Disclaimer: I don't own Mortal Instruments. Sorry.
However, I do lay claim to the idea and plot. The story before you is 100% mine from start to finish. Some notes about it before we start:
- There is some exposition laid in. This isn't like some of my other stories where everything can be pretty much inferred and explained in the plot. Some mechanics of the world that I created in this AU needed a little extra expositing and thus there is a little backstory. It's not really an inconvenience, I just tried something new. I hope that it turned out alright in terms of flow. Additionally, elaboration is put in parenthesis when I wanted to elaborate for my own sanity. They're probably one of my favorite parts of the story even though they do very little, to be honest.
- Jace is kind of a hapless dork at times. This is because he is in his twenties and just graduated from college a few years ago and most guys at that age don't have the entirety of their stuff together. I mean, he's not stupid, but the protagonists like to poke fun at him sometimes because they know things he doesn't. I don't know, but I had fun writing it. So there's that. Also, Izzy is mentioned sometimes, but she's not really a main character. So yeah.
- I kinda took on a slightly different interpretation of 'shoulder work'. Like, the shoulder 'demon' isn't a demon. It's kind of a different variety of human influence, but not inherently bad. I'll explain more in the text, but it's a mildly tweaked version of the trope. I thought it was more interesting that way.
Sorry to bore you and thanks to anyone who has read my stories. I really appreciate it and I love the positive feedback I get; I use fanfiction primarily as a way of getting out ideas and having writing practice, so it really helps. I love what audience I have.
With no further ado, here is the story. Please enjoy!
I've found a lot of love in this town, everywhere I go
But it never seems to stay and I've never seen it grow
I found a lot of love in this town
In the City of Angels
My heart should be
Right here with you (Right here with you)
In the City of Angels
- City Of Angels (The Head And The Heart)
"You think he'd feel it, if I poured glitter inside his lungs?" Alec's companion murmured, fascinated as he watches Jace doze on the couch, absolutely oblivious to the phone viciously vibrating next to him. "He'd be beautiful on the inside, and isn't that encouraged by the godly entourage?"
Alec snorted, shaking his head with practiced exasperation.
"He'd die, Magnus. He's not supposed to die yet." His companion pretended to consider that possibility.
"Mmm, yes, but at least he would wake up coughing sparkles. It'll finally be something interesting," the angel's partner groaned, sliding to the floor. "You know, it'll be a story we can talk about, bring to infamy. Our dearest Jace is about as intriguing as an old sock."
"Watching him is a responsibility, not a source of entertainment."
"If he actually did anything with himself, perhaps I'd feel more inclined to watch instead of participate." Alec smothered a smile. "Darling, his ringtone is driving me up a wall. Do something, please."
"Like what?" the man responded, his endless patience rearing its resilient head, his wings folding over his frame.
Yes, wings, big and full and white as freshly fallen snow, strong and sturdy and majestic. They hung off the backs of his shoulder blades with a natural grace, slopping and arched, softer and brighter than light itself. They bathed the room with warmth and comfort, purifying everything they touched.
So, yeah, wings. Angels tended to have those, and Alexander was no exception.
"I want you to smash it against the celing. Or possibly vaporize it. Whatever makes that infernal device stop, I'm dying. My eardrums are bleeding," Magnus replied immediately, practically swooning, and with a (fond) roll of his eyes, the angel snapped his fingers. Groggily, Jace emerged from his three hour nap, groping the floor for his mobile. With a hand smoothed over his face, the blonde answered and mumbled an exhausted 'hello'. This, of course, was followed by immediate straightening and almost unnatural alertness.
"No problem, Clary, anytime." The blonde paused, listening to her with a small smile. "No, no, I'm just tired is all. I've been up for hours, don't worry . . ."
"Happy?" Alec remarked dryly, taking in the scene.
"You've saved me from hell, Alexander. I shall be eternally grateful," Magnus promised, flashing a brilliant grin of dramatized relief. The blue eyed being waved him away.
"Isn't hell your funhouse?" he hummed with a small smile tugging at his lips.
"Okay, okay, we've been over that one, Alexander," he drawled in response, and the angel swatted him on the nose. (Frankly, the holy one had no idea why he continued to let himself be called 'Alexander' in the first place. It was too grand, too frilled. He preferred Alec. But Magnus had used his full name from their very first day on the job and refused to be corrected, and maybe Alec started to like it. Kind of.) "Fallen one. Downworlder. And I'm on shoulder duty, alright? Don't throw me in with the demon lot, I'm not here to damn him. I just . . . encourage his instincts. Push him to be more reckless and lower his inhibitions."
"So, again, you're like a terrible friend who's always telling him to loosen up and have fun while getting horrifically drunk."
"Better that than a soccer mom trying to keep her precious baby from getting a scratch," the downworlder snipped back, checking his nails. "You're a helicopter parent, Darling. We both are."
"It's the job. And if you say something stupid like 'I'd rather be doing you' I'm afraid I might have to hurt you." Magnus snorted loudly. Alec glanced over his companion. Clad in vibrant scarlets and a deep ebony suit, tailored to perfection, he didn't look like a child. Tall, caramel-skinned, dark eyes you could live in (though, he does admit, that would probably be very uncomfortable for both parties involved, not that Alec's thought about it a lot) - if he were mortal, the angel could almost see the appeal, despite his comrade's dramatacisims. Magnus was as impossibly handsome as Alexander was impossibly holy.
Really, it was a shame that he was about as mature as a five year old on sugar sticks. A face like his shouldn't have to go to waste.
"Okay, okay," he waved. "But seriously. 'It's the job', says Mister Shinier Than Thou. It's a boring one, then. I still say we try to spice things up, preferably with sparkles." Magnus' features turned truly devilish. "So what if we -"
"Nope. Just, stop while you're ahead. Jace is talking to his almost-girlfriend again and I want to listen."
"Ah, yes, what fresh horrors is his young adult mind cooking up now?"
"Not that. He's not that bad."
The fallen one cleared his throat. "Oh Clarissa," he said in the most atrocious mimicry possible, "your hair is like flames upon the night, your eyes a wellspring of life, vibrant against the dawn. Your art is more magnificent that Michelangelo's best works, and your smile is brighter than the sun. With your wits and talent and my magnificent blondness, our children will be the supreme race upon this desolate earth. Now shall I compare thee to a summer's day?"
Now he couldn't help it; the angel barked out a laugh, bright and airy. "He doesn't sound like that, you know."
His companion laid a hand upon his chest. "You're absolutely right. There were no odes to his fantastic muscles."
"I hate you, sometimes. You're terrible."
"You couldn't if you tried."
"Really?" Alec countered, raising a skeptical eyebrow with amusement. "Want to bet?"
"Aw, you know you love me. The last twenty three years together have been brief, but they've been magical, I must confess," the caramel skinned man smirked, batting his lashes. With a swift flick of his wrist his fingers were curling around the angel's wrist, unfolding his hand, and as he smoothed a thumb over his skin, soft and deliberate, Alec's breath hitched (sadly enough). Slowly, he laid a kiss across the knuckles. "Run away with me?"
(And, well. He might be a warrior of God, a protector of mankind and his charge - who was, at the present, Jace, and a being of universal light and purity, but his coworker just happened to be Magnus, a fallen one a little too pretty for his own good. He whines incessantly, creates elaborate and increasingly extravagant ways to pass the time, and enjoys flirting with Alexander relentlessly. He finds their assigned human annoying and idiotic and he craves excitement like a drug. He's Magnus, and he always knows, impossibly, just how to get under Alec's skin.
Maybe they're even friends, in their own way, despite their conflicting views on how to properly 'watch' Herondale.
Maybe, during the long and tedious hours, Magnus even manages to coax out a blush or two, just for kicks. The downworlder always treats it, the lovely crimson rising in his cheeks, with a delighted and almost childlike smile, filled with victory. Maybe it makes Alec blush a little harder, and maybe they've always been like this because the other man is kind of a clingy brat with no concept of personal space and he should really be used to it by now.
