Now You See Me 1. Backstage

**Sorry for any misspellings of names or anything... I didn't do my research on this, I just got an idea and began typing! Enjoy!**

Henley stands backstage, nervous, as they clip tiny, transparent strings to a harness under her clothes. These strings are meant to keep her suspended in the air for almost a minute until she will be dropped and fall freely through the air into trusted arms. Well, _almost_ trusted.

She's practiced the trick before, and the not-so-trustworthy-looking wiry strings held her up well enough, but Atlas wasn't there for that rehearsal. No, he had to go "run errands" whatever that meant. So she was strung up, seemingly floating through the air while encased in a glossy bubble, and when the bubble popped, somewhere backstage a button was hit, the clamps on her harness unlatched, and she shot towards the ground like a penny from atop the Empire State Building. Merit had been there when she'd neared the ground, and his strong arms had caught her easily. She trusted him.

That's not to say she didn't trust Atlas, but he was going to be doing this trick for the first time. In front of an audience. And he was nowhere near as strong as Merit, or even Jack.

When she had been his assistant, years ago, he'd made comments about her weight. She hadn't even been overweight, yet he'd still made snippy little comments here and there because she wasn't all skin-and-bones like Rebecca. It was obvious he hadn't seen what his comments did to her self-esteem. While she worked for him, she'd developed an eating disorder. She'd starve herself to the point of constant exhaustion, and then when she did convince herself to eat, it was in small quantities. Nibbles of a granola bar or a spoonful of yogurt. Nothing substantial. Unhealthy amounts. When she'd lost so much weight that her doctor told her she needed to gain some back, she'd quit working for him and hired a counselor to get her to a safe weight. Ever since then, she'd never felt quite right. Never felt comfortable in her own body.

Reflecting on all of this, she nearly chuckles at the irony as the assistants finish harnessing her. Her weight isn't her own problem now, but his. She wants to trust him, but suddenly she feels like a whale in her size four pants. She fidgets uncomfortably and her heart stops when Jack tells her she needs to be on stage. He notices her anxiety and tries to comfort her, though he's never been good with words. "You'll be fine," he says, and the sincerity in his eyes brings an almost-smile to her lips. "You've done this before," he tugs lightly on one of the wires. "They'll hold," but he knows that's not what this is about. He knows her story. "He'll catch you."

And he understands.


	2. Suspended

Henley makes her way out onto the stage, forcing her signature red lips into a wide smile. Trying her best to look confident.

Overdoing it.

Atlas looks back at her and she catches the look that flashes across his face. It lingers only for a second, if that; it is meant for her eyes only. It says "trust me" and she wants to kick herself when she realizes that all it takes is a look from this man who's wronged her to make her feel safe.

But it's all the reassurance she needs.

Her smile becomes more genuine by the second, and she feels her nerves flooding with something other than anxiety: adrenaline. She's ready. She's ready to fly through the air, ready to hang, suspended, for those terrifying moments.

Ready to fall into Atlas' arms when they are the only thing there to catch her.

Henley hears the people cheer and clap for her, hears Atlas announce her, watches her friend, her _trusted friend_ create a bubble out of nowhere, through vision blurred with excitement and anticipation.

Once the bubble is big enough, she runs forward and leaps from the stage, into the bubble that is, for her, a giant human hamster ball. She moves gracefully through the air, over the crowds of enchanted people "oohing" and "ahhing" as they crane their necks to follow her all the way towards the chandelier. She knows what's coming, but she's also vaguely aware of Atlas' repositioning, and she knows he's right below her. A couple feet below her, but he's _there_.

She's an inch or so away from the chandelier now, and she braces herself to hear the pop, to feel the clamps unlatch. To fall into him.

