Chapter Text
Did you know, the name Atlas didn’t just come from the Greek Titan, punished to hold up the celestial spheres. Atlas was also a king. But that titbit was neither here nor there. Atlas, the titan, wasn’t good. He wasn’t evil, either. It all depended on whose side you were on. No one was inherently good or evil.
Daniel Atlas, the person who had chosen his name and had gone forward claiming it to be the one given to him, wasn’t good. He also wasn’t evil. He liked power and control, but he wasn’t actively searching for it. Patience was the real power. He could be patient when it suited him. Atlas, the human, didn’t carry the heavens or the sky on his shoulders, he carried the weight of what-could-have-been-s and words unspoken.
His father hadn’t been a kind man. Probably still wasn’t. He hadn’t appreciated a son who fixated on cardistry. Atlas sometimes wondered if he recognised him and looked up at him instead of down at him. He wondered if he had any regrets, like he had regrets. Would Atlas recognise him? The question hung in the air like tomorrow’s jokes that had yet to be laughed at, or said. He supposed that yes, he would. His father had carried a particular kind of anger in his eyes. Had been all too eager to snuff out any type of passion from within Atlas’ own blue ones.
Daniel Atlas chose the name Atlas, but he’d kept his given name, Daniel. His mother had named him. He couldn’t stand to erase the only thing he had from her. The J, for that matter, was a piece of him lost to time. He knew what it stood for. His father knew what it stood for. His mother had known as well. But it was the beginning of a name his father spat at him like yelling it out loud would somehow make him disappear. It didn’t. Oh, how he had wished it did. He could still hear him like an echo stuck inside his head. He could see him too and he would watch him, hovering over a boy with curls he would later grow to hate because it reminded him of the man in front of him. Hair equally curly, but greying and uncontrolled. Rage burned in his blue eyes, thundering with a hatred so deep, Atlas was sure he didn’t even know why he hated his own son so much. He watched as the older man lifted his hand to strike the young boy. It played out in slow motion, like a movie trying to translate the anticipatory tension of a blow that was inevitable and would immediately cut to an emotional fallout.
There was no sound.
Atlas closed his eyes at the moment of impact, but it didn’t block the sight of the boy falling and hitting the ground at such a force, Atlas could feel it rattle in his own bones. Because they had been his bones. The memory cut off abruptly, leaving him staring breathlessly at his bedroom ceiling.
Fuck.
Days that started off like this weren’t prone to being good days. He was extra prickly and not afraid to snap at anything and everything that so much as moved. He didn’t snap physically though. Never physically.
The Eye had sent them blueprints and notes detailing another heist. Days where practice was key and rest minimal, were rarely good days, with stress amplifying his controlling nature while dragging memories of a life left behind.
He shook his head in an attempt to clear his mind. It would have been laughable had he seriously thought it would help. Getting up, he picked an outfit that was half his usual trousers and half the outfit he would wear during their show. He was still getting used to his dress shirt’s tighter fit, having lived and performed comfortably in his usual t-shirts and hoodies. A quick pit stop to the bathroom took care of private matters before moving towards the kitchen where, to his great surprise, Jack was eating breakfast.
“I didn’t even have to wake you up.” Daniel commented with an impressed nod.
“Don’t get used to it.” Was the only thing Jack offered before turning back to his breakfast, voice quiet and eyes bleary. Still waking up, then.
“Coffee?” Daniel asked because he was going to make one for himself anyway.
“No thanks. No milk.” Jack yawned through his words.
“No milk.” Daniel repeated with a nod of his head, somehow not surprised. Black coffee it was. “Are the others up?” He asked absently, already bracing himself for the task of getting Merritt out of bed. Not before enduring the sight of the older man’s mostly naked body because he insisted on wearing nothing but too tight fitting undies.
“I heard Lula. Not sure about Merritt.” There it was. Having already accepted his fate, Daniel finished preparing his coffee. He took the mug and leaned against the counter, letting the heat seep into his palms. Jack ate in silence while Daniel watched him for a moment longer than necessary before looking away.
“We start walk-throughs after breakfast.” He said conversationally. Jack hummed in acknowledgement, eyes still on his plate.
“You’ve already looked at the plans. We all have.” Jack said. Daniel used to insist on revisiting the plans as often as possible so they all knew not only their place in the show, but also the others’. If something needed to change on the spot, whoever noticed first would be able to step in.
Daniel’s mouth twitched. “Of course.” He agreed easily. “I just wanted to make a small adjustment. Nothing structural.” That got Jack to look up. Daniel often made adjustments and they always worked, but he didn’t usually tell anyone unless they were all together and could agree as a team. Jack frowned, but nodded.
Daniel finished his coffee faster than he meant to and set the mug in the sink without rinsing it. The blueprints were waiting where he’d left them the night before, spread across the dining table in precise, overlapping layers. He paused at the threshold, shoulders tight, the faint domestic noise of the kitchen falling away behind him. The fridge’s hum faded and he closed his eyes.
