TENSLEY WAS A RELUCTANT MORNING PERSON. He hadn't been a morning person as a young child, never fully waking up until recess, dragging his feet through his morning routine, but as he grew older, being a morning person was the only way he, and subsequently his brothers, were able to survive, getting to school on time so there weren't more issues to be had if any adults tried to contact their parents or delay their schooling, and it had only gotten more necessary with time. So, despite his nature, Tensley was a morning person, and while he wasn't always chipper, he was at least lucid, and that's all anyone could ask of him, in truth.

He woke with the sun, though he rose before it, exchanging his comfortable grey sleep shirt for a more substantial black one, his flannel pajama bottoms for the well worn jeans he used for every one of these jobs. He forewent his usual leather jacket for the one he knew would never be recognized; dark and average, nearly every other man in Washington owned one, which made it perfect.

He went to the duffel bag, shoving the mask into one of the smaller inside jacket pockets he had sewn in, and the gloves into his jeans pocket; better to be tied with gloves than a mask. He adjusted the rest of the items inside, pausing for a moment before placing a few zip-ties into another pocket, leaving the rest inside the plastic. As for the rope and crowbar, he kept them where they were, but he couldn't help but dwell on the taser, unable to fight the shiver that ran through him; they wouldn't have given this to him if he didn't need it, and he hated what that implied.

"Jesus," he hissed to himself, shoving the taser into an inside pocket, zipping up his jacket before he could change his mind, the weight of the taser weighing heavily against his chest.

He picked up the two decks of cards he had dropped in the night before. He slid his original deck into his boot like usual, feeling more grounded with the added weight in his left shoe. It was the new deck that he was unsure about.

He looked to the hole in the wall, wincing when he realized that they would need to fix that, fearing they wouldn't get their deposit back. But he tamped down the financial concern for the moment, thinking about how this job would pay enough that he could start saving for Vinnie's college fund, maybe Harley too.

Steeling himself, he took the cards out, shuffling them for a moment, just to get warmed up. When he felt more comfortable, he cut the deck into quarters, taking two of the stacks and placing one in each of his back pockets. He unzipped his jacket, placing the other two into one of the other inside pockets he had sewn, deciding to prepare when he was finished.

After zipping up his jacket, he moved to prepare the duffel bag, adjusting the items still left inside, folding it in such a way so he wouldn't draw attention by holding a large, empty bag, but could expand it back to its original shape at a moment's notice. Fortunately, he had done this with other duffel bags, though this one was larger, so it was still more conspicuous than he would have liked.

He made his way to the kitchen, willing his footsteps to be light, even with the boots. Setting the bag down in plain sight, he went to make himself breakfast. He always had the same thing every morning, more or less, and despite his brothers' jokes, he didn't change; he liked the routine, it was one less thing to have to worry about, and was probably the one thing in his life that he could fully control.

So, keeping mind the time, he started making his scrambled eggs and toast, doing squats in front of the stove while he watched the blue light that peeked through the closed blinds start to grow lighter with time, letting him know that the morning was catching up with him.

But he still had time so, with an eye on the clock, he started to eat, leg bouncing, trying not to think about what was waiting for him outside the small bubble of safety he called his home. 

Little did Tensley know, another man was doing the exact same thing.

In one of the tiny motels that only received a second glance from people who needed somewhere cheap, and people who feared being in close proximity with those people, a man was moving around his small room, stumbling slightly as he got dressed, a pot of coffee brewing as he made sure he didn't put his shirt on backwards again, putting on his arm bracers and gloves, strapping on his quiver to make sure he didn't run out without it again, only remembering his hearing aids when he was halfway finished with the pot, drinking as he walked around, checking the file he was given and making sure he had all he needed.

After he put in his hearing aids and remembered that he needed shoes over his socks, the man went to lean against the small counter, not trusting himself to stay awake if he sat back down on the bed, finishing off the pot as he looked at the clock, giving in and grabbing one of the granola bars that had been forcibly packed into his overnight bag, eating as he tried not to think too much about what he would have to face; the coffee needed some time to kick in before he could really start thinking.

Unbeknownst to both men, they weren't the only ones doing the exact same thing.

º º º

Tensley had started prepping as he neared the location. It was out of the way and, this early in the morning, no one was around, the area only really getting traffic in the evenings and before sunrise. The few homeless people that were around didn't pay him any mind, most now falling asleep, having stayed up throughout the night to stay safe, though the ones that were awake he greeted with a small smile, trying to calm his nerves.