It all happens so fast. For a split second, she's up in the air, suspended over the heads of the awestruck spectators. And then she is falling. Dropping endlessly and she can't stop the scream that escapes her lips. Whether from fear or the rush of the fall, she doesn't know. But then he is there. Suddenly, he is all around her. She feels his arms under her knees and on her back. And yet the sensation of falling is still there, ever-present as he smiles at her. Then, he seems to remember that there is a crowd of utterly relieved people surrounding them, and they both turn to give them confident smiles.

He seems to hold her a second longer than necessary (or maybe that's just wishful thinking) and then he returns her to an upright state almost reluctantly. She feels an odd twitch in her stomach, reminiscent of loss. Shaking it off, she turns, along with Atlas, and they smile at the crowd as he takes her hand (for show, of course) and they return backstage to prepare for their final trick.


	3. Escape

The crowd screams with excitement at their new riches and contempt at the man who's cheated them out of their money in the past as the four horsemen retreat to the back of the stage. They reach ropes sturdier than the ones Henley is accustomed to. Ropes that will lift them up into the sky, onto the catwalk above the stage. They don't plan it, but each of them feels compelled to say it at the same time as they begin their ascension.

"We are the four horsemen. Goodnight!"

Beautifully done.

Once they reach the catwalk above the stage, they know they've got to run. They can practically hear the pounding footsteps of the FBI, hot on their heels, even though they know they are, for the moment, safe.

They've planned to split into twos here, fours there, and then eventually all meet back up together at the apartment. Jack and Henley will exit to the right of the catwalk and then go their separate ways, and Merit and Atlas will do the same to the left of the catwalk.

They know what they've got to do, and they know they can waste no time doing it. But Daniel can't help it. He should be turning to the left. To Merit and the escape they planned so meticulously. But he turns right. To her. To Henley, and a prolonged eye contact that he hopes says all he means it to say. But then he feels Merit tugging him backwards, and he shouts goodbye to the flash of red hair that glints gold in the fluorescent light as she spins around and follows Jack to safety.

**-0o-**

"Good luck!" Jack whisper-yells at Henley as they reach the bottom of the Savoy's fire escape. He takes off in one direction and she, slipping off her shiny black heels, sprints in the other. She runs as fast as she dares, bare-footed in this city that's so unfamiliar to her. She pushes herself to the limit, sprinting, ever-faster. She knows that no one is following her yet, but she is very aware that the further she gets from the 'scene of the crime' as she considers it, the better. As she runs, her leather dress shimmies up her thighs, threatening to expose more of her than she'd care to, but she dares not stop to return herself to a more comfortable state. Especially when she rounds a corner and is greeted by an unkempt blonde bun.

Though the Interpol agent is facing away from her and completely unaware of her presence, Henley lets out an involuntary gasp of surprise. Tiny, almost inaudible, but Alma Drey's trained ears detect it. Her ears themselves seem to perk up as she whips around with almost frightening speed, her eyes locking on her target, Henley Reeves.

Feeling like a deer caught in headlights, Henley reads the blonde woman's eyes as she begins to advance towards her. "Got you."


	4. Beating

Normally, Henley would be able to outrun a woman like Alma (thanks to three years as a track star at her old high school) but Alma has shoes and most likely years of training, and Henley finds herself caught in no time. Alma puts her gun to Henley's head and tries to march her in the opposite direction from which she was running – probably leading her towards an FBI vehicle. Henley, however, has always prided herself on her ability to read people. This agent isn't like the others. She's not a heartless, mindless monster. She won't shoot her. And she's probably overlooking the most important detail of the situation: she's dealing with an escape artist.

Henley waits for the right time, and her patience is awarded in no time as the agent holding her reaches for a device to call backup. She wastes no time elbowing the agent in the ribs hard enough to make her drop her gun and double over, holding her stomach in pain. The redhead takes off down the road. But she's underestimated this particular agent. _This_ agent has quite a good throwing arm, and she bends down to pick up the small black hunk of metal in front of her. Alma won't shoot the girl, but she has no reservations about knocking her out.

