THE LESS YOU'LL SEE

NOTES: I learned that posting chapters truly does wonders for writer's block. So, right after Chapter 11 comes Chapter 12, and possibly a cute interlude I've been sitting on since October of last year.

For reasons that I will explain in another chapter, I'm afraid I might have to borrow large portions from my other story, 'Toska' for some scenes here. For those familiar with that story, yes, that time has come.

Enough said. I hope to still see you guys in the next chapter/s!

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.

June 2008: The Heart of The Showman

Two weeks after the infamous heist, one that national media had covered and sensationalized to no end, the high of the Horsemen's success was settling, giving rise to the reality that they now had to face head-on.

They were all expelled from Octa, of course. It was something that Merritt and Henley had shrugged over, and something he knew would have some damage on his and his parents' basic relationship. They were all prepared for this, but Danny didn't realize how hard it would hit him until he saw Jack watching the statement of the Board of Directors on national television with unseeing eyes. The FBI was coming for them, and they didn't have a lot of time before they had to implement yet another crazy and twisted plan.

Despite the fact that he knew they didn't have all the time in the world, Danny plopped down on the thin mattress next to the sleight.

"You're torturing yourself," Danny said in a clipped tone. "You knew what we were getting into." To another person, it would sound like Danny was being his usual bossy and uncaring self, but Jack wasn't just another person. He knew Daniel Atlas well enough to know that the words were worry, concern, and sadness rolled into one.

His boyfriend's words comforted him a little, and he leaned into Danny's warmth just a little bit more. "I know that, Danny."

"Your parents and Lara know about this," the showman continued.

Jack nodded. "Yeah, they do." It's not that.

"And… Lula?" Her name hung as a question in the air, not completely answered even after all this time. Is that it?

Jack sighed. "Danny, don't start, please. I didn't tell her." Please understand – it's all about you.

"Oh," Danny blinked. "Okay." So what's wrong?

The brown-haired man's chocolate gaze met his ocean eyes. Danny saw the depth of his fear, and – for some reason – how alone Jack felt now. He didn't understand why he would feel that way, he must be wrong, he never gave Jack any reason to feel alone—

"What's next, Danny?" Where do we go from here?

A shrug. "Our orders run out after the show. I suppose we figure it out then." Nowhere without you.

"I can't stop thinking about it." I can't stop thinking about us.

"There's a plan, right?" Why can't you stop worrying?

"I hate not knowing." I hate not knowing if I can do it without you.

"So do I." I hate not knowing why you're so worried about us.

"Danny?" Will you just hold me and make it simple?

"Yes?" Do you really want me to?

"Yes." Yes.

Daniel Atlas would swear up and down, with all cockiness and confidence, that he knew every part of Jack Wilder better than he knew his own.

He knew that Jack would rumble a deep chuckle when he placed feather kisses on his inner thigh and calf, that Jack would giggle uncontrollably when he stroked the flat contours of his abdomen with his deft and sure fingers, that Jack would cry out his name on repeat when he would take Danny into the sweet moment of temporary oblivion.

Danny had a mental picture of Jack's moles, and how they mapped out the entire New York if he were to trace it with a pen against the tan skin; he was well-acquainted with Jack's lips, which were soft between room temperature and a light summer heat, but chapped horribly beyond the said bounds.

He knew that keeping Jack full was the key to an easier relationship: a hungry Jack Wilder was essentially something he simply didn't want to put up with, not if he could help it. He knew what comedies made Jack truly laugh, what movies made him mad, what music made him melancholy, what color would change his mood on a bad day.

He had mapped out his partner's every reaction, every craving, every gasp, and he prided himself on being the one person that knew how to make Jack Wilder happy. So now, as Danny lay on the bed next to Jack, who had his back turned on him, he was completely stumped.

Stumped, because he knows he did everything right, and Jack as usual did everything perfectly: they had once more claimed each other so smoothly, so perfectly – in fact, more than he ever remembered. To say that he was confused was an understatement: he didn't know what sent the sleight into a spiral of silence as soon as he pulled out, turning his back on Danny without a word.

