter made Dylan feel lighter, somehow, and he surprised himself at how easy it was to spend time with her and – more importantly – to enjoy the time with anyone at all. It was a refreshing first for him.
Too soon, though, they had lapsed into silence that signaled the start of business. Alma cleared her throat. "You said you wanted to talk, sir. Is this about the four?"
"Just Dylan, please, Ms. Dray. And yes, this is about the Horsemen."
She looked a little resigned and – for some reason – off-put. "I don't know what to tell you, Dylan, but I'm as honest as I possibly can be when I say that they aren't criminals."
"Ms. Dray, they robbed a bank," Dylan countered. "I would hardly call that non-criminal."
"No one's proven that, no? And… it's just Alma, Agent Rhodes."
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Look, I know they're your friends. And I know you think that they're innocent. I'm not going to debate the point with you now, but I am collecting information and proof that they may have at least had something to do with this," he said as gently as he could. "So anything you say could either help them, or help me, or maybe even help us both."
Her grey eyes were steely as she looked at him. "What exactly can I tell you that you don't already know?"
He slid a photograph over to her, the very same photo he was pondering on weeks ago, which showed Daniel Atlas gazing rather fixatedly at Jack Wilder. She glanced at the photo, then back at him, unimpressed. "That's Daniel and Jack. What's special about this photo, Dylan?"
"You tell me," Dylan pressed. "How long has this—" He gestured between the image of Jack and Daniel, "—been going on?"
"If you're talking about their relationship, I'm not sure how it concerns you, sir, with all due respect."
"It concerns me plenty," he said heatedly. "Like how they could possibly want to do something criminal that can possibly keep them in separate holding cells for the rest of their lives, if they were together. I just want to understand."
She shook her head. "If that's what you want, I'm not sure this is the right way to do it."
He ran his fingers through his hair. "Look, Alma, the Horsemen's second show is coming up in a week or so. I just know that something big will happen there, I promise you. But I want to make sense of it. Please, help me make sense of this. Of them."
Alma shook her head and stood up. "I'm sorry. I don't even know why I agreed to come. I suppose I was hoping you—but never mind. Please, allow me to leave. I won't be the one that would be quoted with the wrong things that put my friends in harm's way." Her eyes were sad as she slid her bag over her shoulder. "Goodbye, Agent Rhodes. Thank you for the coffee." Without another word, she was gone.
"Four days."
"Hmm?"
"You've been humming that same song for four days straight," Danny explained.
Jack groaned. "Crap, I'm sorry."
The showman shook his head. "No, it's… it's cool."
The sleight rolled his eyes in jest as he put his arms around Danny's neck. "Oh, Romeo, such sweet words you have!"
"You know you sounded like Little Red Riding Hood," the blonde-haired boy said with a hint of a smile.
"Huh?"
"Such big eyes you have—" A yelp came from Danny as Jack's hand slid down to his butt for a squeeze.
"And such a nice butt you have," the brown-haired boy said peevishly.
"Can you two please not have cute foreplay ten minutes before we go onstage? It really makes me jealous," Merritt moaned, earning a slap from Henley.
"Well, the famous Horsemen," came a deep voice from the door. The tall figure of Thaddeus Bradley surveyed them with a small smile, eyeing Jack's arms around Danny's neck and Henley's legs sprawled across the couch on top of Merritt's own. "I hadn't expected you to be this… close. I'm sorry, where are my manners? I'm Thaddeus Bradley. I just wanted to wish you luck on your show tonight."
"Well, Mr. Bradley, wish we could say the same for you, but since you're out to ruin us… nah," Jack quipped, not removing his arms from around Danny, who did not at all seem to mind this arrangement.
"I'm glad you've accepted that, Mr. Wilder," Bradley said smoothly.
Henley scoffed. "Well, that's not going to happen."
"Yeah? Well, I know all about you, Horsemen. Looking at being taken in by The Eye, are you?" On seeing the glances the four shared, Bradley plowed on. "Oh, yes, I know all about The Eye. It's a really nice place, or so I'm told. Lots of star shine and moonbeams, I've heard."
"Look, man, we're just kids who want to do magic. I don't know why you want to see us mess up," Jack said, finally letting go of Danny and walking towards Bradley, stopped only when Danny held on to his fingertips. "But I'm telling you, maybe you should just back off, man."