**-0o-**

Alma takes a deep breath, calming herself in order to make her throw steadier. She raises her arm, exhales, and whips the gun forward. She watches as it soars through the air in a perfect arc, and winces as she can almost hear the crunch the gun makes in connecting with Mrs. Reeves' skull.

The girl goes down easily, falling to the concrete as fast as she'd fallen from the sky not half an hour earlier. _But there is no handsome, doe-eyed boy to catch you now _Alma thinks. She knows she's being cruel, but she can't help but feel some pride in taking down the girl whose elbow so recently caused her to feel a persistent stabbing in her ribs.

Painfully and with much effort, Alma limps over to the crumpled figure on the ground, slightly bent over so as to assuage the pain in her stomach. She's knocked the girl clean out.

_Clean, _she thinks, and then scoffs. _If it weren't for the blood pulsing out of her skull. Matting the already red hair with a color that would make any normal woman gag. _

But she's not normal. She can handle this. After checking to make sure that the girl is down for the count, Alma turns to go pick up her talkie that she dropped when Henley elbowed her. She'll call for backup, and then she'll be done.

**-o0-**

Henley comes to, calmly. She recalls being knocked out, the blackness having enveloped her as she fell to the concrete. She feels a throbbing pain in her head, she can sense that she's scraped the palms of her hands on the concrete, and she's sure there are more injuries she is unaware of at the moment. But she knows she can't dwell on such trivial things. Not at a time like this.

Vaguely aware that her unconsciousness has lasted less than a minute, Henley opens her eyes to slits, just enough to see the agent who'd rendered her unconscious turning away and walking towards a small black object on the ground a few feet from her.

Ignoring the wave of dizziness that washes over her as she silently hops up, Henley lashes out and throws the blonde woman to the ground.

She'd never considered herself a violent person, more of just a sassy girl with an attitude you did not want to cross. However, she blacks out as she hits Alma. Her wave of punches and scratches starts out as a "if I don't knock you out, you will put me in jail" and ends up as an "I'm going to hit you until I'm satisfied you've bled as much as I have tonight".

This is due partly to the fact that Henley names every punch in her head as she lays into Alma. _This is for Jack, if you'd found him and hurt him. This is for Merit. This is for Daniel. For Daniel. For Daniel…_

Henley feels a horrible sort of satisfaction as a particularly forceful hit sends blood exploding from the woman's nose. The woman is now sufficiently unconscious, and Henley stands up, disgusted with herself. She can feel the blood matting her hair in the back of her head; can feel it running down her cheek from where a half-unconscious woman had recently drug her nails down in a feeble attempt to escape her increasingly maddening blows. She can see the blood that covers her hands and the face of the woman lying still on the ground in front of her. So still.

Henley's eyes burn at the thought. She'd let herself get carried away punishing this woman for deeds she did not do. She hadn't touched any of her friends yet. She hadn't pursued Merit, dragged those jagged nails down Jack's cheek, thrown that gun at Atlas.

Feeling increasingly guilty for the state which she'd submitted this woman to, Henley takes small steps backwards, slowly making her way out of the alley. As she's not looking where she's going, and her sense of direction leaves something to be desired, so she's not surprised when she hits a wall.

She _is_ surprised, however, when she turns to find herself face to chest with a very tall man who is not, in fact, a wall. She gathers in a split second that the man is very tall with graying hair and dark skin from what she can tell in the small remnants of light from the setting sun.

**-0o-**

Having run for what seems to him like ages, Jack makes a split-second decision to disappear into the shadows of an alley in order to lose any potential followers. His role in the chase that he and his partners knew was inevitable is over. He's dressed in a stolen cop's uniform, and has already slipped the device he was being tracked by into Agent Rhodes' pocket. He can't help but feel a sense of relief as he doubles over, breathing deeply. He'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the rush of adrenaline the chase sent through him, bringing his body to life in a way that nothing else could.