For a brief moment, it was quiet.
The Eye’s work was meticulous. Timings accounted for. Margins calculated. There were fail-safes in place and Daniel made sure to really memorise those. He traced the path of the escape with his finger, following it from entry point to exit, counting seconds under his breath. Once. Twice. A third time, slower. He stared at the time for their final act, jaw tightening. The margin was thin, acceptable, but thin. He clicked his tongue, mind racing. They would exit the stage in different directions. Lula would be going through a trap door and meet Merritt who would be coming from the west side of the stage.
He picked up his pen and tracked the path from beneath the stage to where Merritt’s location would be. He imagined the delay of a breath, a stumble. He added three seconds. Allow Merritt more time to get to Lula.
He shaved them off the transition between release and reveal, recalculated the movement, adjusted the angle of escape just enough to compensate.
On second thought. He should move her. Daniel was familiar with trap doors and his route was closest to their exit point. He made a few more notes and sat back. There. Better.
He didn’t notice the way his hand shook until he set the pen down.
“Oh look at that!” Merritt entered the room. “Daniel Atlas. Hard at work.” He spoke in a tone that made it obvious he wasn’t surprised. Daniel picked up the pen again and started fiddling with it when he felt Merritt hover over his shoulder.
“I made some changes.” Daniel said, pointing at Merritt’s position on the map.
“I can see that. Lula’s taking your place?” Merritt asked, nodding at what he was seeing. “Looks fine to me.” He sauntered away, leaving room for Daniel to breathe.
He nudged the papers into perfect alignment, smoothing out a crease that hadn’t been there before.
Rehearsal wasn’t glamorous. There were no flashy lights, no music to welcome them on stage, no introduction through a pre-recorded video they still had to create. Just the echo of footsteps and the soft clatter of equipment being set into place.
Daniel stood near the front of the stage, arms folded, eyes tracking movement with habitual precision.
“Positions.” He said, “Exit.”
Lula popped up through the trapdoor with a grin that lit up her face. “You sure you don’t want me there?” She asked, plenty eager to go down the trapdoor.
“It’ll look better this way.” Daniel answered, “Jack goes up, Merritt goes west, you go east and I go down.” Lula rolled her eyes.
“East, west, what’s wrong with normal people language? Right and left makes more sense.” Lula complained, taking her place to the right of the stage. Jack was attached to a mechanism that would pull him upwards, allowing him an overview of what would be happening both on and off stage until he got down the stairs. They would be relying on him for the first few seconds after their exit on stage.
They got into position.
“On the count of three.” Daniel called.
“One,” Jack adjusted his jacket.
“Two,” Merritt leaned more into his left foot, ready to take off without taking on a position that showed the audience he was ready to bolt.
“Three!” They moved as one. Merritt went left at the exact time Lula went right. Daniel and Jack stayed on stage for a beat longer before Jack smiled, hit a button and went up, the sound of Jack moving behind him queued Daniel in and he allowed himself to fall backwards and through the trapdoor.
Merritt was already there, helping him up quickly so they could run to meet the others. Daniel looked up through the closing gap of the door, meeting Jack’s eyes for a split second before all three of them took off running. They met Lula at the door and called it a success. It worked brilliantly.
“Now from the beginning. One complete run.” Daniel said.
There was little room for error, but errors were human. Errors were in the little things, like shoes and distractions. Cords that coiled like a spring and presented themselves a tripping hazard.
At some point during rehearsal, Lula almost tripped, breaking the flow they had been riding smoothly.
“Stop.” Daniel snapped.
“You okay?” Jack asked, gravitating towards Lula instantly. She waved him off, already laughing.
“Yeah, yeah. My fault. Floor’s slick.” She said, grinding her foot against the stage flooring.
“Alright. Reset.” Daniel walked off stage towards his starting position, expecting the others to follow.
“You want to give her another second?” It wasn’t exactly phrased as a question, but Merritt’s tone had been clear. He was asking him to consider another adjustment.
‘No,” He said flatly. “It works.” Lula studied him for a moment longer, then shrugged and got back into position.
This time. Daniel didn’t count. They were all standing shoulder to shoulder, waiting with bated breath for their cue. Daniel allowed the silence to overtake that moment. It was thick, pressing and familiar. Like an old friend he hadn’t spoken to in a long time.
His pulse beat loudly in his ears, drowning out the shuffle of feet, the quiet breaths of his fellow horsemen, the hum of the lights overhead, the swing of an arm that was bound to come down and reshape his world into a foggy haze of confusion and pain.
There was no sound.
“Daniel.”
Jack’s voice felt solid. Like a blow on its own, making Daniel flinch minutely. He looked at his teammates, blinking back into reality. Merritt’s expression had gone carefully neutral. Lula was motioning at him to give them their cue.
“Go.” He said, allowing muscle memory to steer him to his location on stage. His voice carried his lines into the empty theatre where they would eventually fade.
Rehearsal went as it always did. They made it work.