For the longest time, they were quiet. Neither of them was willing to break the silence, both for completely different reasons. It was a shame, Danny thought bitterly, that neither of them were brave enough to ask that question that hung in the air. Cowards, that's what they were. Just two cowards who fancied themselves in love with the other.

Hell, he often thought that maybe it was just him, after all.

"Jack?" he said tentatively, hating the fact that he was walking on ice now.

Jack was completely still, unresponsive and uncharacteristically quiet.

Danny felt his heart, just floating into air a few moments ago, catapulting back down on the ground like falling lead. "I know something's wrong. Please… talk to me. Tell me what's wrong. What's wrong?" There. He's asked the question – the dreaded question, the answer of which he wasn't sure he would survive.

Silence.

"Look, I know it's been crazy, and imperfect, and basically shitty, but I've got your back. And you've got mine, right? It'll be better after this, I swear," Danny prattled on nervously. "I just need to… I need to know that you and I are okay. Whatever it is you're going through, you don't have to tell me. But please… don't push me away, Jack. Can you do that?"

More silence.

"You…" His blue eyes hardened as he sat up, pulling on his shirt. Suddenly, he was no longer Danny, but J. Daniel Atlas, the Showman, the leader of the Horsemen. "You know what? Screw this. Get your act together. You need to be out in ten minutes. They're coming. Don't fuck this up."

Still, Jack said nothing.

Danny blinked furiously as he strode to the door as quickly as possible, slamming it almightily behind him.

Jack let out a quiet sob the second Danny left the room, as he felt the heart of the showman being crushed with his own in his silence.

It was almost an hour later that Jack joined them, and when he did, Merritt immediately noticed that a dam had broken loose in their resident sleight's façade.

His eyes shone with fear and grief as he glanced at Danny, who was stoically looking out the window for any signs of the FBI, and there was a nervous energy in him as he paced the room, throwing cards and muttering to himself. He looked at the showman, the fucking selfish scumbag who still didn't move after long minutes, and shook his head as he stood up to halt Jack by the shoulders.

"Jack-o," he said sternly and calmly. From the corner of his eye, he saw Danny cast a watchful glance at them. "Do I have to hypnotize you to calm you down?"

"Merritt, I…" Jack gulped, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "I don't think I can—"

"You can and you will," Merritt said steadily. "You've got our backs all the time. Now, Henley and I have yours." He made sure he was pointed with the mention of Henley's name, and got the desired reaction: Danny bristled angrily, standing up very suddenly.

The mentalist turned to the showman and held up a hand. "Asswipe, if you're going to assert your princess status to anyone in this room, most of all to Jack, think twice before I convince you it would be a good idea to dance like a monkey straight into the FBI's car."

Jack looked at Danny straight in the eye, gently pushing Merritt aside and closing the distance between them. There were no fervent kisses and conciliatory embraces that fixed them; there was only a pair of wracked blue eyes trying to make mad sense of what was happening beneath the soft brown gaze, and as the seconds ticked by, the wild waves of the ocean subsided into the quiet lull against the beautiful shore.

With a broken voice, the showman broke the silence. "I… I'm not…"

Jack shook his head fiercely. "No. That's enough. You're… you're more than enough," he said angrily. "You're not going anywhere, Atlas." It struck a chord inside Jack as he remembered the very words he had used on Danny all those nights ago, after the heat of the moment that brought them together, that made them stand exactly where they were.

He thought, at the back of his mind, how strange it was that he would use those words at this moment again. "Danny, please. You're not going anywhere," he repeated softly, surprised at how much he didn't mind begging. "You… you have to be okay. We have to be okay. Please."

Long-fingered hands found their way on either side of Jack's face, and for just a little while, the cold control that Daniel Atlas was well-known for surfaced, but directed in a very piercing way at one Jack Wilder.

