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J. Daniel Atlas does not believe in committing theft.
It’s a silly statement to make about a guy who stole millions of dollars during a live show in front of an audience — but it’s true, no matter how many times Merritt tells him how stupid it is.
What the rest of the Horsemen call a multi-million dollar robbery— Dylan and Daniel steadfastly maintain is only returning money to its rightful owners. What Merritt calls stealing his glass, Daniel tells him is only profiting off of Merritt’s poor drink defenses — and what Jack tells him is foul thievery of his popcorn, Daniel tells him is just preventing food wastage.
This is practical, in some ways — he seems to enjoy sneaking something off of their plates if they leave them unattended, solely to then argue semantics with them when they inevitably call him out on it, and while it was annoying at first — they quickly realised it’s one of the easiest ways to goad him into eating whenever he’s in another one of his work spirals and forgets to show up to breakfast— and lunch, and dinner, on occasion.
If they make him a plate of his own to have, leave that on his desk or on the table within reach — he’ll call out an absent-minded thank-you at best, let it cool off and go stale, food forgotten the moment it’s given. If they walk past and put down a plate of their own, though, announcing that they’ll be back in a sec to make sure it catches his attention — usually, a few fries will be missing, or a corner cut off of a sandwich. If they call him out, he’ll tell them that’s what they get for leaving their food unattended, his usual irritating smirk in place, informing them that they should know better than to assume he won’t take advantage of their carelessness.
Dylan calls it realising the food is here only temporarily and therefore prioritising eating it. Merritt calls it being a huge little bitch. Whatever the reason, it’s proven to be effective in at the very least getting him to eat when he’s refusing to entertain their attempts to draw him away from his files, poring over document after document and snapping at them when they try to coerce him into joining them for dinner.
Even so, Daniel starchly maintains he doesn’t steal. They’ve mostly stopped arguing semantics with him, partially because he’s an incredibly exhausting person to argue with and partly because Dylan put a ban on arguments that last longer than twenty-five minutes and whenever Merritt and Daniel get started on the Theft Debate, as they’ve started calling it, it goes way beyond the twenty-five minute marker.
Still, though — the rest of them have no such qualms, and steal everything in the household left and right, with only a few notable exceptions. Lula and Jack have gotten into a competition of who can pickpocket the most items off of the other’s person, getting increasingly creative in both the things they’re carrying around and the things they’re taking.
Merritt doesn’t care to participate in it, even though he occasionally puts his hand in his pockets and realises his phone or keys are missing — or worse, that there’s suddenly other things in his pockets that he decidedly did not put in there. He was mostly okay with it back when it was just a few loose coins, some hair ties or cards or Danny’s wallet, but he had to draw the line at the slices of salami one of them snuck into his pockets.
They refuse to snitch on which one of them it was, but he wasn’t quick to forgive either of them if only for the horrifying experience of putting his hand in his pocket to fish for his keys and coming up with meat.
Even Dylan doesn’t seem to have any concerns with taking whatever’s left lying around — there’s a fleece blanket that once belonged to Lula that they all fight over whenever the nights start getting cold, and half the time Dylan wins. Though they all have preferred mugs to drink out of, Dylan grabs whichever one is closest — and he never blinks twice when Lula or Jack, and even Merritt on rare occasions, rocks up wearing one of his sweaters. He’s a good sport like that.
The one time he commented on their stolen wardrobe was when they hosted a Dress Like Dylan-day and each wore clothes they snuck from Dylan’s closet, with the exception of Daniel, who Lula says is allergic to having fun.
The few hard, unspoken lines they’ve drawn are things that are truly important — sentimental things, like Dylan’s watch or the lucky charm Lula always wears in her left pocket, and as an additional rule also most of the things that belong to Daniel. He’ll grumble and grouse about them taking his wallet, or his phone, but it’s no secret he doesn’t like his things getting messed with, and though they all greatly enjoy ribbing and riling each other up, none of them particularly care to truly upset each other.
On rare occasions, Jack will steal one of Daniel’s sweaters, usually met with a lot of protest and threats to steal it back — which is why it’s somewhat of a last resort to get Daniel to leave the office and participate in team-building exercises, even if that exercise is yell threats of physical violence at Jack.