And maybe, during the few times he allows himself to dream, he finds himself wishing that things were different, where instead of watching Jace he could be watching a wingless angel with an obsession borne of glitter and the mind of a fashionista. Hands knit with hands, kisses across knuckles that are something more than just a light joke.
But that's just speculation, mindless dreams. And when do the immortals indulge in those?)
"Unfortunately, I'm going to have to decline," Alec said finally, pulling his hand away gently. Magnus looked far more disappointed than he should have been and Alec tried not to think about that too much. "Anyways, work your magic. He's been waiting far too long to ask her out, anyhow. I thought impulsive decisions were your area, slick."
"Really? You're encouraging this? I thought you barely tolerated Clary."
"Hey, I barely tolerate Jace himself most days, but he's like a brother to me. She makes him happy, loathe as I am to admit it."
"Well, then, it looks like the stick jammed up your rear has finally loosened. I knew it had to happen eventually," Magnus replied, the mirth seeping back into his eyes. He slinked to Jace's side, cupping his hand and whispering into his ear from over the blonde's shoulder. His magic shined in the light enticingly, flashes of color amongst the sun-baked room, and fluttered into Magnus' words, lacing into the words and turning them into thoughts, alluring and very, very convincing.
All the sudden, Jace was clutching his phone a little tighter, serious as the grave.
"Clary?" A muffled 'yeah' could be heard through the line. "Well, I know this is really weird, but I like you. A lot. As stupid as that sounds." He paused for a moment, groping around for the right words and coming up with little. "And I love talking with you. And spending time with you. And pretty much everything you do is incredible. So would you please go out with me tomorrow night, if I haven't scared you off right now?"
"I think I done good, Mr. President," Magnus declared as they watched their charge pump his fist in the air, beaming like he'd won the lottery.
"You have," replied the angel, ruffling his wings with a mighty shake, and feathers fell to the floor and glistened in the dying afternoon.
The fallen one takes his hand again, simply squeezing it and grinning with success. Alec, perhaps motivated by his own innate desires, lets him get away with it.
Another day on shoulder duty, really.
(Some background is in order. It'd be much easier just to show you, he thinks, and so here is a much-needed bit of exposition.)
Alec cannot quite remember when he first learned about fallen ones. There are two variants, but most are as follows: the regulars, and then the true idiots.
The first type of fallen one (and by far the more common) is Magnus, or a citizen of divinity who surrendered their powers. They live apart from heaven and away from hell, contrary to the popular belief that all wayward angels instantly seek out employment from down below. Since they can't return to the sky or regain their full capacities as a being of creation, they become something other. Probably because of the nature of their existence in which they recklessly abandoned everything and stripped themselves of wings and horns, they serve as instigators for humanity. They incite change and impulsiveness, pushing and daring people of the earth. It's a talent that can be used for good or for evil, a true chaotic neutral. Angels, assigned to a human being, provide protection, safety, reliability and common sense; the fallen provide spontaneity and instinctual action, gut feelings. Balance versus the illogical.
It's a delicate tightrope, but nobody is truly complete without one or the other. Too much of one or the other is catastrophic, and most angels tend to grow close to their partners, grudgingly or otherwise, despite how mischievous or childish they might act. After all, most fallen aren't exactly the levelheaded individuals you'd expect to think twice about ditching their godlike prowess.
And then there is the second kind of fallen: the ones who fell to earth.
Some angels decide that they can't do it anymore. Alec supposes it happens; if you spend your eternity watching over the populous, sometimes you start to wonder what it would be like to be one of them, to live like they do. For all their wretchedness, for all their ugly and their gory and their revolting and their agonizing, humans possess a limitless capacity for inherent change, for true goodness. They have compassion, they have beauty, they have sorrow and regrets and they have perseverance and trust. And despite everything that they are, all the challenges mankind endures, they are still stubbornly capable of love, love like no species has ever seen before. It's truly remarkable, more fantastical than any so-called miracle.
Miracles, after all, are acts of God and of angels. Love is an act of the human soul, all on its own.
Some angels want to be like them more than anything in the world, and so they fall. They can choose their ages, their appearances, their lives, and when they click their metaphorical heels and walk off stage right, allowing themselves to surrender everything divine, they become human. Utterly mundane, sans magic. Perfectly average.
Alexander is a little too familiar with the brand of idiocy that falling takes. His sister fell, after all.
Isabelle made the fatal mistake of loving her charge. To be fair, Simon had indeed had a rough existence; his parents died, his life fell through, and his friends shrinked to two, comrades from school named Maia and Clary (and yes, the same one Jace was desperately pining for - siblings tended to work closely in their ranks).
"I can't just watch him suffer, Alec," she had protested, eyes wide with sympathy and clouded with his pain. "Simon needs me." At the time, he thought he could stop her.
"He already has you, Izzy. He needs someone here, watching out for him. And you'll never leave his side." She pulled away stubbornly, as Isabelle was wont to do.
"He needs more than an invisible specter looming over his head, Alec. What he needs is someone to talk to, someone who can listen to his sorrows and not just stand there, saying reassurances he can't hear."
"He'll live, Isabelle. He's resilient, and he'll pull through."
"Death hangs around him like a cloak. He slips a little further down each day, and you don't have to watch helplessly like I do," his sister had spat, temper flaring protectively. Her wings, silvery and strong, shook like sheets of furious thunder. "I can fix it, if I do this. He doesn't have to be alone."
"I know what it's like to love, Izzy," the blue eyed man had replied, then, words drawn out as softly as possible and as compassionately as he was capable of being. "I know that it's infuriating and maddening and consuming, but you have to think of yourself. There is no coming back. You can't just let go, not -"
"If you think, even for a moment, that I am capable of reconsidering," she warned, the sentence wringing bittersweet, "then you really don't know anything about love at all."
She fell the next morning, descending as the dawn rose along the clouds. Her wings faded into sunlight, pooling into dust. Once they had been so extravagant and mighty, unsinkable. Untouchable. Utterly unbreakable, just like their mistress.
But that's love, you know. That's falling. And Izzy could never come back home, never rejoin her brethren until death. Frankly, Alexander hadn't known you could miss someone that much. He figured he would give just about anything, even his own immortality, for her to regain her wings, to see her fly across the skyline one more time. Whatever the cost, it would have been worth it.
(What do you know?
Turns out he understands a little bit about love and sacrifice, too.)
Occasionally, he slips away from Jace and watches Izzy and Simon, living together in a little flat in downtown New York. The walls are a faded blue, like her eyes when they go soft, and the space is bright and open. It's filled with happiness, with joy and fond memories, and there are pictures of Simon and Isabelle all over the place, framed with care. She did not regret her choice for a second. She created a life with him, nearly two years ago now, and they are almost disgustingly in love. Impossibly, her charge became just about as infatuated with her as she had been with him. It was divine intervention, or perhaps some juvenile concept of destiny itself, if such a thing ever existed.
(Alec wants to hate Simon, but he can't. He's a good man, and he's crazy about his sister.
It would be better if they weren't so great together. Maybe then he could stir up some lingering resentments, and hating something is so much easier than respecting it.)
Sometimes, Magnus follows, utterly wingless. He glances at Alec, trying to fill the cavity caused by family, and understands. His father fell and then joined forces with the dark side, wanting to regain some semblance of the power he had lost in his knee-jerk decision. His mother fell to be with him and soon died of a broken heart. No one who knew Magnus had been too surprised when he took after his parents, though Alec still didn't know the 'why' behind it. He figured it wasn't his business.
"Just because she moved out doesn't mean she doesn't love you," the caramel skinned man tells him, when it happens. He knows the pain far too well. "You're pretty hard not to love."
Alec appreciates the gesture (and tries not to, when they return to life as they know it and their charming banter proceeds, to think about it too often). He just wishes he knew why, or possibly just how, she was able to leave. He doesn't think he's ever cared for someone that much, not even Jace.