"No can do," Bradley said cheerfully. "You started all this, Horsemen, there's no turning back now for you and me. I'll be with you all the way until the end of the line – right up until you're walking down a crowd in handcuffs you can't get out of. Just… enjoy the show."
"Sure, sure," Merritt said quickly, stepping up and gazing at Bradley. "Big talk coming from a little boy who dreams of being a magician, being the best actually, and realizing that… hmm… what is this… oh! He realizes that he's a bit good, sure, but nowhere near enough to be among the best, and well… decides to make a career out of not being a real star. You enjoy the show, too, Mr. Bradley," Merritt finished with a cheeky grin.
Bradley's eyes narrowed, but Danny couldn't resist coming up to him and flashing his trusty deck of cards. "Pick one, Mr. Bradley," he challenged.
Bradley smirked. "You'll put it up your sleeve."
"Will I?" Danny looked inside his sleeves and pockets for good measure before dramatically pointing at Bradley's own sleeve, much too loose and easy for Jack to have placed the offending card with the words "SUCK IT". "Maybe it's in yours, Thaddeus."
Bradley's eyes were dead and flat as he looked at the card and back at the Horsemen. There was no trace of a smile on his face now. "Break a leg," he said before finally exiting.
"Well, you break something too!" Merritt said cheerfully.
Jack knew exactly how beautiful Daniel Atlas was – he'd like to think he knew it best, as Danny was the first and last thing he held in his arms almost every day for the past few glorious months. Their first time had broken a dam between them, and now, Jack realized he would never get enough of the mighty J. Daniel Atlas, whether he was his lover on soft sheets and cold hard floors (Jack felt himself choking when he remembered that infamous Night of No Beds), or whether he was the Lover of the tarot up onstage, beautifully leading the Hermit, the Priestess, and Death into the great unknown that was their audience.
Tonight was different.
Tonight, Danny wasn't just beautiful.
He was perfect.
They all knew exactly where the show was going – not one bit of it was left unsynchronized or uncoordinated. Jack watched from backstage as Merritt did a mass hypnosis on a dozen volunteers, and as Henley and Danny did their paired performance. They seemed to fit each other like a glove, and Jack couldn't help but be a little jealous at how well they seemed to know each other, and how well they synced onstage.
"Yeah, I think that too sometimes," Merritt said next to him.
Jack scoffed. "Shut up, Mer."
"I know I'm good, thank you," Merritt deadpanned. He cleared his throat. "Still no plans of telling him, huh?"
"It's bad enough you know, Mer, let's keep it at that," he replied, not taking his eyes off Danny.
"He thinks something's wrong, you know. Pretty worried, too. You know how I know?"
"How?"
"He actually asked me."
"What?"
"Exactly my thought. So, Jack-o, you have to try harder if you need to keep it from him."
Jack gulped, heart skipping a beat as his eyes connected with Danny's for a full three seconds. "I know."
He and Merritt were called onstage for the final act, and Jack immediately set aside the thoughts that bothered him to rejoin the two onstage. It was time to con the ultimate conman.
Barely ten minutes later, it was an ultimate high when Jack saw the thunderstruck and furious face of their benefactor, now currently chained to the stage he had set up for them. He knew that from hereon, his life would be on hold, but as long as his family was safe and was under the protection of The Eye as promised, he could deal with it.
Danny was sprinting to Jack, his eyes positively blazing. Something stirred in Jack, but he gulped it down and gave his boyfriend a smirk, where he was waiting to greet him with a friendly fist bump. Danny wouldn't have it, though: he swatted Jack's fist aside and swept him up in his arms in a searing kiss, right in front of the watching audience. Jack smiled under the forceful lips, barely registering the sudden frenzy and flashing lights that filled the small hall: he was only aware of the lips that completely encompassed his as he clutched onto his rope tightly – he was deliriously sure he was going to float away if he didn't hold on.
Danny apparently didn't care how long they stood there, or how many catcalls and cheers suddenly erupted in the auditorium. In fact, had they not heard Agent Rhodes' cry of "FREEZE!" and the sudden cheers of the previously hypnotized mob, they probably could have stayed there forever, even with the select audience members tacking the quarterback. Jack certainly knows he would have liked to.
"We should…" Jack mumbled.