Daniel’s simply… weird about a lot of things, including the things he owns. He doesn’t pickpocket any of the others, takes great care to check whether the jacket over the couch belongs to him before pulling it on — and though he’ll steal from their plates where they can see it, he doesn’t touch the tupperware boxes in the fridge or take anything if they’re not there to know about it. Though doesn’t care all that much if they steal his phone, or his wallet, or other “insignificant” things like that — Dylan says they all need to set different priorities, but it’s not like they really need those given that they’re in hiding — Daniel’s been very vocal about not liking it when they nose through his stuff or borrow his clothes. Most of all, though— Woe be upon any who dare to snatch away one of the papers he’s working on.
He added permanent ink to Lula’s eyeliner the day after she hid his laptop from him, and she ended up walking around like a Victorian ghoul for two days after it ran down her cheeks during a shower and wouldn’t scrub off afterwards.
They all have their ‘things’, anyway — Dylan’s a little weird about his work, too, and doesn’t seem to like the sound of running water, and Lula’s weird about the order in which she eats her breakfast, has a system for organising her bedroom that not even world’s greatest genius could figure out that they’re not allowed to mess with. They all know about Jack’s hidden food stashes and go-bag that’s poorly-hidden under his bed, and Merritt knows he’s got more than enough weird habits of his own, even if he isn’t quite sure yet which ones the others know about.
Lula claims to be “vegetarian except for the days she eats meat,” and Dylan has maintained to this day that he doesn’t have a birthday, but instead was spawned in a lab one day — and Daniel Atlas, a criminal internationally wanted for bank robbery, says he does not believe in committing theft.
To say that Merritt’s surprised, therefore, when he comes downstairs and finds Daniel hidden away in one of Dylan’s sweaters in the corner of the couch one morning, would be an understatement.
Daniel doesn’t look up when he stumbles into the living room, a half-hearted good morning catching on his tongue when he sees the familiar, tell-tale dark blue fabric of Dylan’s favourite sweater.
That… might not be entirely accurate, anymore — it used to be Dylan’s favourite sweater, until it became the Horsemen’s favourite sweater-owned-by-Dylan that’s now more of a communal thing, anyway. Half the time Lula shows up to breakfast, drowning in the fabric, and occasionally Jack will come back from a walk and Dylan will sigh before politely asking if there’s any chance that he may have his sweater back, please.
The answer, of course, is always a resounding no — but whenever they point that out, Dylan says it’s always worth a try.
Even Merritt’s taken it a couple of times, when he had to go out for groceries in the early mornings and the walk to his own room to get a coat of his own felt too far for the cold in the air, and he has to admit — it’s very comfortable. He gets it, really, why Jack and Lula seem to be in a neverending war to see who can steal it the most.
What he doesn’t get, is why Daniel has suddenly decided to get in on the action and taken it, too — not when he’s always the most vocal about not borrowing any of their stuff.
“Morning,” he settles on eventually, deciding to at the very least make his presence known — and Daniel hums back non-commitally, slowly turning his head to squint at Merritt.
It’s not that early, really — Merritt’s usually among the firsts to rise, though Daniel is usually up earliest out of all of them. If it were Lula or Jack on the couch, it would make a little more sense that they’d look tired — but it’s already an hour past Daniel’s usual wake-up time.
There’s no other verbal response, and Merritt raises an eyebrow, heading further into the room to hover over the couch, staring down at Daniel in his most judgemental manner. “So? The great J. Daniel Atlas finally getting rid of his morals? Becoming a common thief like us?”
Daniel frowns up at him, blearily blinking up — and he’s paler than usual, impossible as it sounds. “Fuck off, Merritt,” he mumbles, no heat in his tone — which only serves as further indication that something is wrong, because any other day Daniel would snap at him to move out of his space or stop blocking his light, or anyhing like that.
“No, you’re being weird. Weirder than usual, at least. What’s up with you?” Merritt inches closer, taking in the way Daniel’s usual frantic movement, the tapping at the armrest or flicking cards back and forth is all but gone, replaced with barely perceptible shivers. “Don’t tell me you’re cold — the heating’s on at sixty-eight Fahrenheit.”
“Not my fault the windows are poorly insulated,” Daniel shoots back, though his tone doesn’t rise above a mutter. “Dylan’s gotta invest in better heating if he wants me to not fuck with the thermostat.”
“You’re the one always telling us to layer up,” Merritt admonishes, but he reaches out to hold the back of his hand against Daniel’s forehead nonetheless. “Besides, you’re plenty warm already. What, did someone stick you in a microwave?”