One day, maybe, he'll get it. Just not today, and not even when the fallen one next to him makes his heart beat a little faster.
Magnus has been his partner since the day Jace Herondale was born. The second it happened, the two appeared, bound to the newborn and to eachother in a blinding beam of light.
At first, Alec was unsure about him. Some of the fallen he'd met gave up their places out of individual desire, wanting to play by their own rules as opposed to a higher power's. They were bitter in their work and generally selfish, and when they worked on their shared charge it was often out of personal amusement or annoyance. Additionally, the prettiest ones tended to be the most conceited and narcissistic, the worst kind of all.
Magnus, with his gold-flecked eyes and silk blouse and fantastic hair, was nothing if not pretty. Alec had his doubts for obvious reasons; the handsome ones meant more work, meant staying on guard. They meant not getting distracted, and frankly with a face like his it would be hard to avoid distraction.
And then, Magnus spoke.
"Jace, huh?" he had said, tilting his head. "Sounds like an athlete. My last kid was an athlete; she was seventy eight when she died and cantankerous as hell. You'd never get a moment's peace. And by the angels, the way she destroyed all her dresses; it's amazing she still had a wardrobe at the end of her life."
"Not a fan?" Alexander had found himself saying back, smoothing his wings down. Magnus had smiled fondly.
"Her biggest, actually. A total pain in the ass, of course, but all the best ones are. I hope Jace is the same." He had extended a hand. "Magnus. And I have to say, it's clear that you're an angel. You have the cheekbones of a god."
Alexander, taking the fingers in his and shaking firmly, had snorted. Hard. With quite a bit of blushing.
"That was terrible."
"True, too. Ah, Darling, you wound me. I'm simply happy to be surrounded by such pretty company again."
The angel crossed his arms, warming little by little to the stranger. "Is this the part where I'm supposed to ask if it hurt?"
"What?"
"When you fell from heaven?" Magnus had stared for a moment, processing what Alexander had just said, and the blue eyed man wondered if perhaps he had misjudged. Maybe Magnus was another slightly stuck-up self-centered fallen after all and this was nothing more than a job, not a possible bonding experience.
But then he laughed, doubling over, and Alec cracked a smile, too.
"That was brilliant, Darling. We're gonna have fun, you and I," the caramel skinned man promised, and the genuine kindness in his face - the lack of disinterest, or irritation, or careful calculation and reserve - was disarming in a very good way. It went straight through Alec's veins and warmed his blood.
His partner was right, as he would soon learn Magnus was wont to be. They made a fantastic team, despite their obvious differences.
Frankly, looking back on it, Alec had to admit that meeting his coworker was just about the best thing to ever happen to him. He just never really thought he'd get to see him as more than a friend.
(Anyways, back to the present. That's enough lamenting for now. )
Watching Jace scramble to find a tie is easily one of the most amusing things Alec has ever seen. To appreciate this fully, one must understand that Jace Herondale has never worn a tie in his entire life, and at twenty three years old he only possesses a single black article that resides in the recesses of his incredibly disorganized closet and can only hope to be located with a GPS and the aid of several tracking chips. Alexander is still not entirely certain there isn't something living back there, lost in the endless pit masquerading as a closet.
"I can't believe this is finally happening," Magnus whispered, excited as ever. "Our annoying baby boy is finally becoming an annoying adolescent. In a few decades and under intense supervision, he might survive to become a fully functional adult." Alec swatted him away.
"Honestly, I'm more surprised that he's still trying to find that tie. That's some real devotion right there."
"His room is where fashion goes to die," Magnus agreed solemnly, leaning his head on Alec's. The angel shifted, as it was uncomfortable to support someone's forehead whilst standing upright, but soon gave up all hopes of escape. The fallen one had no concept of personal space, sometimes. This just sorta happened, and frankly there was no winning.
"Your nose is digging into my shoulder," he mentioned, not even upset. His companion lopsidedly shrugged but didn't move.
"Work through the unimaginable pain, I suppose. Hope your arm doesn't fall off in retaliation."
(Alexander was far too lenient for his own good, honestly. Lots of angels and their counterparts were less than amiable as it was; this was a joint assignment and that was that. Yes, some became friends over the course of the job, but many were distant due to obvious tensions. However, Magnus and Alec were never like that. They were just about as close as two watchers could get on shoulder duty. They bickered, they smushed together on Jace's ancient and minuscule sofa, and generally spent each day in alarming proximity.
It wasn't normal, but Alec wouldn't change a thing, even if Magnus was a total soap-opera packaged into a living being.)
The doorbell rung and Jace was still on hands and knees, sifting through the various contents of his black hole. He muttered soft profanities to himself, throwing things out into the room with an impeccable sense of aim. He nearly clocked his angel in the head with many an old t shirt several times.
"Coming!" the blonde yelled back into the hall, overcome with something akin to massive panic. "Ah shoot, shit, where is it, the one time I need it, I can't -"
"Magnus, I think now's the time to do something," Alec muttered, shaking his head. The fallen one moaned back.
"You do something. He's your son."
"Before sundown he's your son, I think."
"Alexander . . ."
"Magnus . . ." The caramel skinned man squinted harshly before sighing, snapping his fingers. Power leeched from his fingertips and pooled into the mound of clothing, settling on a singular black monstrosity. Suddenly Jace dug with renewed vigor, practically collapsing with relief.
"Thank the angel," their charge breathed, messily knotting it. "Damn, I was worried there."
The doorbell wrung again. "Oh my gosh, fine, just go," Magnus mouthed to Jace, who couldn't hear a thing if he tried. "Damn, I love Biscuit. I don't know how she does it. I know I wouldn't be able to put up with Herondale for forever."
"You know why I resisted this for so long. It's going to make our lives so much harder," the blue eyed man reminded, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes and Jace practically bolted to the front door. "Why did you let me do this?"
"Because unlike myself, you actually love Herondale and want him to be happy?"
"You don't?" he mock gasped, hand over heart. "I thought the scathing commentary twenty four-seven was made to mask your true affections. It's a shame that I was wrong."
"Okay, so he's not that bad. But neither is Clarissa's problem. We can handle it; maybe it'll even stave off some of the boredom."
"Yeah, fighting armies of demons every single day sounds like my idea of fun; why not?" Alexander responded dryly, because you know. Of course the girl Jace was infatuated with happened to be the most dangerous woman to date on the entire freaking planet.
You see, Clarissa Fray's mother was a clairvoyant, a human born with the ability to see through the veil that separated the mortal realm from the supernatural. Her gift had been exceptionally strong, so much so that she could reach through dimensions if need be. Clairvoyants themselves were rare, but one as powerful as Ms. Fray were bound to attract some attention, usually of the unwanted variety. This was, of course, how she met her own guardian angel, Valentine, and how they ended up falling in love - literally. He became mortal and they had two children together: Jonathan and Clary, a potent mixture of clairvoyant and angelic blood. Needless to say, their unique upbringing made them enticing prizes to the demons of hell, and Jonathan was killed before adolescence.
Out of fear and consumed by the idea that, had his powers remained, he could have saved his son, Valentine began conducting experiments on himself, infusing demonic blood with his own in an attempt to recover immortal magic. Instead, it drove him mad, twisting him from a desperate family man to an emotionless monster. Soon he turned against his own family and used his own veins to summon creatures, sicking them on Clary and Jocelyn. In a brief moment of clarity, he sacrificed himself to protect his daughter and wife, but the damage had been done. The Frays would be hounded by the minions of hell, presumably for the rest of their days, for their unique abilities and their unfortunate family connection, and basically everyone they loved would be at risk. Their story was widespread throughout heaven, an almost cautionary tale against the foolishness of falling.
Jace Herondale never made things easy on his guardians, though. Why on earth would he start now by picking a normal, not-marked-for-death girlfriend?
Regardless of Alec's personal feelings, though, he had allowed them to go out. This would be his fault.
"Hi, Jace," Clary said at the door, smiling and waving and dressed in a spring blue sundress. Jace just about had a nosebleed. "Ready to go?"
