In the End, I'll Always Catch You

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

*A/N* I tried very hard to keep the cheesiness out, but I might have failed in places.

The passages in Italics all take place before, the regular ones during the movie, I hope it's not confusing. Enjoy!

(New York City, 2007)

"Damn it, Henley, what the hell was that about?"

His assistant's face was alarmingly close to matching her flaming red hair. Being a gentleman, he probably ought to blame it on the aftereffects of his frankly quite exhausting show - but he could tell from experience it was a sign she was getting furious with him. Even more than she always was, that was to say.

"What the hell was what?! I did everything you said, Daniel Atlas, every fucking little thing," she hissed, piercing him with a deadly glare. "Look at me, I'm even wearing that thing you call a dress, and I still haven't decided whether that's forcing me into prostitution or just the most humiliating thing I've ever done for anyone. And that's including my mother!"

His self-control slipped for the fraction of a second as his eyes flickered down to the (admittedly a little daring) high hem of her emerald green show dress.

"Brings out the best in you in," he then commented loftily, trying to mask just how much she could mess with his head just by standing there. "And I'm talking about the fact that you were standing at least two feet off the point you were supposed to be standing and the next time you jump off that rope ten seconds too early I will not be there to catch you and it won't be my fault when your pretty little head smashes on the floor."

Henley stepped even closer - damn those curves (and yes of course he'd only said she was fat to wind her up - that woman was perfect and he knew it all too well). She was looking ready to slap him. "You are such an incredible control freak. Did anyone ever tell you you're a bloody sociopath? Just once, one time during the last year, you could have just said thank you!"

"Yeah, I'll be thanking you as soon as you are praiseworthy."

That one time, she actually did hit him.

.

(Albert Tressler's private jet, 2013)

"You sir are having serious trust issues."

He groaned in frustration. "All I'm telling you is that I would hate to see this whole immaculate plan falling to pieces just because you can't time your fall."

"Danny, I have always timed my stuff perfectly. And if you hadn't marked the ground within an inch of its life, not even you would have noticed-"

"Oh, I would have noticed, sweetheart. I planned all of it."

Sighing, she got to her feet and started pacing up and down between their seats. "You know, somehow I remember telling you that before, but: you are an absolute control freak, possibly a psychopath."

"Thanks."

"That, Danny, was not a compliment."

He threw her a tired smile - he definitely got better at pretending around her over the years. "My point's still standing - just stick to the damned plan, because I might be a control freak, but that just proves that I am unbeatable at making plans, Henley."

"Why can't you just trust me for thirty minutes? How can that be so hard?"

There was something in her eyes when she said this, a tad of desperation maybe, with just a tiny little trace of affection.

"You've known me long enough," he replied, failing to cover up his annoyance at her never-ending pacing. "you know I don't do trust."

"Thus your incapability at any sort of relationship." With another sigh, she pulled him to his feet. "Here, let me fix you. Stand there, in front of me."

"Oh please," he scoffed, "please tell me we're not doing this whole group-therapy thing."

She threw him a look that would have melted him under any other circumstances. Okay, damn, it did even now. "You leave me no choice."

He was feeling incredibly stupid, standing there in front of his ex-assistant/bitterly regretted one-night stand, on a plane. And the thought of Jack or Merritt bursting in on this did nothing to boost his mood.

"Come on. Trust me."

Well, he probably was the only man in the world who was hesitating when this woman was basically offering to feel him up. But hell, yes, he was scared. Handing over control was not his thing.

"Oh, stop acting like it was something personal," he snapped, realising too late he was completely off-subject.

"No, that would be a little paradox because it should be me not trusting you."

Hand it to Henley Reeves to make him feel worse than he did already.

.

(New York City, 2007)

"Shit."

It was half past three in the morning, he was crouched next to the door on the bathroom floor, shivering slightly. He'd known all along he was the biggest prat ever when he was drunk, but this had to be the most stupid thing he'd ever pulled off.

"Shit."

He knew he was treating her like shit most of the time as it was, and this she would probably never forgive him. No matter how inflated his ego could be, not even he managed to convince himself that she would have done this sober.

"Shit."

Okay, time for damage control. Or, to put it another way, time to run.

He'd never had this much of a guilty conscience before.

Probably because he'd never cared this much about any of his flings.

He gathered his clothes off the floor, holding his breath as if that would help not waking her. He turned to leave, but couldn't resist a last look over his shoulder. A part of her red hair was still in the braid she'd worn last night, but most of it was spread out over the pillow. Her face seemed pale against it and her make-up was slightly smeared.