He took deep breaths as he pulled on his gloves, patting the back of his jeans to make sure the cards were still in his pockets. He debated for a moment before taking the zip-ties from one of his inside pockets and placing them in his outside pockets, figuring he should make it easier for him to grab if he would need them.

He really hoped he wouldn't need them.

He regretted not staking out the area beforehand for a good spot to wait, but they hadn't given him much to go with, nor much time to prepare, so he had made a point to be even a little bit early, if only to just have some time to breathe before he had to move.

He tried to tamp down the anxiety that was already taking hold, his chest tightening as his mind began to race, and he raced to the first hiding spot he could find, ducking behind a few large crates, shoving himself into the shadows as best he could, before placing his head between his legs and trying to level his breathing.

He had been dealing with this for years, and the only thing that had gotten better was him noticing the signs early and the various coping mechanisms he had that he knew would work. Other than that, his anxiety hadn't gotten any better, though he wasn't sure that it had gotten worse, and he still thanked every deity and the universe that he had gotten better at managing it so he could still work his performances without much issue.

It took some time, but when his breathing finally slowed and the tightness in his chest had mostly disappeared, he stood up, peering around to make sure he hadn't missed anything during his episode, shaking out his legs to get the blood circulating again.

He was so focused on keeping an eye on the ground, he hadn't thought to look up. Though there was no guarantee, if he had looked up, he could have caught sight of the figure perched on a nearby building watching him with interest.

While he waited, Tensley tried to stake out the area. The duffel bag was bigger than he was used to, and he didn't think stole artifacts would be delivered around her, especially if they were going to a museum; and he always stole the items after they were in position, he had never been sent out to intercept anything, and he had only worked at night.

If he thought about this any more, he was definitely going to throw up.

Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on the perspective—the rumble of an approaching truck halted any and all thoughts, sending him scrambling to peer over the large crates, trying his best not to be seen.

He heard it before he saw it, but when it came into view, he instantly knew why there was a taser burning a whole through his jacket. 

There were two men in the front part of the truck, the large and scary kind he had run from more times than he would ever like to admit, and from the size of the truck itself, he figured there were more equally large men in the back with whatever cargo they were transporting.

Then Tensley realized just how terrible his hiding spot really was.

A mechanical groaning joined the rumble of the truck as the metal entrance of the building started to open, and Tensley pressed himself as close to the crates as he could, squeezing his eyes shut, as if that would actually do anything to keep him hidden.

He debated taking out the taser, but he was frozen in place, too afraid to so much as lift his arm. So he just stood there, listening as the truck came to park in front of the building, voices calling out to each other, not too loud, but just loud enough for him to hear.

"Any idea what they are?" a voice asked, nearly drowned out by the back of the truck being lifted.

"I didn't ask. I don't know about you, but I like my dick exactly where it is," another replied, and Tensley would have snorted if he wasn't too busy trying to shift to another side to get a closer look.

It had been years since he had done anything like this, and he couldn't help but touch his jacket over the raised mark on his arm, idly wondering if he was still able to do even half of what he had before. Some had come naturally to him, so he probably still could, but he had made such a point to never try them again—save for one, but he had stopped making those part of his performances early on—that he wasn't sure they could help him now.

"Hurry up, they'll be here soon," a gruff voice called, slapping the side of the truck.

"Hurry up, they'll be here soon," Tensley parroted, though he was whispering too much to even get remotely right.

He listened some more, now at a safe position to peer around and scope the scene. As far as he could tell, there were four men from the truck, all dressed in similar off-white jumpsuits, and five men from the building, all wearing green windbreakers. The logos on both were too small for him to see, but he honestly didn't care much to learn.

"Be careful with that," the same man from before called.

"Be careful with that," he repeated, trusting himself to actually try, timing it with the loud shuffling.

He noticed that most were starting to convene within the building, and he figured that would be his best chance. He thought about the taser, going so far as to unzip his jacket, then figured the crowbar would be better; though he wasn't quite sure what constituted 'better' when it came to attacking people.

But he didn't want to think about what would happen to his brothers if he didn't do what he was supposed to, so he expanded the duffel bag, grabbed the crowbar, and readied himself, not noticing the figure that had been making his way down from the roof.

Tensley approached the large man that was working to pick up one of the larger boxes by himself, and Tensley was really going to beat himself up later for this.

"Here, lemme help," he called, and his mimic wasn't perfect—truly, his mother would be so disappointed if she could hear him now—but it was enough.