There’s a few seconds of quiet before Daniel seems to register his words, though he doesn’t pull away from the touch the way he usually would. “Yes. Clearly. I was cold, so I thought I’d try out the defrosting button on the microwave.”
The sarcasm falls flat, and Merritt takes the opportunity to be annoying about it. “Well, did it help? Because if it didn’t, I’d say you have a solid fever.”
Daniel sighs, moving back and seemingly remembering Merritt’s hand is still touching his face — and he reaches up to swat him away, missing Merritt by an inch. “I’m not sick. It’s fine, the house is just… cold. Nothing more.”
“Sure,” Merritt agrees easily, “that’s definitely a more likely conclusion than your crappy immune system failing you again.”
Daniel glowers at him, but doesn’t refute it — and it’s true, anyway. It’s been a couple of weeks since their London show at the new year, settling into a safehouse hidden in a backwaters England town after spending roughly a week in the observatory — longer than planned, according to Dylan, but due to the fact that both him and Daniel got sick after they settled down post-performance.
Turns out cold, wet clothes in exposed December air are not good for one’s constitution, and though neither of them got too sick, they were both out of the running for a couple of days due to their unplanned swim back in Macau.
Merritt likes to use the incident as a demonstration of useful stubbornness and stupid stubbornness — though Dylan and Daniel both have a tendency get lost in their work, to forget to eat or drink while they’re stuck in another work spiral and staying up far, far too late — Dylan took the illness in stride and stocked up on vitamins, made sure to figure out which supplements boosted immune systems and even when he’s working, usually remembers to come down into the kitchen to at least grab a plate of dinner when he doesn’t have the time to sit down with them.
Dylan, Merritt finds great joy in saying, makes for a great patient — because he does what he can to get better as soon as possible, which starts by actually admitting when you’re ill. Daniel, on the other hand, is quite possibly the most annoying patient he’s ever had to deal with, which admittedly doesn’t mean much on account of the fact that Merritt usually tries to avoid dealing with sick people altogether.
Unlike Dylan, who put two and two together and decided to accept that the answer is four, Daniel went out of his way to maintain that he wasn’t ill — that he was absolutely fine to keep poring over the files the Eye had left out for them to read through, and that there was no reason to take it easier only because he was “a little under the weather”.
It also means that he still refuses to maintain anything even slightly closer to a healthier sleep schedule, and forgets to eat half the time — none of which is actually helpful in trying to boost an immune system.
Merritt’s given up on trying to argue with him about it, as have the others — he wasn’t this driven, this frantic about it before the Octa show went wrong and everything in Macau happened, but any attempts at discussion have been firmly shut down.
Dylan’s said to let him stew for a while, that he’d try to have a chat sometime later in the month — but none of that helps him right now, staring down at Daniel as he seems to try and melt into the couch cushions. “Stay here. I’m gonna call Dylan.”
“No—” Daniel’s halfway up in an instant, one hand reaching out to clasp itself firmly around Merritt’s wrist, “you don’t need to call him. It’s fine, Merritt, seriously.”
“Daniel,” Merritt levels him a firm glare, “we’re not doing this again. You have a fever. You’re obviously not well. Dylan’s gotta know about that — he's our leader for a reason.”
Daniel doesn’t respond for a moment, though his grip on Merritt’s wrist lessens, and then he sinks back into the couch, swallowed by the loose fabric of Dylan’s hoodie. “He’s gonna be upset,” Daniel mutters, and Merritt tilts his head as Daniel shifts his knees closer to his chest. “I’m already on thin ice.”
That’s… not entirely what Merritt was expecting, and he pauses for a moment as he tries to mull it over. Daniel’s reluctant to call Dylan, that much is obvious — but as far as he knows, there haven’t been any altercations between them, nothing that would indicate that Daniel really is on “thin ice”. In fact, Dylan’s been more concerned than anything else about him.
“Why would you be on thin ice?” Merritt decides to risk asking, because he truly has no idea what Daniel’s referring to, and if there’s one thing he hates, it’s not having all the information to operate off.
Daniel shoots him a withering glare, made slightly less effective by the fact that his eyes are fever-bright, and huffs out a breath. “You know why, Merritt. It doesn’t matter. I’ll fix it, it’ll be fine. I just need to get warm first.”
“You need to get back to bed,” Merritt disagrees, before rolling his eyes and sitting down on the edge of the coffee table, making sure to keep his expression as open and genuine as he can. “Also, I have to be honest — I truly, genuinely have no idea why.”
