CONJURE A BOUQUET (AND NEVER LET IT GO)

Part 2

Jack was worried sick.

Danny's condition did not improve in the next days: in fact, it got progressively worse when he was around anyone else but Jack – or so everyone was saying.

If Jack were to be honest, some small sick part of him was glad that their leader only seemed to be better when he was around Jack, but a larger part of him felt terrified at the implications of their situation.

"You know, we've got to stop this, man. People will start talking," he said in jest.

Danny's face, already too thin and tired, broke into a smile. "I know," he said in a voice that was barely a whisper. He looked down at his forearm, which Jack carefully put a hand on. "I'm sorry."

"Danny, I was joking," Jack said softly, almost exasperatedly. "Will you lighten up, dude?"

The showman shook his head. "It doesn't matter."

"Damn straight it doesn't," the sleight said tightly. "All that matters to me is that you get better." Jack stood up, taking Danny's half-empty soup bowl in his hand. "I'll heat up your soup. I'll be back."

Something in Danny's chest tightened as he looked at Jack, the fear of understanding hitting him very suddenly. He always knew that it was never about Henley, it was never about missing her, or not fitting in with the other Horsemen, or being alone.

The nausea hit him, causing a fresh wave of petals to spew from his mouth, along with the angry tears that came with the violent color splashes of yellow, brown, white, and red.

Jack was in the kitchen, heating up Danny's soup and scrolling through his phone for anything that could explain what was going on with the showman. He had dropped everything ever since Danny collapsed out of nowhere in the magic shop, and he was determined to help their leader get better so they could get on with the show.

Jack tried to convince himself that it was the show that was the most important thing in the world to him now.

"Jack?"

The sleight turned with a half-smile. "Hey, Lula. Where have you been?"

For her part, the self-decapitator crossed the room in three strides and took a seat in front of Jack, her blue eyes somber and somewhat apologetic. She really was beautiful, Jack thought to himself, but somehow her blue eyes didn't quite catch him the way blue eyes usually did. He wondered why.

"We've been looking around, trying to figure out what's going on with Danny," she said carefully.

Jack perked up. "Yeah? Please tell me you found something."

Lula sighed, rubbing her face with the palm of her hands. "I'm not sure if I can explain this."

The sleight's eyes narrowed. "Lula, Danny's coughing up fits of freaking flowers. I'm not sure if anyone can explain what the hell is going on with him, but I think you have as good a chance as anyone."

She looked at him searchingly before pulling out a few sheets of paper, which Jack saw were printed from various websites with photos of different and alarmingly familiar flowers. "Merritt told me the fits started around the time that I joined up, right?" she said.

Jack rolled his eyes, a half-smile on his face. "You going to tell me you poisoned Danny with flower disease?"

Her eyes seemed to gaze at Jack pityingly. "Not exactly."

He frowned, for real this time. "What do you mean?"

"I didn't poison him, Jack." Lula started laying out the photos of the flowers, with highlighted words underneath each.

Yellow roses and hyacinths. Jealousy, the loss of love.

Dead leaves. Sadness.

"Lula…" Jack said warily, eyeing the photos before him.

Gardenia. Secret love.

"You did, Jack," she said quietly as she put down the last piece of paper before him.

Red carnations. My heart aches for you.

Danny thought how horrible it was to know what he did, and yet be completely in the dark as to what to do about it. His bleeding mouth twisted as he thought of his name: Atlas, and how completely apt his name was right now.

He was Atlas, the all-powerful god, alone and invincible.

Jack Wilder was the world, and his world had become Jack Wilder. He didn't know when, he didn't know why, but he now found himself with the burden of knowledge that he knew could only be true.

He was the mighty Atlas, and now, he could only put the sky on his shoulders so his beautiful world would not be crushed by its weight. But instead of his shoulders aching from the weight of his burden, here he was, coughing up red carnations, because his fucking-heart-was-aching-for-him.

The door opened again, though gentler than Danny supposed it should have been opened. He looked up curiously, and immediately, a jolt of excitement seized him as he took in the sight before him.

It was Jack Wilder, looking at him like he never did before (at least not for such a fixed and long period of seconds), holding two flowers in his hands as he took deliberate steps toward Danny.

Danny's heart was pounding as the sleight sat on the edge of the bed, placing the two flowers next to the showman. Gulping, he picked up the flowers with trembling hands: one was a beautiful hyacinth that matched the yellow ones he produced, but this time in a deep shade of purple; the other was a yellow-orange ambrosia, something so radiant and perfect that he could only stare at it.

"They're, um," Danny cleared his throat nervously. "They're very nice."

Jack's brown eyes gazed at him gently. "Are they?" he whispered.

Was it yet another one of his delusions, or was Jack's face nearing his? Danny found it hard to tell, and even harder to look and stay away. He nodded. "Yeah," he said softly.

The tips of their noses were practically touching now. "You should have said something to me," Jack said sadly.

Danny was pretty sure they weren't talking about the flowers anymore. He brushed the tips of his fingers against the cheek of the other man, feeling a jolt of electricity course through him. "It was too beautiful for me to say anything," he admitted, his senses on overdrive.

"Idiot," Jack snapped before covering Danny's lips with his own.

Five days later, the Horsemen were in the middle of the Thames on New Year's Eve, having pulled off their most successful heist yet, and the crowd was positively screaming in complete adoration of them.

"…Three! Two! One!"

Jack felt a strong hand pulling him, followed by the familiar warmth of lips on his. He smiled underneath Danny's searing kiss, oblivious to the crowd that had suddenly gone even wilder, or to the lights that threatened to blind him. The air smelled wonderful – fireworks, cheer, joy, and Danny.

He probably wouldn't mind if it would never smell like flowers again.

NOTES: Wrapping this up for you guys! Thanks for staying with it.

The usual disclaimers:

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.

From .

Purple hyacinths: I'm sorry

Ambrosia: Reciprocal love