He followed his date like a love-lorn puppy and spent the rest of the night at her side, nothing less than smitten despite his naturally cocky disposition. Obvious dangers set aside, Alec has to admit that it's a nice change. Even if, you know, he had to decapitate three creatures of the darkness in the space of five minutes.
As Jace (finally) goes out with Clary, things change in heir dynamic as partners. To be honest, they had always been friendly, making time for light scolding on Alexander's end and merciless flirtations from Magnus'. This was nothing new.
But watching their charge go on dates does tend to put your own relationships in perspective, as it turns out.
Jace and Clary hold hands, swinging them together as they walk. They bat eyelashes and travel absolutely everywhere together. Jace shares his coat when the weather gets cold and she laces her scarf over both of their necks, though it swallows half her face. Her nose scrunches up when he does something stupid, like being himself in public. The blonde laughs, so does she. The redhead scolds him, he backs down. ("The demons come after her, they maul him," Alec likes to add, but Magnus doesn't have the same fondness for that joke, apparently. He's Pro-Fray.)
Magnus and him do those things all the time. They hold hands, they huddle together from the cold, they smile as a group and sigh as a group and watch Herondale as a group. They are a good team.
But a good team doesn't necessarily mean a good couple, right?
(Based on Jace and Clary, a small part of Alec is itching to say 'yes'.)
They fought, because they always do. Magnus mockingly pouted that he'd become one of those fallen ones, the ones that make deals with Satan for dark wings in exchange for selling out their chosen charges, if Jace played one more freaking love song while smiling dopily and humming his girlfriend's name over and over again. It was very un-macho of Herondale, but oh well. Love turned everyone into suckers.
Alexander told him to be quiet and let the blonde enjoy the moment, sans demons for the time being. Magnus threatened to pluck his feathers and make a very fetching handbag. In retaliation, the angel, having mustering the entirety of his social graces, eloquence, and confidence, batted his lashes and got right up into his partner's face.
"I'd like to see you try," he had smirked, and a flush of bronze, warm and full and deliciously dark, slowly overtook Magnus' cheeks. His eyes glittered with something volatile, something that had the potential for more. Suddenly, Alec barely heard Jace's atrocious music at all.
For a minute, everything had come to a standstill, nothing existing but him and the body very close to his. Alexander swallowed shallowly, quickly rethinking his plan. His companion did the same, lips drawn almost painfully tight as if there were too many words left to say.
(He was breathing, wasn't he? Alec remembered how to breathe. He did. Didn't it go something like . . .)
Eventually, the doorbell rang, and apparently Clary (and her entourage of invisible monsters to fight, of course) had stopped by on a surprise trip. Jace scrambled to hide his sappy song collection and Magnus gently backed away, looking disappointed.
It's nothing out of the usual, really. As shoulder partners, they've always argued. They've always slung witty banter, flirting that could be misconstrued as something other to the outsider glancing in. But this - that warm, electric feeling, soothing and suffocating and a symphony of thoughts and hopes and butterflies and belonging . . . this feels different.
This is not something Alexander can handle. Not when it comes from Magnus.
Simon and Izzy arrived at Jace's apartment, ready to go out for a double date with Clary and her boyfriend. They smiled as they walked in, Simon's hand secured in hers with an easy familiarity. His coat hung around her shoulders, worn around the chest as if she stole it often, and her inky dress swathed above her knees with every step. Though she couldn't see it, her boyfriend's eyes physically softened when she moved through the doorway, saying her hellos to Herondale and hugging Clarissa tightly. He was looking at her as if she had hung the stars, as if a part of him still couldn't believe she was real and his.
Simon loved her, and Isabelle loved him more than just about anything. Alec had never seen her more vibrant, more alive, than when she flowed through Jace's apartment, laughing and pulling her friends back out the door, date in tow. It made his chest ache.
"You're crying," Magnus said gently, stroking his shoulder. It was funny; Alec hadn't even noticed. "You're not sad. Not angry."
"She's happy," he repeated softly, as if that explained everything. Magnus nodded, because he always understood. "I'm happy, too. I don't know why, but I am."
"Well, then, I am too. I'm happy when you're happy." The blue eyed man's partner gave his arm a final squeeze before following their charge's entourage out into the hallway. Alexander followed; he always followed Magnus.
"I want a different last name," Clary declared, out to lunch with Jace. He hummed in response, taking another sip of coffee.
"I nominate Herondale, personally," he mentioned offhandedly, and she shoved him lightly.
"No, like, my dad's name was Morgenstern, before he . . . died. My mom's maiden name was Fairchild. Fray seems so . . . simple? In comparison, I guess. Maybe something more interesting, like Fairmore. Fairchild and Morgenstern. It sounds cool, huh?"
"If we're mashing names together now, I then want to re-nominate Fray-Herondale over Fairmore. It has a better ring to it." The redhead laughed, shaking her head.
"I hate you."
"That's a lie."
There's no evidence to support that statement."
"Who needs evidence?" he shrugged, taking her hand. "C'mon, let's get up. I know for a fact you've been done for ages." They packed up and left, hand in hand, and Alec glanced at his partner.
"So what do you think our names would be?"
"Last names, Darling?" Magnus furled his brow. "I don't know. I'd want something easy to remember, elegant. Like myself."
"How about Bane? 'Cause you're the bane of my existence?" the blue eyed man suggested, a small smile tugging at the edges of his lips. "I'd say it's pretty easy to remember. I'll never forget your constant annoyance."
"Very mysterious. I'll bite," he replied, grinning impishly. "I gotta say, it's got a certain charm. I'll be the Bane of your existence instead of the bane, so it works."
"Only you would attempt to make a pun out of that. Especially when I laid it all out for you."
"And this is why you'd be Lightwood."
Alec frowned in confusion. "Lightwood? Where did that one come from?"
"You're the light through the woods, the one who makes sense of things for me. The outrageously sensible one who never leaves me to my own devices. Lightwood." By the angels, the way he said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world was so Magnus that it hurt.
"Lightwood," he repeated, watching Jace and Clary stroll down the street and avidly fighting away a blush. "It fits."
Jace's date nights with Clarissa were occurring with increasing frequency, becoming more and more common each week. This had been the third day out of six that the two were together and they were viewing City Of Angels per the redhead's insistent request. Despite his cocky attitude, Jace had no ground on which to fight her and gave in after a matter of seconds.
City Of Angels, though. The irony hadn't been lost on the shoulder angel.
The coworkers watched Nicholas Cage in relative quiet, starting to tune out what Jace and Clary talked about amongst themselves. Alec, smushed halfway into Magnus' lap (as per usual, since Jace's couch was extraordinarily small and he was too dignified to sit on the floor like a peasant), took in the movie with fascination, marveling at the parts it got right and the issues it sorely misinterpreted.
"They make it seem like all we do for humanity is ensure their safe travels to the afterlife," he murmured, resting his head on his partner's shoulder. Magnus hummed and intertwined their digits, linking them over his lap. "Is that how mankind thinks of us? Specters of death, veritable ferrymen? Nevermind the protection we offer, the battles we fight, the choices and actions we assist them in. In the end, we die and die again, and out comes the film. New stories, told with aches and pains." His nose wrinkled. "Mortality is distilled into cartoon. People are there, then they are not, waiting for the next anvil to drop or explosion to backfire. Rinse and repeat. Funny." The caramel skinned man squeezed his hand, running the free one through his hair.
"Well, how do you live with all the death and destruction and betrayal if you can't re-imagine it as something more palatable? Dwelling on the dismal is likely to ruin what little stretch of existence you have left. Satire is a leveling agent; laugh off hardships or suffer through them." He sighed, resting his head atop of Alec's. "The world is not fair. Even we know that."
"Yes," the angel breathed back, wing tips slumping to the floor, but that word didn't seem sufficient. It didn't stretch to encapsulate all the true horrors he had seen, the wars, the brutality, the impossible losses. Man was a race of messes, and they were eternal. They must witness it all.