Jack has but a minute to revel in this relief and exhilaration before sirens begin blaring at such a high pitch it seems to cause his eardrums to pop.

He's not sure if the sirens are of a cop car targeted at him, or maybe they're just following some drunken partiers home who've been having a little too much fun this Marti Gras, but he doesn't want to chance it. He takes off further into the alley and turns. He's in the road now, and though there are partiers everywhere, he feels oddly exposed under the hot lights of the street lamps and the blinding, flashing lights of signs advertising bars that seem to rise up out of nowhere all around him. Trying not to panic, he inches his way around a corner, disappearing into another alley.

He turns to see where he's found himself, and stops. His blood seems to freeze in his veins.

There is a giant man, much taller than him or Merit, the tallest of their group, at least six feet tall, looming over a small shape. A small shape so recognizable, so familiar, to him. A shape with hair that glints red with natural pigment in the dim light. And a deeper red. A red that scares him.

The imposing figure reaches for something at his belt, and somehow Jack knows what he will pull. A gun. A gun that he will aim at Henley. Jack knows what he must do.

Before he can act, however, Henley kicks out wildly, her bare foot connecting with the man's gun and sending it flying from its place at his belt into the air, over her head, and landing on the concrete behind her with a deafening _bang_ as an accidental shot is fired. The sparks from the shot illuminate for a mere second a body lying on the ground. The figure of a woman, with blonde hair straggling about. Blonde hair with a sickening tinge of red.

Jack's attention returns immediately to Henley and the man in front of her. It seems he hasn't missed a beat, seemingly unsurprised at her ability to rid him of his weapon so quickly. Before Henley can run, and before Jack has time to even shout Henley's name, the man whips forward and grabs Henley's arms. Jack marvels at how like a ragdoll Henley looks compared to the man. And how she falls to the ground in a crumpled heap as he lifts her effortlessly and slams her head into the wall behind her.

**-0o-**

Jack feels a surge of anger through his veins, kicking his body into action (as if he'd needed it) and he charges at the huge man, jumping on his back and tackling him to the ground, laying into him with a ferocity he didn't know he was capable of.

As the man is on the ground and Jack is straddling him, only just beginning to beat this guy, he realizes who he is. Thaddeus Bradley. The famous magic-trick debunker that has had their group in his sights for a while now.

_Selfish man! _Jack thinks as he reigns down punches more powerful than he'd thought himself capable of. _Greedy man!_ Punch _Horrible guy! _Punch _Henley did NOT deserve that! _Punch _NO man has the right to do that to ANY woman! _Punch _THAT'S MY FRIEND AND YOU COULD HAVE KILLED HER!_ PUNCH.

Jack calms himself a little as he feels the man underneath him slow his frantic attempts to free himself almost to a stop. He allows himself another few hits to ensure that the man will not be conscious enough to follow them, and then he stands, looking down at the unconscious lump of blood and bruises before him. He feels no remorse, though, as he bends to pick up the listless body of his petite friend and leaves the scene. He's served justice where it was terribly needed, and possibly just saved Henley's life.

As he walks back to the apartment, Jack spares a couple glances down at the pale face of his bloodied up friend, each time involuntarily wondering…

_What will Atlas think?_


	5. Home

"Calm down, Lover Boy," Merit sighs impatiently. "They'll be here in a couple minutes, you'll see."

His reassurances are directed at a fidgety J. Daniel Atlas who has spent the past five minutes pacing the living room of their apartment, biting his lip and muttering almost inaudible prayers for the safety of Henley. And Jack, too, of course. He's also important. _But Henley…_

"What about Henley?" Merit says loudly, and Atlas realizes he's spoken aloud. "She's tougher than Jack, you, and me put together. She'll be fine!" though, try as he might, he can't seem to hide the small waver in his voice that gives away the doubt gnawing at the back of his mind that she is _not_ fine. And that maybe Jack isn't either. Though it's not as if Atlas would take much note of that.