Damn, had she ever been more beautiful?

.

(Albert Tressler's private jet, 2013)

He groaned. "Can we please not do this?"

"Do what?" she shot back innocently.

"Talk about what happened. I can't change it, either, you know?" No matter how much I wish I could.

"Okay, drop and I'll shut up."

"Henley..." There, that was how easily she could make him beg. She was still getting under his skin in the blink of an eye and she knew it.

"C'mon."

He couldn't. He just couldn't. It wasn't like no-one had ever tried to do that with him, it had never worked. Why should she make an exception?

"Trust me, Danny."

"We're on a plane," he pointed out irritably.

"So what? You know how many times I let you catch me? And I fell from a lot higher than this." Her voice was almost soothing now, and he thought he could feel her hand on his back - although that could be his imagination.

He squeezed his eyes shut angrily. "Just promise you'll stop nagging."

She chuckled. "I'll do my very best."

Oh, what the hell.

He let go. It was the scariest thing ever, but he did. The jolt of adrenaline was something he'd come to know, every complicated trick was like this, but it was still different. Usually, he was excited. Right now, he was afraid.

For the fraction of a second, he was scared she wouldn't catch him, but of course, her soft hands were there just in time. In the end, she'd never failed him. He couldn't help a grin as he opened his eyes and looked up into her pretty face, her curls falling loosely on his chest, hiding them from the rest of the world.

"Do I want to know what's going on here?"

Did he mention how much he hated that guy and his talent to burst in at precisely the wrong moment?

"Teaching Danny some bravery, Merritt. Nothing to worry about," Henley answered nonchalantly and stood up, leaving him on the floor.

Daniel scrambled to his feet, trying to fight down a blush he couldn't explain and dropped on his seat. "You know, team spirit stuff. Her idea. Childish really," he drawled, throwing McKinney a look that hopefully conveyed a very clear piss off.

But then again, Merritt had never really taken those sort of hints very seriously.

"Yeah, sure," McKinney shot Henley a pointed look, "as I said. Corked."

She scoffed and went back to her seat, looking slightly embarrassed - now that was a first.

"Care to explain, anyone?"

"Nope," Merritt chanted happily while Henley just sent a dark look his way. "Nothing to explain."

His eyes darted back and forth between them for a while, then he shrugged and went back to that trick he was practising. Trying to get anything out of these two was a waste of time.

(He'd find out on his own soon enough.)

.

(New York City, 2009)

"Tequila."

The sound of that voice almost knocked him off the bar stool. Hastily, he turned his head away, taking an incredible lot of interest in his drink. She obviously hadn't noticed him yet - he'd be black and blue all over by now if she had recognized the man sitting next to her.

It had been almost two years, but he wasn't going to rely on these few months (twenty-one and a half, to be precise) to keep him safe.

J. Daniel Atlas made an impression on women, maybe not exactly a good one, but long-lasting.

He was starting to feel a little sick and the whiskey didn't help.

"Honey, come here, have a drink!" Henley beckoned a young man (model tall, blond and puppy-eyed) who followed suit and steered through the club towards them.

Swallowing the urge to punch her oblivious toyboy, he used the opportunity to shove ten dollars over the counter and fled, catching a glimpse of her from afar.

Fine, so she was still gorgeous. Nothing unexpected.

The only unexpected things were a) the stinging feeling in his chest that he diagnosed as equal parts longing and jealousy and b) that for a moment he could have sworn she was looking him straight in the eye.

She said something, and if his mediocre lip-reading was anything to go on, it was "coward".

.

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(New Orleans, 2013)

Wow. There was no other word for it. Just - wow.

He tore out of his drooling mode just in time, he had to be there to catch her after all and those stands were pretty damn far away.

There was something about seeing her floating up there, more beautiful than anything he'd ever seen, something truly magical. Yet he had the sudden urge to get her back on the ground so she wouldn't get hurt.

His breath caught just like everybody else's as the bubble burst and she dropped towards the polished floor, right into his arms. His heart was beating furiously, because he'd had to run, of course.

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips when he held her, allowing himself the fleeting hope that one day she'd let him do this without a show act (she didn't look all that unhappy right now, after all).

In the end, this had always been his favourite part of their show - catching her. Obviously, he'd never admit that, never ever. Not in a million years.

But nobody knew better than her that if he lost control, he lashed out to get it back. And that fuzzy feeling in his stomach was losing control in its purest form.

"Guess you have lost some weight."

Once again, she looked like she was about to slap him.

But as long as she was there in his arms, that was something he could live with.

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