How could 'yes' also encompass 'I know, I understand, it's not alright, why is it like this, why is it deemed okay, why do people move on, how can I unsee everything I have seen'? The answer: it couldn't. However, it was the best he had, pathetic as an agreement was.
Magnus understood. (He always did, didn't he?) The fallen one pressed his lips to the angel's temple, eyes squinted closed so tightly the lids seemed bound together.
"We are haunted by humans, aren't we?"
"And they think we're the terrifying ones." A warm silence enveloped the two, the dialogue of the screenplay eating into the quiet once more. Together they continued to watch as Jace and Clary curled together, at first eating the popcorn like regular human beings and then throwing it like the heathens they were. Alexander very narrowly missed getting accidentally pelted and he scrunched up his nose in mild disgust. Magnus laughed heartily ("All powerful angel, intimidated by two idiots spilling popcorn." "Magnus, they were using projectiles. I don't want anything stuck in my wings, it'll take forever to pluck out." "Come on, Alexander, even baboons are capable of pack grooming. Baboons." "In the right light, I can see it. The hairy palms, the abnormal snout - you really do fit in with the rest of your kind. How did I not see the resemblance?" "Darling, I am fabulous, don't you dare insinuate that I -") and Alec nearly shoved him off the couch, which would have been an impressive feat considering the fact that he was still partially on top of his partner.
But Clary and Jace. It was easy to see what she did to him; the blonde never smiled more than when she was around, was never more caring or generous than when she was at his side. He tended towards the biting and satire normally, but he was enamored with the way she giggled and the art she slaved over and the absolute murder that aroused in her eyes whenever anyone called her 'stupid' or 'little' or 'weak'. Clarissa Fray was a force of nature, strong in character and imposing in mentality and beautiful in person, and she brought out the absolute best in Jace, though Alec knew he could be a bit dense at times. She made him better, and he provided her with all the support and reliability she could possibly need.
"Did it hurt?" Jace teased halfway through, grinning at her widely. His girlfriend smirked and shook her head.
"No no no, I know this one. You're not allowed to finish that thought."
"When you fell from heaven?" he continued anyways. "'Cause you must be an angel."
The redhead snorted fondly, leaning heavily on his shoulder. "Yup. Broke both my legs and everything. Not such a good day. Heaven's a pretty far place to fall from, you know." She poked his nose. "I guess it was all worth it, though. Now I get to hang out with this one guy. He's a real jerk, but he's secretly a complete dork, just like the rest of us normal folk. He lets me vent about my artwork and tiredly drape all over his arm and drag him all over the city even when it's two degrees outside and all he wants to do is go back to bed." She smiled lightly. "I'm pretty sure I love him."
Jace visibly softened, like all his limbs had been turned to butter. Even his eyes were gentler at the edges. "I'm pretty sure he loves you too, Clary."
"Yeah, but the cheesy pickup lines he spouts might be a deal-breaker. I can deal with the faux arrogance, but the horrible sense of humor might prove too much for even I to take." He kissed her, sweet and slow, completely unaware of their audience. Clary did not mind being interrupted, for once.
It reminded Alec of the first time he and Magnus met. The 'did it hurt' question that he would normally never make. And mentally, despite the levity, he found himself asking:
"Why did you fall?" And whoops, turns out that question was spoken out loud, containing the mood. He'd never pried, before. It felt too momentous, too important. In all their years, he had left the subject well enough alone out of respect and silent consideration.
Now, though. Now he wished he could swallow back the words, erase them from existence. "Sorry, I know that's a lot, forget I -"
"No, it's alright. You have a right to know," Magnus responded, voice quiet and subdued as if he too were afraid of the prospect. "Well, then, what do you think?"
(Alec thought a lot of things. He thought that Magnus was his closest friend, the shoulder he leaned on, the person he trusted with his life and everything else, including Jace. Maybe, if there was a chance, some other things, too. He thought that Magnus was sunshine on cold days and warmth during nocturnal moments, the individual he could be smushed into the lap of when watching old movies and still be comfortable with. Magnus was just about the most extravagant, needy, whiny, eccentric, dramatic, and easily bored person in the universe, and yet he was impossibly brave, talented, clever, and just plain beautiful. The fallen one was home.
He was Magnus, and out of all the people that Alexander had ever had the pleasure of meeting, let alone working with, he was the least deserving of his fate.
But Alec didn't say any of that, no matter how much he wanted to. He never did, it seemed.)
"I think lots of fallen give up their wings for the human experience," the blue eyed man begun, scrunching his nose in concentration. "And it makes sense. Humanity is a race like no other, filled with all its complexities. I think you'd be a good human being. One of the best. But that's not it, is it?" He studied his companion's face, deadly serious and filled with regrets.
"No, it wasn't."
"Another one is belonging. Lots of angels don't feel like they fit in with the rest of heaven. They want something new, a place to reinvent themselves. And that wasn't your motive either." Magnus nodded again, slow and purposeful. "I guess there's a sense of adventure, or maybe a lust for earthly power, but what's the point? It's such a big sacrifice for momentary gain, and that doesn't sound like you. You're not narcissistic. You are capable of thinking things through, especially when the stakes are so high. So I . . ." Just then, like a lightning bolt to the head, the television spoke again, loud and definite.
"I would rather have one breath of her hair, one kiss of her mouth, one touch of her hand, than an eternity without it," the angel in the movie declared, unwavering. "One." (Just like Isabelle. Just like -)
"You didn't . . ." he mouthed in understanding, almost not comprehending the possibility. "For someone here? For someone you loved?" The fallen one cast his eyes to the floor and Alec instinctively clasped their hands together again, letting his thumb trace invisible patterns over his skin.
"Her name was Camille," the other man murmured hoarsely, tears fluttering at the edges of his lashes, "and she was just about the most incredible woman I'd ever met. Gorgeous, cunning, witty, with a resolve of steel - she was everything. She was a clairvoyant, and the moment she smiled at me, I don't know. I was lost." He laughed, almost. "I loved her. And she didn't love me." And thus begins the tale of a lovely blonde maiden with a heart of stone and teeth like knives, who charmed Magnus with the prospect of a life together and tricked him into surrendering a part of his grace for her own gains. "I told her we'd be with one another. She was expecting me to make her immortal, but instead I shoved heaven away. I wanted to see her one more time, to fully fall at her side. And then she saw me, no glow, no wings. When she pieced together what I'd done she told me it was over." He paused, leaning slightly more heavily onto Alec's head. "I miss them, you know. They were black as midnight, stronger and swifter than just about anything. Their tips were speckled with silver and indigo and when they stretched into the clouds, it was magic. By the angels, I wish I could take them back."
Alexander wanted to say something comforting. He wanted to find it within himself to kiss Magnus' knuckles and tell him that he was sorry, that he also wished he could change things. Instead, white hot rage streaked its way up the angel's spine, and instead of being the calm and sympathetic voice he should have been Alec scowled.
"She didn't deserve you," the blue eyed man said fiercely, an unnatural anger coating the words. "She was an idiot if she decided to leave. And she certainly wasn't worth your regrets." Magnus did not get defensive. He did not close up again or frown or cry. He smiled softly, like he'd never quite heard someone defend him on this.
"Thanks, Darling." He laughed, slightly. "Meg Ryan has nothing on you."
"Damn straight. I could swat her like a fly. She'd go down in seconds."
"Aww, you'd hurt Meg Ryan? She's already going to get hit by a car later on. I think a beat-down from you is a little excessive."
"For you? Meg Ryan doesn't stand a chance," he swore, thinking of another blonde altogether, and he pulled his arm around Magnus and laced their sides together. "C'mon, I've stopped caring. You're warm and your lap is comfy."
"I will take that compliment," the other man snorted, eyes no longer wet, going soft at the edges. "Love you, Darling."
Alexander hummed and tried to remind himself that his companion didn't mean it like that. It's a thing they say.