"But she's a _girl_!" Atlas yells, and Merit is surprised at the raw emotion he detects in the man's voice.

A look crosses the younger man's face, and he seems to realize how sexist he came off at that statement. He crosses to the couch and sits down on the arm. _Where Henley usually sits_ Merit thinks, but he doesn't say it.

"I just mean," Atlas begins, "that she's smaller than those big FBI people and I honestly don't know if she's got any fighting skills. I know she can run, but what if that's not enough? I mean, what if something happens to her and she never knows—"

A loud bang at the door cuts him off mid-worry. Both men in the room tense up, and Merit slowly walks over to the door and puts his eye to the peephole.

Atlas, standing behind him, notices his shoulders go stiff, tense.

"What?" Atlas demands, "what's wrong? Who is it?" He whispers in frantic tones.

"Daniel, go in the other room."

"What? Why—?"

"Daniel, GO."

At this point, Atlas begins to panic. This is a side of Merit he's never seen before. Out of their rag-tag group of magician/criminals, Merit is the jokester, the class-clown. Never before had he given orders. Never before had he called Daniel by his first name.

Slowly, Atlas starts walking towards his bedroom. He turns and pretends to walk down the hallway, but stops just as he rounds the corner, and from here he has a clear view of the door.

Atlas observes as Merit opens the front door to a disheveled and red-faced Jack Wilder, who shuffles in carrying something and looking exhausted.

It's only then that he sees what Jack is holding. An unconscious figure. And though her face is buried in Jack's chest and her hair is an unnatural shade of ominous dark-red, J. Daniel Atlas would recognize that woman anywhere.

How could he fail to recognize the fiery cascade of curls hanging, albeit matted, over Jack's arm, or the slender legs and small feet with black-painted toenails, though he'd never seen those normally adorably small feet being so brown, dirtied by the mean streets of this horrid city.

Atlas feels his jaw drop, and makes a feeble attempt to run into the living room, but he finds he can only manage a weak wobble. He can see clearly the dark red stain her head is leaving on Jack's shirt, ever-growing, and he feels his knees give way. He slides to the floor.

"Wha—?" he tries to ask a question, but it lodges itself in his tight throat before it can make itself heard.

Atlas watches in shock as Jack lowers Henley to the couch and subsequently collapses in the armchair next to her.

And then Jack breathes two words to his friends. Words that Atlas knows he will remember his entire life. Words that can't possibly be forgotten.

"Not dead."

Relief brings feeling back into Atlas' legs, and he finds himself able to stand up once again. He'd been quite sure that Henley was dead. Who loses that much blood and lives?

As he makes his way slowly, shakily towards her and sees her face clearly, though, his relief begins to drain from him. She's never been so pale; he's never seen someone so covered in blood. Feeling his legs turn to jelly once more, Atlas sinks to his knees next to the couch.

Not caring that two pairs of eyes are watching him diligently, Atlas reaches out and takes one of Henley's hands. As he holds the bruised knuckles, as he keeps a worried eye on the bloodied face he can barely stand to look at yet can't bring himself to turn away from, as he notes with relief that slow but reassuring way her chest rises and falls in shallow breaths, he makes her a silent promise that he will _never_ leave her side again.


	6. Revenge

Merit and Jack, exhausted, sink into their armchairs on either side of Henley's couch. It had taken all they'd had (which currently wasn't much for Jack) to calm Atlas down. For the meantime, he'd busied himself with cleaning the blood off of Henley's face and out of her hair as best he could. It was proving a difficult task, considering a lot of it was matted in and he had to fight to get it out, but didn't want to risk hurting her even more.

Merit takes a deep breath, looking at the poor girl on the couch with sympathetic eyes. Jack had recounted his entire story in trying to settle Atlas, so everybody is well informed, but none of them are sure of how extensive her injuries are.

"I'm telling you, we need to take her to a hospital," Merit sighs.

"We can't risk it! We'll be found. I'd much rather take care of her here than put her in a jail cell," Jack says for what feels like the twentieth time.

"He's right," Atlas says quietly, wiping a wet washcloth gently over Henley's cheek, leaving her pale face free of blood.

"We can use fake names," Merit suggests.

"They'd know it was us," Jack counters.

"Not if we use disguises," Merit proposes.

"Do you really want to put Henley through that? She's been through enough, and—"

Atlas cuts Jack off, mid-sentence, a form of disrespect that would have gotten him reprimanded, had both Jack and Merit not heard the tiniest bit of something other than worry in his voice. "Jack, I don't think all this blood is Henley's."

It was hope.

**-0o-**

Atlas, still on alert even in his sleep, hears a faint moan. He recognizes Henley's voice immediately and bolts upright. He's still in his palette that he's made for himself on the floor right by the couch. He didn't want to be too far if she woke up in the middle of the night. The armchairs next to the couch seemed like a stretch to him.

Checking his watch, Atlas sees that it's three in the morning. He can tell by their absence that Jack and Merit have already gone to bed. Taking a deep breath, Atlas slowly turns his eyes towards the couch, expecting to see Henley's sharp features softened by sleep: the pink lips open but a fraction, the thin lids of her usually bright brown eyes closed, the long lashes brushing the tops of her cheekbones.

So he is surprised to see those big brown eyes looking directly back at him.

"Henley!" He almost yells, and lunges towards her, putting his hand on her arm. "Are you ok? Do you need anything? Some water? A bandage? Mashed potatoes?"

Henley, still in a sufficient amount of pain, feels her lips curl up into a small smile, the best she can manage. She's been through Hell and back, and now here is the usually calm, cool, and collected J. Daniel Atlas losing his cool, flipping out, and yet still remembering what she told him all those years ago.

_Henley beamed bright, feeling her cheeks glow red as her idol, the famous magician, J. Daniel Atlas genuinely laughed with her. Well, not exactly _with _her, but more _at _her._

_It wasn't in a mean way, and she knew it wasn't. He was laughing because it was obvious how nervous she was. He had been asking her simple questions and she'd been giving him ridiculous answers on accident, not being able to think straight as she was so completely starstruck. _

"_Ok, let's try an even simpler one," he'd said. "What is your favorite thing in the world?"_

"_Mashed potatoes!" she'd blurted out, followed by a loud growl that had undeniably come from her stomach._

_J. Daniel Atlas graced her with that gorgeous smile of his yet again. "Hungry?"_

"_A bit."_

"_Let me guess, you were nervous about the interview, so you haven't eaten today?"_

"_Or yesterday," she'd added, without thinking._

"_Well, there's no need to be nervous. You've got the job."_

_She'd had no idea what she'd been getting herself into._

**-0o-**

Jack's alarm clock goes off. He rolls over in bed and looks at the big red numbers on its digital face.

2:30. Perfect.

He rolls out of bed and gets dressed quickly, quietly slipping out of his room as the clock reads 2:32.

As he enters the living room of the apartment, he's just in time to see the door shut behind someone.

Knowing he needs to leave some space between himself and Atlas, Jack waits a full minute before rushing out after him, as quickly but quietly as possible.

He trails his friend all the way to some alley where, sure enough, there stands a big man, and Jack can just make out his silhouette in the dim light of the streetlamps in the distance. But he knows, without a doubt, who this man is.

Thaddeus Bradley. Alone, or so he thinks, with Atlas.

_Atlas, you idiot!_ _There are better ways of going about this._

Jack pulls out his meager weapon, an old pocket knife he got from his dad when he was eleven, and thinks about how glad he is that he'd overheard Atlas the other night on the phone with Bradley, making plans to meet here.