Daniel stares at him a little longer, seemingly scrutinising his expression for anything disingenuous, but doesn’t seem to find what he’s looking for, and he sighs. “I fucked up in Macau, Merritt,” he says eventually, a hoarse rasp to his voice as he lowers it a little below his usual register. “Not only was I the reason they got to us all, but I said— things. To Dylan. He’s gotta be, like, pissed about that. I thought he’d have told you all by now.”
There’s a hunch in his shoulders, the usual tension that leaves his posture painfully straight and taut gone in exchange for an exhausted slump, and Merritt feels an unexpected burst of sympathy. “You called him nothing, right? Said we didn’t need him?”
Daniel’s eyes flicker up to him, burning suddenly in something akin to betrayal. “You said you didn’t—”
“— I said I didn’t know why you’d be on thin ice,” Merritt talks over him crisply, “not that I didn’t know what happened. Yeah, Dylan told us about that — also told us that you apologised to him, over and over, that first week at the observatory. He’s not mad at you for that — hell, if he’s gonna be upset about anything, it’ll be the fact that you’re barely spending any time with anyone, only holing up in your office.”
There’s another flare of something behind the blue eyes staring back at him, almost pleading, and Merritt crosses his arms as Daniel heaves himself slightly more upright on the couch, meets his gaze head-on. “He can’t be upset about that — I’m trying to help him.”
There’s a miscommunication in here, somewhere, Merritt figures — they’re not talking in circles, quite, but they’re speaking slightly past each other, and it doesn’t exactly feel very promising.
“He appreciates the help,” Merritt says slowly, because that’s true — from what Dylan’s let slip, Daniel’s been taking over a lot of the sorting and reorganising of documents and structures, filtering different potential marks and companies into separate folders and creating a comprehensive list of everything the Eye is currently responsible for, every shop and safehouse they have a hand in.
It’s a lot of work, and it’s tedious — and Daniel’s help is convenient, because being given full control of a secret, magic company is a lot of work, apparently, but it’s nonetheless not Daniel’s task — it’s Dylan’s, and any attempts the Horsemen have made to get Daniel to lay off, to take it easier or leave the work for later have been sharply rebuffed.
It’s starting to make sense, now, Merritt thinks — because they’d figured Daniel needed a distraction, or simply needed some space, or anything else, really — but seeing the way he’s almost distraught at the idea that his help’s been unwanted, that he’s been upsetting Dylan more instead of less by trying to help—
“You’re trying to make up for it,” Merritt realises, “and Dylan’s upset — not angry, but worried about you, because you’ve been practically isolating yourself from the moment we got back and we didn’t know why.”
“I’m not isolating myself,” Daniel protests, and given his ensuing grimace, it sounds weak even to his own ears. “I’m just trying to be— I don’t know, more helpful. Less in the way. Just… less.”
It makes sense, in a stupid, convoluted way — it doesn’t take a genius to figure Atlas has issues, but given that he’d already apologised to Dylan, and Dylan had told them he’d forgiven him — Merritt’d thought worries like these would be out of the way. Nothing’s ever easy, though, so of course Daniel still thought it was all his own fault, that he’d still have to make up for it.
“We don’t need you to be less,” he says forcefully, though not unkindly — “You think Dylan picked us because we’re easy to work with, or because we’re all agreeable and nice?”
Daniel narrows his eyes at him, but Merritt barrels on, uncaring. “You’re a dick. So am I. Lula’s a few fries short of a happy meal, and Jack’s ten pounds of crazy in a five pound bag — point is, none of us are easy. The point is that we’re good — good at what we do, with a decent set of morals and a solid team to back us up.”
Daniel opens his mouth to protest, and Merritt uses one hand to fumble around on the coffee table until he finds what he's looking for, and lobs his newly-acquired coaster at Daniel. “Stop that — I’m not finished. The thing is, Dylan chose us, and now we’re a team. That means doing our shit together. Dylan’s forgiven you. If he were pissed at you, he’d have kicked you from the team — and he didn’t do that, so stop acting like he did. You’re one of us, with nothing to make up for — and right now, all you’re doing is making me listen to Dylan worry about you and Jack and Lula complain that they miss your grouching during movie nights.”