(Emphasis on the word tried. Alexander had an insatiable imagination, though, and it launched onto the words like a leech, swelling with 'what if'.
He didn't know exactly what 'what if' entailed, but he wanted that. He didn't know why, or how, or since when, but in that moment he knew that he did not want to spend eternity alone, and who better to share it with than the person who made him smile, who he loved arguing with, who he sat in the lap of when watching idiotic movies on Jace's date nights and who said 'Love you, Darling' like it was the most natural thing in the world?
He wanted it more than just about anything, so much so that it made everything ache. But how is one supposed to say that to their best friend?)
Something had shifted. Somewhere between the slaying invisible demons and keeping Jace from starting a microwave fire, Magnus became something more than Magnus. He became the person he cared about most, the idiotic voice in his head, the calm in the storm that was life.
When his partner glances at him, warm and familiar and inquisitive (because maybe the angel had been staring for a while, committing his 'friend' to memory), Alec wonders, with vibrations all the way down through the tips of his wings, if the flirtations were ever just pretend. They certainly feel real, now.
"Should I buy a vacuum?" Jace asked aloud at the department store, brows knit it consideration. "I mean, Clary did say she wanted one and her birthday is coming up, but . . ." Alexander facepalmed and interceded, his power flowing out in streams of grounding silver.
"Get her a new paint set and a selection of multi-paneled canvas boards. Vacuum cleaners make other people think you're telling them that their houses are disaster zones. That is the last message you want to send to your future wife," he sighed, allowing the words to take hold. Being voice of reason all the time did get rather tedious, after a while. He was in his twenties, though; the angel supposed he could forgive the minor lack of common sense in Jace's existence on the whole.
"Art supplies, she loves art, duh," Jace mumbled to himself, flicking the bridge between his eyes. "Stupid, stupid, stupid."
"Close call," Magnus claimed wryly, shaking his head. "However would he survive without us?"
"He wouldn't," Alec snorted. "If he was lucky, he'd make it for a day."
"Ah, I don't have that much faith, Darling. Try six hours."
"Seven, at least."
"I beg to differ. The internal struggle on vacuum cleaners proved my point for me, Alexander."
"Touche," the blue eyed man answered, and they watched their bumbling toddler scour the store with much existential debate. Another day of tedious shoulder work, but a good one nonetheless.
There hadn't been any demon sightings in days, despite the fact that Clary had slept over at Jace's place for the last three days and had been around him almost constantly. This made Alexander uneasy, because nothing screamed 'Jace Herondale' more than unexpected problems coming back to kick you in the butt. Clarissa was always under supernatural threat. Always. To an insanely unhealthy degree. The abrupt lack of creatures with razor-sharp fangs and curling jagged grimaces and hunchbacks and tails and blackened eyes was honestly more worrying than constant ambush (and subsequent decapitations, though recently Alec had shown an appreciation for stabbing them through the hearts with a bow and arrow, which Magnus laughably thought was 'too theatrical').
But no. Clarissa paced around the apartment, dressed only in her jeans and one of Jace's old t-shirts, making coffee and frying eggs. Her boyfriend buttered toast. It was serene, with none of the usual lurking threats.
Alexander did not trust it. He didn't trust it at all.
The day continued suspiciously normal, though. Clary went to work, Jace went to his internship, and everything went according to plan. They grabbed lunch together and went to a nice restaurant for dinner and crashed at her place afterwards, him reading on the couch as she painted the scene from outside her apartment's window.
(For a brief moment, Alexander allowed himself to relax. If something were to happen, surely it would have occurred already. Magnus stifled a yawn next to the angel and he slumped for the first time all day; everything was fine.
The funny thing about life is, though, that it always manages to catch you off guard. And Alec was sorely unprepared for what happened next.)
Suddenly, there was a scratch at the door, and with a frown, Clary opened it.
"Hello?" she began, clearly confused. "Who is -" She fell to the ground, shuddering and gasping, because out from the hallway came in a swarm of creatures, hungry and out for blood. They had slashed her soul, created a widening gap in the essential human essence that makes up a person, and now she was writhing.
Clarissa never got a guardian angel. She was the daughter of an angel; why would heaven assign her another? So she was entirely on her own here, without shoulder guardians, and Alexander and Magnus had been pulling double duty to keep both her and Herondale safe.
Alec could not let her die.
He charged at the swarm, wings full of fury, unsheathing his knife. He slashed at the ones around Clary first, disintegrating three into dust, before whirling around and shooting down another heading for Jace. Magnus' magic flowed from his hands in thick tendrils, smoky purples and emerald greens and thick scarlets all blurring together and strangling demons where they stood, pulverizing them from existence. Alec slashed and striked, smited and obliterated, and yet there were always more, more claws and teeth and feathers pulled from his flesh, more sharpened nails embedding themselves in his arms.
In the chaos, Jace had rushed to his girlfriend's side, thinking this was some sort of seizure or fainting spell.
"Clary?" he called, slightly terrified. "Clary? C'mon, Fray, you've got to be okay. I don't know what I'd do if you weren't okay. Please wake up, okay? Please wake up. For me, Clary, I love you, I don't know what to do, you're scaring me, please be alright, please -" Alec could not heal her while he was killing. He couldn't bend down and patch up the splitting gash in her essence while he knifed down one monster at a time, hoping the torrent would end. He had to do something, and quickly.
(Mentally, there really was no debate. Jace could survive loosing Alec; he didn't even know Alexander existed. Magnus could take care of their charge just fine.
However, he wouldn't survive loosing Clarissa. If one gave in, the other might survive.
This was a no-brainer.)
"I'll miss you," Alec said abruptly, stabbing the heart of another, and he caught Magnus' eyes one last time. "More than anything." He dropped his knife and left his back to the door, wrapping his wings around Jace and Clary. With a push, he gave, gave her his strength, his power, his light, sealing the break and sapping his energy. The demons, seizing their chance, clawed and hissed and brutally butchered his wings. But it was okay, that was alright, because if Alexander died at least his charge could be happy. His partner could assume the rest.
(Despite the agony and crushing weakness, dying was rather nice, Alexander thought. The warm numbness, the way the world softly blurred at the edges; it was almost poetically beautiful, in the way that the darkness of entropy has a certain veneer to it. A glossy finish. A settling of limbs, relaxing into the floor.
Images all melded together. First there were charges, numerous and diverse: a girl from colonial times, a Roman general, a lovely woman aboard a ship, aristocrats, slaves, common-folk, kings and murderers and brothers and aunts and artisans and novelists and everything in between. Then Izzy with wings, silver and sleek and unthinkably present, there one minute and gone the next, gone for Simon, Simon who loved his sister. She was happy and safe and gone but not dead, with the humans. Humans: Jace. Jace learning to walk, Jace writing the alphabet, Jace taking karate, Jace running from ducks, Jace going to school, Jace meeting Clary, Jace asking out Clary because of Magnus.
Magnus. By the angels, Magnus.
Magnus, with warm smiles and warmer hugs and an even warmer heart. Magnus, with caramel skin and terrible plans and eyes that saw right through him. Magnus, with so much pain in his life and so much joy in his step and dreams and no wings and no Camille. Magnus, whose jokes made him laugh and who flirted and clung and was absolutely everywhere and who made him feel like that all the time. Magnus, who he would no longer see again.
Magnus, who he loved.
That thought stuck out amongst the others, strong and almost revolutionary. Alexander was in love with an absolute idiot, his best friend, his other half. And now he would never see him again.
And then, of course, his ideas devolved again as all that comforting warmth and numbness began to leech out of his body.
This was it, wasn't it? This was the end.
Izzy Jace Magnus Izzy Jace Magnus Izzy my sister Jace my brother Magnus my home Isabelle Herondale Bane but Lightwood is missing Lightwood is dying Lightwood who loves them Izzy Jace Magnus Izzy Jace Magnus . . .)
He was dying, and then he wasn't. Then there was only a scream, and a flash of glimmering light, strong and soothing, and it made all the color and happiness and feeling flow back into the world. The claws were gone, the teeth were gone, the demons were gone, driven out by the source, and Alec rose to his feet.