Jack is snapped out of his reverie when he hears the two men begin to talk. He can't hear exactly what they're saying (as he's kept a safe distance so as not to be seen) but he can hear their voices. Atlas speaks threateningly, every word edged razor-sharp, but Bradley is calm. Had Jack not known the situation, judging by his voice, he would have thought Bradley was out with one of his friends playing golf, not in a dark alleyway with a man who, very likely, wants nothing less than blood.

Bradley's composed demeanor sends a chill up Jack's spine, and he knows Atlas is aware of the calmness, too, though Atlas has always been a master at hiding his emotions.

Before Jack's thoughts can run off on some wild tangent about why Atlas is so guarded, Bradley does something that turns his blood to ice.

He reaches into his pocket and produces a gun, not hesitating to aim it at Atlas.

Jack just has time to dart from his hiding spot and sprint not two feet before he hears a deafening _BANG_ and sees his friend's body hit the ground.


	7. Blood

Henley emerges from the bathroom, in her PJ's with Atlas' robe tied around her. She has her own but his is fuzzy and soft, and he's told her she can use it whenever she likes. This behavior is unlike him, but for the past three days, ever since she had a near-death experience, he's been super nice to her. He's been nice to everyone, actually. And quieter. Graver. Almost like he's suddenly become aware of his own mortality in being reminded of Henley's.

She shakes off these thoughts and shuffles her slippered feet over to the couch, perching herself on the arm, where she feels most comfortable. Atlas had been sitting here on the couch when she'd went in to take a shower, but he isn't there anymore. She looks at the clock. It's three in the morning. _He's gone off to bed. I should, too, _she thinks, and stands up. As she stands, something on the end table next to her chair-arm catches her eye. It's a piece of paper with a note on it. The note has no signature, nor does it need one. The handwriting unmistakably belongs to Atlas, though usually where his writing is meticulous, careful, this note was obviously written with a shaking hand.

_Henley,_

_ I'm meeting Bradley tonight. I wasn't going to tell you, but I think you should know. I'm going to do what I have to do to get him put away for good. He needs to pay for what he did to you. Henley, I'm going to tell you a secret. A secret that I've been keeping for a couple years now. So here goes nothing: I love you. I've been very much in love with you for a long time now, and I've kept this secret longer even than I can recall, because for a while there I kept it a secret from myself. I don't know when it happened or even how, but I think I've felt something ever since you came into that interview completely unprepared yet ready for anything, confident yet nervous. I know you think I saw you as ridiculous, and that maybe I gave you the job because you were the best out of a mediocre selection, but you're wrong. I picked you because you were charming, funny, and the one person who'd ever been able to break through this mask I wear and see the real person on the other side of it. You've always been the one person to startle a smile out of me, even a laugh. And you don't even have to try. It sounds cheesy, but it's like knowing my heart comes natural to you. I was taught at a young age not to let feelings show. That feelings are a weakness and that letting people in can only bring pain to myself and all those around me. Maybe one day you'll hear the whole story. But for right now, what you need to know is that I'm not afraid to feel anymore. Because my love for you hasn't made me weak at all. It's made me the confident man I am today. It's made me sure of myself. It's the strongest thing I've ever felt, and it's the one thing that keeps me_ happy_. I'm doing this for you, Henley. I'd do anything for you._

Henley blinks back the tears that threaten to overwhelm her. There, he's said it. He's said what she's wanted him to say for God only knows how long. She'd prefer a confession in person, but she knows now is no time to be picky. Now is the time to act. Now is the time to find this man who loves her and tell him everything she's wanted to say to him for years.

But she knows Atlas. _He's going to do something stupid,_ she thinks.

"Jack! Merit!" Henley calls, her voice quivering.

Merit comes out of his bedroom. "What is it?"

"Get Jack, too. We've got to go find Atlas."

Merit looks confused, but then turns and walks to Jack's room, knocking on his door. Henley watches, apprehensive.