"You will fucking outrun those guys, and we will fucking outsmart them again and again until this is all over," Danny said methodically. "And when we do, you and I will fucking break down in laughter, and realize that all this was a fucking joke, and there will be nothing left but you and I in this funny world, Jack Wilder. I told you once and I'll say it again and again until you learn your damn lesson: I have wanted to be with you, Jack Wilder, from the moment I saw you. I will never learn to let you go under no circumstance whatsoever, and I don't plan to."

Jack bit his lip, trying not to think about the words that Danny was freely spewing, but Danny wasn't done. "I will say it again, and I don't care how much more of me you can take, but I don't plan on ever letting you go, and nothing as petty as a criminal record, a failed show, and all the goddamned continents will keep me from wanting to be with you." The showman took a deep, calming breath, as he looked at Jack with calmer blue eyes, his mouth twitching into a smile. "So will you please stop being a drama queen and just get on with the show?"

The sleight barked out a laugh, clutching the sides of Danny's face as he bumped their foreheads together. "Oh, you mad magician, I love you," he said softly.

"Guys, I'm sorry to interrupt, but…" Henley cut in with a note of alarm. "They're here."

Pandemonium erupted in the flat, and instantly, they transformed into The Lovers, The Hermit, The High Priestess, and Death – and they had a job to do. There were no lingering goodbyes, or in fact no indication whatsoever that there had only been fear and grief just moments before.

Jack was on auto-pilot, alone in the flat mere minutes later, playing the part he was tasked to play, and he felt nothing but a deep sense of purpose and precision as he laid out everything that was asked of him. From his nook in the room, he saw Agents Rhodes and Fuller enter with their handguns in tow.

He would chalk it up much later to pure adrenaline – he never remembered thinking so clearly and precisely until that second Rhodes spotted him. He released all his instincts into dodging each bullet and punch that the agent had thrown him, practically playing the bumbling agent like a harp, feeling his legs celebrate as they pounded into the floor, giving him flight all the way to the entrance door, right into the federal car so carelessly waiting for him.

"Showtime," he whispered as the car roared to life.

Henley's heart leaped as she saw the black federal car come up through her rearview mirror.

Jack was playing his role perfectly, and now the rest was up to the three of them: she could only thank the high heavens that the worst was over, and they could carry on with the plan, and she, Merritt, Danny, and Jack could get on with the other matters of their lives that needed serious consideration.

She wasn't due until the last part of the plan, and she saw that Danny's cab had taken its position to shield Jack from the mad car following him. Now, it was up to Merritt.

She stole a glance at Merritt, who had come up next to her car and had paled visibly. She instantly felt alarm bells go off as he closed his eyes as he stalled for just a split second. No one would have noticed, but she knew him more than anyone on this planet, and he fucking stalled and…

Oh God.

Jack.

No one else heard the despairing scream that came from inside her car as the black car gave an almighty screech, turning several times on the open road before bursting into flames.

The plan was perfectly put in place, and it took all of her willpower to make sure that she executed it to the dot despite what she just saw. She had to get to their rendezvous point first, followed by Merritt and… and… Danny would come last, much later, to make sure none of them rose suspicion.

Merritt's van was pulling up, noticeably without Jack's car, and the fury broke out inside her again. The second he stepped out of his van, she ran to him and slapped him across the face with all her might.

"YOU KILLED HIM!" she screeched.

"Hen—"

"I saw you, goddamnit, you stalled and you killed him!" she wept, pounding him on the chest.

The pain in Merritt's eyes was palpable. "Henley, please listen to—"

"You goddamn murderer, and I'm supposed to love you—"

"HE'S ALIVE!" Merritt said, his eyes mad. "He's alive but he has to be gone for three months and Atlas can't know that he's alive until after three months, Henley! I've known for months that this was the real plan and I've had to fucking shut up and now I'm the fucking murderer, but I…" His voice broke. "If it means losing you, then that's the truth. I can't… lose you." The words sounded bitter coming from Merritt.

Henley said nothing for a long time, before she finally gasped and fell to her knees. "Mer, it's… it's crazy. I… How?"

"The switch happened. Jack took the car and drove off to God-knows-where a few streets back. I stalled because it only sank into me what was going to happen," Merritt said quietly. "I wasn't supposed to know, Hen. No one was supposed to know. But I figured it out."

She shook her head. "It doesn't make sense – why?"

"Atlas," the mentalist responded. "The Eye… needs him to be their cold machine until the show."

Her brown eyes went wide, and she shook her head fervently. "Oh my God, no, Merritt, that's not what's going to happen, believe me," she said urgently, panic seizing her. "Danny won't… he won't… he can't take this, you have to understand. This will kill him. Yes, he'll get the job done, but… he won't make it after this."

Merritt's shoulders sagged in response. "Well, love, I think that's what we're going to be here for. At least until Jack-o comes back to him."

Danny lived for moments like this: the thrill of the chase, the high of escaping, the strange afterglow that he felt every time it happened. Nothing in this world could quite beat the sensation of being the smartest guy in the room, but when he thought of Jack Wilder, and how they could finally be a normal couple again now that all this was over, he stood corrected.

He drove up to where he and the other two were supposed to meet, and something in him sank when he saw Henley and Merritt on the ground, she sobbing into him.

Without killing the engine, he immediately stepped out of the cab he was driving and looked at them, silently demanding an explanation.

Merritt turned white when he saw Danny, and he shook Henley slightly into her senses. A light gasp escaped Henley when she saw Danny standing over them, his eyes hard, asking only one question. She stood up shakily.

"Danny—"

"Where is he?"

"Danny—"

"Henley, shut the fuck up and tell me where Jack is."

"Atlas, leave her alone," Merritt growled, coming between them, though he was no less pale than he was moments ago. "It's my fault."

Danny smirked up at him. "What's your fault, Merritt?"

Merritt closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "It's my fault that Jack crashed his car."

The showman grinned shakily. "That was the plan, wasn't it?" he said cockily. "Now, can you please tell me where the fuck Jack's car is or so help me God—"

"Jack. Crashed. The. Car," Merritt said forcefully. "It wasn't the fake car that crashed. It was the real one. Jack was trapped inside when it crashed, Atlas. He's gone."

Danny let out a nervous laugh as he pawed his fingers through his hair. Some rational part of him told him he was having a panic attack, another was telling him that Merritt wasn't joking, another was telling him that Merritt was lying, and so he said, out of impulse, "You're a fucking liar."

Merritt looked at him with hard eyes. "You tell yourself whatever you want, Atlas, but it doesn't change the fact that he's gone," He breathed out bitterly. "And I'm sorry. You have no reason to forgive me. But I'm sorry."

Danny looked at him with dead eyes, shaking his head. "No. No, no, no…" He looked around wildly, his eyes finding Henley. "Henley, please, it's… it's not…" His breath hitched in his throat, and he felt like the weight of the world and the sky was on his shoulders, crushing him, threatening to squeeze the life out of him.

"Danny," she said in a horrified voice as she ran to him and put her arms around him, collapsing with him as his knees gave out, and everything blacked out.

It had to be a dream.

It had to be a nightmare.

Then it was probably real.

Jack

Jack

Jack

Not so far away, a good three hours later, Thaddeus Bradley walked into a bar, his requested drink waiting for him. The glowing face of Arthur Tressler smiled up at him, lifting his glass amicably.

"Now, I thought you wouldn't be too creative when I said start with the heart, Mr. Bradley, but I have to say, what happened today… impressed me." He pointed to the television set, which showed paramedics extracting the charred corpse of Jack Wilder from the black car.

Bradley shrugged, ensuring that he took great care to adopt an air of casual competence, as though each move was a calculated one. "You did say you liked your Horsemen shredded, sir."

Tressler chuckled. "Clever how you went for the… leader."

"They function how he wants them to function, Mr. Tressler. I think you're well acquainted with that fact," Bradley said reasonably. "With Jack Wilder out of the picture, and with Daniel Atlas sufficiently distracted, I would say there's a better chance for us to put them exactly where we want them."

"Behind bars, yes?" Tressler prompted.

Bradley smiled dryly. "Absolutely wherever you want them to be, Mr. Tressler."