Clary opened her eyes as Magnus crumpled to the ground, panting and bleeding and disheveled. Alec did not stop to check himself; he was at his partner's side in seconds, who was smiling wryly.
"Oh," he breathed, dark hair matted with red. "This is what it feels like." He paused for a second, smiling at Alexander. "Darling. You're alive." He coughed. "I'd ask if I died and went to heaven 'cause I'm seeing an angel, but that seems a little out of place."
The blue eyed man choked. "You're bleeding. All over."
"I'll heal. It's not so bad, honestly."
"Why aren't you healing yourself now, you idiot?" he demanded, running hands over his partner's arms, his chest, his head as if the feverish motions could staunch the blood.
"Someone has to be the reckless one, right?" he grinned crookedly. "Really, I'm okay, I'm not dying. I'm just . . . very weak. I haven't called on that much power in eons."
"You almost combusted, Magnus," the angel replied dourly, worry seeping through the cracks in his speech. "Why would you do that? You almost died channeling all that power. You nearly killed yourself."
"Isn't it obvious?" his companion mustered, eyes focused and aflame. "I thought it was obvious."
"What? That you have a death wish?"
"That I'd rather die than live in a world without you in it," he sighed, lifting a hand over Alexander's with much difficulty. "I was watching you fall to the ground, ichor pouring away, wings broken and bruised, and I wouldn't let it happen. I did it because I love you, and I've loved you since just about forever, and if anyone deserves to live it's you." Alec cried, hands now inexplicably cupped around his partner's face, and he couldn't find the words.
"You can't just say that, Magnus."
"What? It's not like you can attack me right now. It's the perfect time. You're not dead, and that's all that matters." And his grip went soft, his fingers slowly brushing across Alec's knuckles in an almost reassuring way, and Alexander held back another sob of relief.
"I really hate you," he said, and then he was kissing his partner, lips bruising against lips, hard and sloppy and uncoordinated but real. He tasted Magnus' blood at the corner of his mouth, and then cinnamon and jasmine and heat, warm and encompassing and wonderful. Despite his condition, the fallen one did his absolute best to keep up with him, mouth molding to mouth, trembling hands carding through mused hair. He responded and sighed and moaned, relishing the fact that they were both alive and together and safe. Alexander felt like bursting, as his chest was so crammed with emotion he had no idea how he could contain it all. This pressed joy all the way into his wingtips, which were practically glowing with content.
He pulled away slowly, gently, so as not to hurt his partner, and the angel left fingers buried in his locks, smoothing across his scalp as he pulled back. He looked at him, up and down, for as long as he could manage. Magnus was in bad shape, but he would live. Alec would get more, more lazy mornings and inside jokes and kisses that melted his insides. Magnus was alive, Magnus had saved him, and Magnus loved him, apparently.
"I love you," the caramel skinned man rasped again, color flooding his cheeks. "I've always wanted that. So, so much."
"I've loved you," Alec responded fiercely. "I've loved you for years. It just took me a while to figure things out."
"We have a literal forever to figure things out. And I am not letting you go."
"There's nowhere else I'd rather be," he swore, and he meant every word.
As it turned out, being shoulder partners with the person you're in love with was a lot like being partners with your best friend (they still teased eachother, went everywhere together, complained about their jobs, etc), but it definitely had some perks. For example, Alexander didn't need to make up any excuses to grab Magnus' hand anymore, not that it was much of a struggle in the first place. Magnus had developed a penchant for wrapping his arms around Alec's waist, laying his head atop his partner's shoulder and letting their body heat intermingle. Also, there was a significant increase in kissing. Which, of course, was a definite plus.
"What're you thinking about?" his companion would ask, and Alec could confirm that his eyes were filled with something more; as a matter of fact, his eyes are still filled with something more, and it gets a little bit more intense each day.
"Nothing anymore," he would reply in kind, a wide smile flitting across his face, and his wings would wrap them in a blanket of white as lips found lips and the world melted to sunlight.
"I feel sick," the blonde muttered, running to the bathroom. The fallen one and the angel watched onwards, shuffling.
"So, remember that day when you told me not to make Jace cough up glitter . . ." Magnus began.
"You didn't."
"Maybe I did. Maybe. Hypothetically."
"I don't understand," Jace muttered weakly, hunched over the toilet. In the bowl, pink sparkles could be seen, glittering as them spread into the retained water. "How?!"
"Magnus, I swear. To my father, to the angels, and to the man downstairs."
"What? He walked through me four times this week, Alexander. Four. You know firsthand how unsettling that is."
"That's still a terrible excuse."
"He deserved it, and it's not like the spell is permanent. I've been protecting him for over twenty years now and I think I am owed a little enacted revenge," he said somewhat defensively. "Besides, at least it wasn't rubber ducks."
"Magnus. No."
"It's almost sort of funny, isn't it? Or at least it will be for the next few minutes. It'll wear off soon."
"I hate you. You make my job a living hell sometimes." Jace wretched again and Alexander wondered exactly why he cared so much about this infuriating pain.
And then Magnus smiled winningly, not put out in the slightest. "I love you too, Darling."
Despite being absolutely livid, a small (weak) part of him melted slightly.
(Oh yeah, that's why he put up with his partner.
He loved him.)
One day, a revelation came in the form of two old friends; Catarina and Ragnor.
Their charge, a random woman sitting across from Jace and Clary at a movie theater, was silencing her phone when Magnus looked up and saw them. Ragnor was draped across an empty chair, feet up on the seat in front of them, wile Catarina patiently waited for the movie to begin, hands folded serenely over her own lap.
"By the angels," Alec's partner breathed, eyes misting over. He got up and hugged the duo viciously, arms tightening to an almost impossible degree. "I thought it would be another millennia before I saw you guys again."
"Even then it would have been too soon," grumbled the strange man into the fallen one's shirt, but the bite was missing from his words. "Honestly, I'm as surprised as you are."
"I'll always come back to bother my old coworkers, you know that."
"I'm glad," Catarina interjected, grinning and scrutinizing his face as if detailing all the new features. "You look wonderful, Magnus. Any reason why?" The caramel skinned man smiled widely, freely, like the thought of said reason was a siphon of joy itself.
"Cat, this is Alexander. My shoulder partner, my better half, you know. I'm the wind beneath his wings and so on and so forth," he introduced, pulling Alec into his side and sliding an around his back.
"You're very clever," the blue eyed man shot back wryly, but soon enough he was grinning as well. "How long did that one take you?"
"I've spent years perfecting my craft, Darling. I'm a seasoned professional."
"Please," he snorted, but he extended a hand. "As he said, I'm Alexander. It's a pleasure to meet . . ."
"Catarina and Ragnor, and the pleasure is ours," she supplied, eyes suddenly full of tears. "He's found someone. We sometimes wondered if he ever would, you know . ."
"It's hard to find someone willing to put up with him for longer than three minutes. A lifetime is a lot to ask for," the new man deadpanned, shaking his head. "I don't know how you can stand being around him day and night. His obsession with glitter drove me up a wall. I've never been closer to death." Catarina hushed him with a small frown and suddenly Alexander knew exactly who these people were. Magnus loved talking about his past friends and charges, after all.
"You're the Cat and Ragnor," he announced out of the blue. "According to my partner, you're the nicest angel Magnus claims to have met and he's the sarcastic cynical best friend." She, on her part, looked incredibly touched.
"You talked about me?" she smiled, and yes, if they hadn't been before, her eyes were brimming with tears.
"By the angels, what slander has he been inventing?" Ragnor pressed instead, good-natured in tone but with a minuscule lace of genuine fear for his reputation. Alec simply laughed.
"I'm sure I'll love you guys, too. I've heard so much; I've always wanted to meet you two." As Magnus squeezed his hand, he knew that this was good. This was what love looked like.
Afterwards, when the movie ended, Catarina had finished squeezing the life out of the duo, and Ragnor had finally relented his sarcasm ("Ragnor, it's great that you have a boyfriend now, but I don't think I want to know about how you two -" "Is that a plea for an out I'm detecting? Oh I'm sorry, Magnus, if I had to listen to your tripe for the last hundred years I am at least going to complain to you about my life. I was only your best friend, guess that means nothing to you. Just like my feelings." "By the angels, Ragnor, why the hell did I miss you?"), Alexander walked home, hand in hand with his partner.
"So, my friends didn't scare you away?" his companion asked, smiling slightly. "I might have to skin them."
"If nothing else, the stories were accurate."
"Is that a good thing?"
He shrugged. "Interpret that as you will. It's nice to put faces to the names, though. And I think I could survive running into Catarina again. I'd say the same for Ragnor, but he would verbally destroy you if we encountered him - it's way too easy. He just opens his mouth and a litany of verbal slews and embarrassing testimonies flow free. It's almost a gift, really." The caramel skinned man flicked Alec's wings. They ruffled in mild amusement. "Seriously, though, I liked them."
"Honestly, I never thought I'd see Catarina again, though. Ragnor, it was easier with, as he's another earth-bound resident, but I loved being her partner. She's just about the nicest angel I've ever had the pleasure of working with. It was like having an instant sister, if that's possible." He sighed, expression fond. "I have to say, I didn't want to get reassigned. I missed Cat." And then, like a ton of bricks, it hit Alexander. Reassignment.
"We're gonna get reassigned someday," he suddenly said,"and to different people."
"Yes," Magnus responded, jolted out of memorabilia. He stopped on the sidewalk, glancing down at their intertwined digits. "Oh. We'll . . ." He looked . . . pained. Yes, that was the word. Visibly pained. "Oh. Reassignment."
"Yes."
"When Jace . . . dies."
"Yes," he breathed again, barely more than a whisper. The blue eyed man caught a glimpse of the cinema as they rounded the corner. "And we'll be separated. Who knows how far apart we'll be, how long until we see eachother again?" Alexander couldn't imagine a world without this, without Magnus whining about Jace and doing incredibly stupid things and inevitably making him laugh. A world without Magnus seemed like gray monotony, a half-shell. He could barely remember what he did before meeting his partner. One look at the fallen one revealed that he felt the same.
"We'll deal with that later," he stated, and he kissed Alec's brow. "C'mon, even Clary's stubby legs have surpassed us. We need to catch up to Herondale."
"Okay," the angel replied weakly, and soon he allowed himself to be dragged along. The worry clung to his arms and to his chest and to his mind and it weighed him down the whole way home.
(Briefly, he entertained the thought of just stopping. He could call it quits before he and Magnus had the chance to do something together even stupider than falling in love. He could break away and try to shut everything down and then maybe, when they would eventually leave, it wouldn't hurt so bad.
He could ruin this, if he wanted. Alexander was very practiced in loosing people; surely he could manage pushing away someone else. It would destroy Magnus and gut himself, but he could do it. They'd be strong enough to move on if he threw the towel in now.
But then, that's just it. You don't ruin the people you love, not without letting a little bit of yourself die too. He may not be the hero in this story, but he isn't the heartless 'bad guy' either. Or, at least, he won't be for Magnus.
The idea comes and goes in a moment, and then he remembers how much he adores his partner and realizes that there's no way he could ever be strong enough to set Magnus free. What would he have left?)
A year passed by, rolling through spring and summer in a haze of greens and blurring to autumnal afternoons, filled with auburn leaves and golden sunrises. Trees became skeletal again, gray and barren against the brazen sky, and New York muted to a calmer time. Jace and Clary sold their apartment and moved into one together, taking coffees in the morning under the same kitchen and pressed in the same bed at night. They had never been happier.
Alexander was glad for the change in pace. He enjoyed the quiet peace that they all lived through and the new rhythm he and his partner found themselves in. With the fallen one's arms tucked around his waist, he felt like anything was possible.
Jace's birthday arrived, and Clary, Izzy, and Simon were all there to celebrate. It was another year of shoulder work, another year of togetherness.
"I love you," Alec said, because suddenly the words are welling up in his throat and they need to be uttered.
"I know," the caramel skinned man replied, as if he understood. "I love you too, Darling."
Privately, he wondered how on earth he could survive loosing this.
They didn't talk about it. For the longest time, for months on end, they avoided so much as thinking about it.
Until, of course, they did.
"We're going to get pulled apart someday," Alexander began, feathers fluttering, "and it will not end well."
"I don't want to lose you."
"You're going to, one day." There was silence, a long pause.
And then: "If I were a fallen one, too -"
"No, we'd face the same odds either way. You could be attached to someone on the other side of the planet and I'd still be missing you." Alec's heart stuck in his throat.
" . . . It's not fair."
"No, it's not fair."
"Without you, I'll -"
"Don't say it," Magnus warned, and he sighed, settling into the fallen one's side.
"I . . . I won't." There is nothing but resignation and broken dreams for another long stretch, the quiet eating away at them.
But then Alexander sat up and said, "Isn't there another way?"
"What?"
"Well, being wingless doesn't sound fun, but -"
"No. You have so much more to loose. Becoming a fallen one is one thing, but to go all the way is insane. What about heaven?"
"My home is you. Heaven will understand."
"They never understand." This statement was not skeptical. It was born from absolute certainty on Magnus' end. "You could never go back. I couldn't ask you to do that."
"And I'm saying that I would. Because if it's seventy years with you, that's a hell of a lot better than an eternity wishing you were there." He bit his lip. "You were prepared to do it once. Are you still willing to now?"
The caramel skinned man didn't even blink. "Of course."
"Well then, I think I'm ready." Magnus looked around the room helplessly, but there was hope in his gaze.
"Now? Right now?"
"For once, I'm going to be the impulsive one. You know, before I overthink everything." He smiled lopsidedly. "I love you, you idiot."
"You can't be real," the fallen one responded, and he kissed him fiercely. "I'm coming. Don't worry, I'm coming."
"See you on the other side?"
"I'll be waiting." And then they laced their fingers together and let the slip occur.
(Three,
Two,
And now . . .)
A blue eyed man walked through the rainy New York day, wingless. It was miserable at best, though 'absolutely horrific' would probably be a more apt description of the weather. It didn't matter, though; he was smiling, bright and wide, because this was where it would happen. This was where the would meet.
The freezing downpour drenched the sidewalks, painting the world in a blur of reflections and colors: vermilions and clementines, palatinates and amaranthines. All were caught in the haze of rain: shop signs, clicking shoes, and then a pair of very familiar eyes, emerald and gold.
"Hi," he breathed, and he grinned with impossible fondness. "I'm Alexander Lightwood." The second man, clad in a very impractical (but rather dashing) fitted blazer and stylish shoes than did little to block out the damp laughed back, as if to say 'you remembered'.
"I'm Magnus Bane," he replied back, holding out an umbrella. "Did it hurt? When you fell from heaven?" The first man chuckled in response but it morphed into a sob, strangled with relief.
"You are so lucky that I love you," the blue eyed human shuddered, and as he pressed their lips together, just as warm and familiar as always, he couldn't bring himself to regret a thing.
Yes, it's done. Finally.
This got stuck in my head and I couldn't get it out. I really really loved the idea of this AU and now it's an enormous oneshot, and I'll probably write a sequel. So I hope this is well received, otherwise I'll never find the motivation to finish up the next document.
Shoutout to my friend, CrystalheartZyx (I'm very tired so I hope that was spelled right), for being an awesome human being. I want to thank her and anyone who commented or favorited any of my stories for providing support and praise for my writing. It really means a lot and it makes me smile, seeing that people enjoy what I post. It's really nice, frankly.
Anyways, feel free to leave feedback and to check out my other stuff. I really do think that if this goes well the sequel will eventually get out here. But, you know, I won't post anything if people don't think it should have one. The ball's in your court, now.
Have a good day!