When Jack doesn't answer his door, Merit opens it. He walks back into the living room. "Looks like Atlas isn't the only one who needs finding."

Henley swallows hard, but sets her jaw, her face determined. "Let's go"

**-0o-**

"There. Now can we please go?" Henley begs Merit. He'd refused to let her go out dressed in her pajamas and a robe, and threatened to tie her up and go looking for their friends without her if she didn't get dressed. Now she stands at the door, clad in black pants, a red shirt, and a leather coat.

Merit, looking satisfied, agrees. He walks over to the door and turns the knob, pulling the door open.

And stares in horror at what he sees.

Jack Wilder stands in front of him, holding the body of a slim man with brown hair and sharp features.

Merit catches Henley as she faints, not wanting her to hit her already injured head, and pulls the unconscious girl aside as he opens the door further, admitting his two friends, followed by an FBI agent.

**-0o-**

Henley wakes up on the couch in her living room, rubbing her aching head.

"Are you alright?" she hears a gruff voice from the armchair next to her. Looking up at the semi-familiar voice, she sees a man that sets her nerves off screaming _ENEMY ENEMY._

FBI agent Dylan Rhodes.

Rhodes seems to see the panic in her eyes. "Don't worry; I'm not here to arrest you."

"Then why are you –?" Henley stops as the events of the night slowly come back to her.

"Daniel!?" She whips her head around, ignoring the dizziness, and frantically searches the room for the familiar face.

"He's here," she hears Jack's voice from the floor just next to her couch.

He and Merit are on their knees next to the couch, leaning over the body of Atlas, which lies, listless, on the floor, a blanket folded under his head as a makeshift pillow.

"Daniel?" she tries to scream, but she can produce only a raspy whisper.

**-0o-**

Agent Rhodes sits in a ratty, uncomfortable armchair beside a much more inviting couch that he'd rather be on, but the couch is occupied. J. Daniel Atlas lies on the couch, unmoving, his head in the lap of one Henley Reeves, who looks down at him with such tenderness that Rhodes feels compelled to look away. Like maybe this moment is theirs, and he is intruding.

But he has business with the four magicians he sits amongst, including Atlas. He must tell them that they've made it into the Eye. That he is the master of their group; he's been the one instructing them. He's got to tell them now, even though they have yet to perform the third show. Because their ultimate motive, to get Thaddeus Bradley thrown in jail, has now been achieved.

As he watches Henley tuck a lock of Daniel's brown hair behind his ear, Dylan thinks about how clever the boy's plan was. He'd called Bradley to meet him in an alley, and Atlas had met him there conspicuously unarmed. He'd also made sure that Dylan and other FBI agents were there, hiding, to watch what Bradley did. He'd verbally assaulted Bradley, driving him extreme measures: Bradley had pulled out a gun and turned it on the unarmed man before him, with obvious intentions to kill, right in front of the FBI.

Atlas had known what he was getting into. He'd known that he'd either end up in jail because now the FBI knew where he was, and they'd been looking for him, or dead. Dylan knew he would make sure Atlas didn't get thrown in jail, but how was Atlas to know that? To Atlas, this was the selfless act of bravery he owed the woman he obviously loved, and he was more than willing to perform it.

So Dylan sits, reminiscing about the events of the night. He remembers hiding in the shadows of the alley. He remembers seeing the gun in Bradley's hand. Bradley, that hated man he so despised. He remembers jumping in front of that bullet, secure in the knowledge that his bulletproof vest would save his life, though he _was _knocked backward into Atlas on impact, and they both hit the ground, hard. He remembers bleeding because he was closer to the bullet than he thought, and it sheared through part of his bulletproof vest. He remembers Jack running towards them.

And he remembers learning that his most self-respecting and proud Horseman, J. Daniel Atlas, is squeamish and liable to pass out at the sight of blood.


End file.

Now You See Me, Romance, Suspense