There’s a silence for a few moments, Merritt realising belatedly that he might have raised his voice a little too much, and that it’s generally not exactly polite to yell at ill people — but whatever, he reserves the right to yell at people when they’re being stupid, and right now, he’s decided that’s Daniel.
“Take a day off,” he settles on, voice a lot quieter, getting to his feet quietly and plucking the coaster off of where it’s come to rest on Daniel’s shoulder. “All you’re doing is making things worse by not taking a breath — for yourself, and the team. Eat a vitamin, steal a hoodie, watch a crappy show with Lula for all I care — no one’s gonna yell at you if you stop burying yourself in work for a moment. And if they do, we’ll deal with it.”
Daniel’s staring back at him, wide-eyed, and Merritt realises that despite the many arguments they’ve had — he doesn’t think he’s ever really raised his voice at Daniel, not in a non-playful manner. It’s not something he’s planning to repeat any time soon — but Daniel seems to shake himself out of it, nodding slowly and clearing his throat lightly.
“Sure, yeah, I— I guess I can do that,” he says airily, and then, before Merritt’s managed to move away, “Are you— sure? That he’s just worried?”
He’s not sure whether it’s the fever, burning through his system and making him miserable enough that it’s visible, or the fact that Merritt’s gone and changed the rules on him, not only yelled at him but also started an honest, emotionally open conversation — but it’s the first time… ever, Merritt thinks, that Daniel seems to look to him for reassurance, that he’s not simply deciding to make it on his own but actively reaching out for— comfort, Merritt guesses, and he knows that if he fucks this up, now — if he rebuffs him, or tells him off — Daniel will never try it again.
“I’m sure,” he says instead, keeping his voice low, warm— “He’s been looking for ways to get you away from the work without making you feel like it’s because you were doing it wrong. The kids, too—”
Despite being halfway into their twenties, and not being kids in the slightest — Merritt and Dylan have jokingly started referring to the younger ones that way, occasionally including Daniel in that, too, but only when he isn’t around to hear it. Right now, though, he means Jack and Lula, and he knows Daniel catches the reference, too.
“— they’ve been looking for ways to draw you into what we’ve been doing. Jack’s been hovering outside your office, and Lula’s been wanting to ask you to do her nails again in that impossible pattern that none of us get right, apparently — they miss you, plain and simple. Besides, you think it’s a coincidence we’ve had risotto three nights in a row? Half of us don’t even like risotto that much — Dylan just figured you’d be more likely to actually show up to eat if we made your favourite.”
Daniel swallows thickly, at that — and like this, huddled into a sweater that’s too big on him, sequestered away in the corner of a couch as though it’d help him turn invisible — he’s never seemed younger.
“I miss them too,” Daniel rasps out, another shiver visibly racking his frame, and Merritt rolls his eyes as Daniel tugs the sleeves further over his hands.
“Go to bed,” he says instead, “you’re not gonna get better from sitting here. I’m gonna send Dylan your way, and we can pretend that all of this was just the fever microwaving your brain into soup and making you stupid, yeah?”
He doesn’t wait for an answer, instead heading into the kitchen to put on the kettle. There’s a shuffling from behind him that he figures is just Daniel making his way to the staircase, but when he turns back, two mugs in his hands, Daniel’s hovering in the kitchen entrance, clutching the doorframe for support. “Thanks, Merritt.”
“Don’t thank me, kid,” Merritt says, unable to keep the smirk off his face when Daniel scowls at the nickname. “You wanna be thankful? Let Jack show you the new trick he’s been working on — he’s been excited about it all week. And don’t kick Lula out of your room when she shows up, she says she’s found the perfect nature documentary for you guys to watch.”
Daniel nods at him, slowly turning around before disappearing from view, and Merritt turns back to his mugs and fishes out one of the boxes of tea from the cabinet. He’ll go and find Dylan in a minute, clue him in on everything going on — but before that, he’ll give Daniel a couple of minutes to recharge his social battery, and he’s gonna take his time preparing the tea.
It’s been a rocky few weeks, all of them still settling into a comfortable rhythm, slowly getting reacquainted with working in a team — some of them, apparently, just need a few more reminders than others.
It’ll be fine, though, Merritt supposes — they made it this far, and with how attached they’ve all become, how quickly Lula had found her place among them and how easily it felt like she’d been there all along — he’s not too worried.
They’ll all have their own things playing up once in a while, but so long as they’re still together, still have the others around to call them out on it — well, Merritt supposes, he thinks they’ll be just fine.