"Mmm."
"Rhodes," he rumbled warningly.
An angry growl vibrated in the showman's throat. "Can you not say anyone else's name like that?"
Jack smiled. "Atlas," he said in the same voice. Danny whimpered as he took a painful step back, looking at Jack with wide eyes. "Come on."
With some hesitation, Danny broke away and grabbed his own rope, winking at Jack as they were lifted into the air into their escape.
"You two will be the death of us, you know that?" Merritt cried as they sprinted onto the busy Mardi Gras scene, half-exasperated, but failing to keep a grin from his face.
"I know you two are the cutest thing since—I don't know what—but do try to keep it in both your pants, will you?" Henley screamed as they rounded an alleyway. Her red hair whipped quickly as she looked behind them. "Rhodes is out. We have to break now. See you where we see you, and for God's sake, don't get killed, or worse—caught!"
Danny shook his head as he continued to run. "So nice to know she cares so much about our safety," he drawled, earning a laugh from Jack.
They rounded another corner to catch their breath for a few seconds: the last part of the plan was pretty risky, even for Jack's standards, but the effect of failure was a bigger risk for him, one he wasn't willing to accept.
Danny seemed to know what was going on in his mind, and the other man spun him by the shoulders to place a soft kiss on his lips, one that was completely unlike the one they shared onstage.
God, he was going to miss this, even if it was only for a while. Or so Jack has been telling himself repeatedly.
"I'll be okay. You've got my back, right?" Danny asked in an uncharacteristically gentle voice.
Jack's eyes brightened as he smiled back. "Always."
They got away. Of course they got away.
Bradley smiled as he thought of tonight's footage: it would easily spell at least a half million for him, and not just because of the debunking. There was that adventurous heist they pulled on one of the richest moguls in the country, the exciting police goose-chase that followed, an most of all, there was that not-so subtle interaction between J. Daniel Atlas and Jack Wilder onstage.
After all, everyone loved a good romance, more so a heated and passionate one between the two so-called leads of this little act. His assistant had reported that the pair had "broken the internet" in just under two hours: #AtlastJack was all people could seem to talk about, and the frenzy was high across the country.
"Mr. Bradley?"
It was suited muscle, obviously one of Tressler's. He slowed down his gait and raised a questioning eyebrow. "Yes?"
"Mr. Tressler would like you to join him for a drink."
The disgraced mogul looked up at him, obviously having already downed several shots prior to this meeting. "What is your role with them?"
Direct. So that's how this discussion was going to be. He decided to have a little fun with it. "Role?" Bradley responded innocently.
"Yes. You seem to know everything about them – what they're going to do, where they're going to be." There was a healthy amount of suspicion coating Tressler's voice as he looked at Bradley with narrowed eyes.
Bradley smiled, trying to inject sympathy in his voice as he said, "If it makes you feel any better, this wasn't about you."
The older man chuckled darkly. "Please tell me why this wasn't about me."
"This is a magic trick, Mr. Tressler, one played out on a global scale!" Bradley explained with a smile. "You, sir, are the abracadabra, the distraction, while they set up the real trick."
"I was a 140 million dollar distraction?" He was spewing venom with the last word. "You know, Mr. Bradley—"
"You can destroy me, yes, I know, Mr. Tressler," the other man interrupted patiently. "But you won't destroy me, any more than you will destroy the Horsemen. What will come after this will truly impress, Mr. Tressler, so I suggest you sit back and enjoy the front-row seat. You paid quite a lot of good money for it."
Bradley made to stand and walk away, when Tressler called out, "Whatever you stand to make, Mr. Bradley, I'll double it."
He turned to look back at Tressler. "I'm listening," he said carefully.
"I'll double it," Tressler repeated. "If you expose them now, and destroy them."
"And how, do you propose, should I destroy the Horsemen, Mr. Tressler?" Bradley countered, though he knew full well where he could start and – effectively – end.
"Well," Tressler said in mock-thought as he knocked back another shot glass. "I've been told it's good to start with the heart of it all." In that moment, Bradley fully appreciated just how ruthless Arthur Tressler truly was.
"I stand to make five million," he responded.
Tressler watched him with dangerous eyes. "Am I flinching?"
Bradley shook his head quietly, a smile on his face. "No, you're not," he acknowledged softly.