The man was barely able to register Tensley—who had forgotten to wear the mask he had been given specifically to avoid being identified—before the younger man hit him over the head, wincing as the man fell to the ground. 

He should have used the crowbar to open up the box the man was holding and grab whatever he could, because that was all that he had to do and he would be in the clear, he would've been fine. He just had to do his job.

But Tensley had a habit of making things harder on himself, so he dropped to his knees and pressed his fingers against the man's neck, searching for a pulse, then ripped off his glove to place under the man's nose, nearly toppling over with relief when he felt him breathing.

Then his arm was hit hard enough to send him flying.

It wasn't until he picked himself up that he realized the man hadn't been aiming for his arm. He had been aiming for his head, and would have probably bashed his head in if it wasn't for arrows that were now pinning him against the far wall inside the truck, embedded in the jumpsuit, keeping his legs and arms trapped.

He didn't have much time to focus on that, however, because he had all of three seconds before a shout alerted him to the man currently coming at him with a crowbar of his own.

"Hey, man, chill out!" Tensley called, blocking the blow with his own crowbar. 

He kicked out, foot miraculously hitting the right target, and he scrambled away from the man who crumpled to the ground, hands between his legs. He raced towards the building, not even thinking of the job or what he was supposed to do, running on pure instinct, but not even the helpful kind, just the one that told him to run.

As he crossed into the building, he was promptly tackled by one of the few men that was still conscious. Before he was sent tumbling, he had vaguely noticed a few limp bodies on the ground, but he couldn't focus on much else except fending off the punches aimed at his face.

His crowbar had slid away when he was tackled, and part of his jacket had bunched up, constricting his arm movement as he was pinned down, and all he could think about was how this really wasn't his day.

But then the crushing weight was shoved off him, and he opened his eyes, scrambling back as he watched his assailant be knocked unconscious by a blow to the head by what Tensley soon realized was an archery bow.

He scrambled to his feet, feeling his pockets for something to defend himself with, fingers catching on the cards he had hidden, shoving them into his jacket pockets, fiddling with them as he pressed against the wall, watching the newcomer with the bow knock out the other men who were still conscious, trying to get to their feet.

He hadn't realized he had just been staring until the man turned to him.

"I don't know you, so I'm honestly sorry about this, 'cause maybe you're a nice guy, but..." the man began, reaching for an arrow in his quiver, looking genuinely apologetic, though it was hard to tell with his sunglasses.

"Wait, wait, don't shoot, please," Tensley begged, raising his hands up, palms facing the man, "Look, man, I don't know who you are or what's going on, I won't tell, just let me go, okay? I gotta make sure my brothers are okay."

He hadn't meant for that to slip out, but it seemed to be right thing to say, the man faltering slightly, just for a moment, but that was all Tensley needed.

He flipped the cards into the palms of his hands, he and the man taking a moment to let his betrayal sink in. 

The man sighed, shoulders slumping. "Dude—"

Then Tensley started throwing.

He wasn't the best at this, and he knew that he could flick cards well enough that it would probably be more effective, but in the moment he wasn't thinking clearly at all, and he could throw them straight enough that they actually hit their target, the man shouting in surprise when the card actually scratched his face, his hand coming up instinctively, away from the quiver of arrows slung on his leg.

With that opening, Tensley ran, throwing a few more cards at the man, and because he wasn't looking forward, he didn't notice the people who were blocking the exit until he crashed into one, being promptly thrown back, sliding on the ground.

He held up his hands in surrender, cards hidden, and the man with the bow snorted, his hands raised in a similar position. Though, from the looks of his stance, it seemed he wasn't ready to go down without a fight.

But then Tensley noticed what one of the new people—all of them wearing masks similar to the one he was supposed to be wearing—was holding in their hand.

Tensley dropped one of his hands, shoving it inside the jacket that had remained open and unzipped the entire time, feeling around for the taser he had shoved inside the deepest pocket, coming up with nothing.

He groaned, leaning his head back, hitting it against the concrete wall. "Goddamn it."

Then they deployed the taser.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

( 03.10.21 )

I loved writing the opening, but the second they started the heist, it all went downhill, so let's just pretend that it's not utter garbage and we'll pick up next chapter okay? Thank you.

And also, I was just gonna have Tensley be good at card tricks and have his mysterious backstory that we will learn more about later, but I was rewatching Now You See Me and I learned that Jack Wilder (Dave Franco's character) can imitate voices, and I couldn't help but give that to Ten (I like the idea of him having these weird little quirks that make him a really great performer, 'cause Clint's from the circus, so it's fun)

Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed!