"Alex-Alec. If I had given you the impression I had accepted the idea of your death, I can only apologize. I tried to, I thought I had-and yet still I had pictured having you for fifty, sixty more years. I thought I might be ready then to let you go. But it's you, and I realize now that I won't be any more ready to lose you than I am right now. Which is not at all."
"So what do we do?"
"What everyone does-like you said. We hope."
"Dad."
The voice comes from the cedar doorway-one of the last wooden door frames in existence-and Magnus turns from his work to face the unexpected but far from unwelcome presence of his daughter.
He intends to put on a smile to greet her, but her cerulean eyes reflect barely-held back tears, and the rose, daisy, lily petals that make up her hair look like they are brown and wilting.
Magnus is by her instantaneously, hands on her shoulder in a meaningless gesture of comfort for an unknown despair. "Hope," he whispers, voice as grave as it is more often than not these days, "What's wrong?"
He knows she is nearly one hundred years old-her 98th birthday was just two weeks and three days ago-but to him, she seems eternally 17 and not only because of her physical appearance.
"Do-do you remember?" She is crying freely now, her flowery hair catching her tears, but refusing to bloom.
"Do I remember what?" he responds, suddenly terrified. He was already worried for her; now he is fearing for his own emotions. Whatever they are.
"The shade of Daddy's eyes," and as Magnus's heart is somehow shattering in a different way than the other million times, she continues, "No-not the color. I know they were blue-I remember. They were my favorite blue. But-I can't remember the particular shade. If they were navy or sky or turquoise. I was just talking with Max-", and now she is fully sobbing, her hair going dead as she leans into Magnus's shoulder, and he mind-numbingly rubs her back, "and we were talking about when he would scold us for playing with his steles or bow, and even though he was mad, he was never mean and cruel. We could remember the way he spoke to us-mad, but worried and concerned and loving-but we couldn't remember how he looked at us."
Magnus can remember, too. Remember Max cutting himself on the stele and Alec (thinking the name cut a beautiful wound, still) rushing over to pull him away and Max crying while Alec comforted him and scolded at the same time and himself holding baby Hope in his arms, wishing he could be half the parent Alec was.
His own tears fall silently now, and though they do not come accompanied by the screams and breathlessness they used to, it is small comfort. "Your father's eyes," he manages to get out, finally, and Hope looks up at him, "were a brilliant, royal blue."
It is all he can do, in that one breath. She seems to breathe a sigh of relief. He steels himself for a moment before he continues. "I could say many things about your father's eyes, Hope, but he wouldn't mind that you can't remember the exact shade. He himself probably never knew nor cared-it always matched whatever ratted, black hoodie he was wearing, after all." Magnus allows himself a small laugh-he can laugh about Alec sometimes, but never for long.
"But, still", Hope is pulling away now, leaning back against the door, arms not so much crossed but clutched against her white cotton tank top. "It scares me. Not being able to remember him-even small parts. What if I the parts I forget become larger and larger, until I'm left with only vague memories of love and warmth?"
"That won't happen," Magnus assured her fiercely.
"I'm talking about hundreds and hundreds of years from now-I'll still be able to remember him, then?"
Magnus finds his lips twitching into a small, sad smile. "If we're going to have this conversation, I think you might as well sit down." He motions to the bright fuchsia arm chair that cannot possibly be more out of place with the mood in the room.
Hope nods, and walks over to the chair with her arms still wrapped around herself, as if she were trying to hold all the memories of Alec inside her, never to let another one free. He kisses her head before he sits down in the matching chair across from her, and the color springs back into a few of the lilies, if only for a moment.
"Warlock memories," he begins, "work, from what I've observed, in very weird ways. We live much longer than any other creature besides vampires, all of whom were originally human, so it makes sense that our brains, and therefore our memories, work differently."
Hope frowns, though it is one borne out of exasperation than sadness, which brings Magnus a small measure of relief. "Is there any reason you haven't told me this before? Seems kind of important."
"Oh, quiet," he jokingly-scolds, and he motions with his left hand to quiet her, a small gold band glistening on his ring finger as he does so. "This isn't anything world changing. And I'm not 100% I'm correct, anyway."
"Are you ever?" she teases softly, and Magnus takes it in good grace, as her hair begins to bloom again.
"Anyway," he continues pointedly, "Even for all our magic and immortality, our brains are not significantly different than those of mundanes or Shadowhunters or other Downworlders. Our brains simply lack the capability to store hundreds of years of perfectly recalled memories."
"This isn't making me feel any better, Dad."
"This will. Because we live for such a long time, our brains have to make a choice-lots of choices, actually. What to keep, what to throw out, what to only vaguely have a grip on. The good news is that our brains do not choose randomly. A large part of it is based on time, sure. Everyone remembers most vividly what happens most recently. And yes, many mundanes are still taken by cruel diseases like Alzheimer's and dementia or simply old age that will render their own children strangers to them. But, not us."
Magnus has to pause for a moment, because he can feel Alec creeping in on him like he always does, can see his shy smile and can almost hear him urging him to finish.
"The other part?" Hope prompts, her very namesake written all over her face.
Magnus is able to smile with what feels like true joy for the first time in ages. "This is where I may be making things up, but I can think of no other explanation for why I can still remember every word of every single breakfast conversation I had with your father while I can't recall my own step-father's name. Our minds, it seems, are very considerate of what we hold attachments to. Maybe you don't remember your father's precise shade of blue eyes, but do you remember what he used to say to you and Max before we put you to bed?"
Hope is smiling, finally. "Goodnight, sleep tight and don't let the Kuri demons bite."
Magnus laughs. "You know, now that I'm thinking about it, I have no idea why he said that to you two. He was literally bit by one as a child."
"It all makes sense! It wasn't a bedtime tradition thing, it was actual, practical advice."
They both begin to laugh in earnest.
Magnus soon conceptualizes why they're laughing, though, and the pocket of pain that has taken up residence in his heart ever since the day Alec's cells won the war against him is throbbing again. Even fifty years have not been enough for it to fade away.
Hope must be feeling it too, as she has also stopped laughing.
Several more moments of awful, Alec silence. Hope finally speaks.
"It happened sooner than you expected, didn't it?"
That is all it takes to transport him back to a mundane hospital where a mundane doctor is telling him sadly that cancer is not at all uncommon for a man Alec's age, that at Alec's age there can be no other diagnoses than terminal, and Magnus is crying because magic is useless if it can't save Alec, and depressed because mundane medical science didn't advance half as quickly as mundane civil rights did. Magnus is sitting on the same couch where they had kissed for the first time with Alec's head, now overgrown with whiteness, lying too lightly on his lap, and Max and Hope are kneeling beside him, each holding one of their father's hands.
It is a testament to the power of a warlock's memory that Magnus remembers the feel of Alec's last exhalation on his wrist as warm as the person it flew from, and the way the love fled out of his eyes to leave only the blankness the three of them would never feel.
When he pulls himself out of it, he realizes he is sobbing, and Hope is holding him and apologizing as he feels her own tears on his neck. "I shouldn't have been worried," she manages to get out, "About forgetting him. How could I, when thinking about his absence makes everything hurt?"
"It's a blessing and a curse," Magnus mutters.
"I don't see how," Hope cries bitterly, "When the memories of the good times aren't as good as the original and only serve to remind us that he'll never come back, and when the memories of the bad hurt as much as they do before, I fail to see the blessing."
Magnus reaches up and cups her face in his hands. He calms himself by looking at her eyes, which are not the same shade as Alec's but reminds him of him nonetheless. "Didn't you come see me," he asks gently, "because you were afraid of forgetting?"
She nods, defeated. "You're right."
"Of course I am." He allows a bit of triumph to creep into his voice, trying desperately to lighten the mood. "And, you know, you really could visit me for less depressing reasons occasionally. And where's your brother, by the way? I haven't seen him for even longer."
Hope snorts. "Still chasing after that mundane doctor in Chicago. I don't like his chances-he probably scared her off with the horns."
Magnus smiles and rolls his eyes. "Of course. That child would never learn to properly glamour for more than an hour at the time. Actually, it's quite remarkable that he's avoided being caught by some police or Shadowhunters, the way he goes around."
"Don't worry, I'm there to clean up most of his messes," Hope assures.
"You have time for that between all those Blackthorns you're constantly getting out of trouble?" Magnus smirks.
Hope has the decency to blush. "For the record, I-"
"What's the name of the one you like, again? Larry? Lucas? Langford?"
"Dad!" Hope shouts, outraged and more than a little embarrassed. "It's Liam," she mutters, almost inaudibly.
"Oh, right, of course," Magnus says lightly, as if he hadn't known all along. As if he hadn't already found out the relevant details about him and his family, as if he hadn't grilled Max for information.
Hope probably suspects the meaning behind the words, and moves to get up and walk away. Not before Magnus grabs her wrist, though.
"Hope," he says, everything robbed from his voice except the word and the love, "We told you why we named you that, right?"
"Yeah," she nods. "You guys said it was because even if you couldn't have the same life as a 'normal' couple, you would always have hope. And it became really important to you."
"Yes," Magnus agrees, and again he falls into memory, of a conversation he and Alec had so long ago, when he rushed to Alec so afraid and Alec had been hurt by him in ways Magnus hadn't realized at the time. He was all too aware of them now.
"But," Hope interrupts, "it didn't exactly work out."
"Yes it did," Magnus says firmly, "I got over forty years of love with that incredible, beautiful man and two equally incredible and beautiful children. Alec made me into someone I never thought I could be, and made me feel something I was afraid I would never feel again. Losing him hurt-you know how much it hurt-more than anything, and it still does. But I wouldn't, if I had the choice, trade pain away at love's expense, and neither should you."
Silence passes for more than a few minutes, though it's not uncomfortable.
"Just so you know," Hope finally says, "He's allergic to cats."
Magnus struggles not to say the obscenities that are on his tongue. "Well, I guess that's a good enough reason not to have him here ever."
At Hope's glare, he sighs. "Fine. I guess we'll have to lock Vladimir Cutin in the bedroom when he comes over."
Laughing, Hope gives him a hug which Magnus gladly returns. Her flowers are in full bloom again, and somehow the smell of all the different flowers combine pleasantly.
"I love you, you know," he says casually.
"I love you too," she replies easily, "And of course, I know."
"Sometimes I feel like I don't say it enough."
"You don't have to."
Magnus shakes his head, "But I should, I-"
He is interrupted by the loud vibration of Hope's phone. She pulls it out of her pocket, and Magnus leans over to see the name: Liam.
"Oh, you might as well invite him over," Magnus says dramatically, "No time like the present to practice some fire magic."
As Magnus watches Hope's face light up as she tells Liam the address, Magnus can't help but wish a tall, dark-haired Shadowhunter was with him, pointing his loaded bow toward the door.
He told her he wouldn't trade away the love he gave and received. He didn't tell her that it would never be enough.
A/N: So, I realize that this was incredibly depressing. If this was something you enjoyed, though, I could possibly be persuaded into writing more stories about Magnus, Hope, Max-and living Alec. :)
Regardless if you'd like another story, I'd love to hear your comments anyway! This was just something that came out in the space of a few hours.
Thank you for choosing to spend your time reading this story!