AN: In which we all develop coping methods to deal with our pain stemming from a certain wreck of a fictional breakup, and my methods apparently tend to revolve around the "even more pain to drown out the rest" solution. If anyone else has a better idea, i'm all ears. Please share.

Not much else to say; reviews are heavenly, I don't own The Mortal Instruments despite how much I'd like to, and the usual warnings apply, meaning you have to put up with me. Do enjoy.

Please Don't Blame Yourself

He keeps it off for days. More than a week, really. A week of self-pity and self-disgust, of eating next to nothing and consuming far more liquor than advisable, of keeping windows drawn and lights off and being generally dramatic without an audience; a week of taking no calls. A week of yearning for a single voice and of cutting off any way of which he might hear that voice again. A week of hearing it in his mind and dreams anyway.

However, when one is High Warlock, one has to uphold that; one has to swallow one's anger and smile at any watching, to stay powerful and stay on guard. No one can ignore the world forever – forever, he muses, what a terrible thought – and the people he tends to work with get cranky when they're left cold. He doesn't care, really, they can go find another warlock to make their coveted spells for them; but he may have, he thinks idly to himself, missed some event or piece of information he'll actually care about.

It's unlikely, of course, not that he's admitting it. There only is one person to care about, as much as he doesn't want to.

And he cut that person out of his life, if not his mind and heart.

So, after much half-hearted deliberation, it comes to be time to turn the Dreaded Mobile Device back on. Clear the messages, delete the emails, listen to the 143 voice messages. He's not even sure how he can hold that many – probably some drunken spell to keep up with the multitude of callers - the perks of being a warlock are sometimes nothing but annoying – it's great in theory, but usually he never really wants to hear so much from someone without being able to speak back.

He contemplates the phone for a minute, leans back against the sofa, sighs; then he presses play.

"Bane, we've got a problem we need you to deal with-"

"Magnus Bane? Do you make love poti-"

"Bane! Those werewolves are in our territory again-"

"Hey, party this Friday! You-"

"Magnus, what's going on? We-"

Delete.

Magnus goes through 60 or so of these, half listening, half paying attention to nothing at all. Some are business calls - he doesn't dally on any of these, he's tired of using magic for anyone, not your pet warlock anymore. Some are invitations, to whatever latest party is brewing, as no one uses the classic method of actually sending an invitation with ink on paper anymore. Some he considers actual friends, and he's torn between just wanting them to leave him alone, and wanting to call them back because he genuinely misses the sound of their voice. There are those callers that sound annoyed with him, which isn't anything new, but although no one should have heard of his breakup, they haven't failed to notice his dropping of the map, and a few sound honestly concerned. He listens to one from Tessa almost the whole way through, "Magnus, please talk to me, what's happening? No one's heard from you in a while, many people are trying to call you but you're not answering anyone, are you alright? Look, just please call me back. I want to know what's going on, and – help you if I can." And he debates calling her back for a moment, before deleting it with the rest.

There's nothing she could do.

He'll never really get used to sympathy. He never got it much in the past. There are more people like Tessa, people he counts as close friends and many who have been for decades, people who seem genuinely worried. They ask him to talk to them, they ask him what's going on, they tell him Magnus Bane you better answer your phone right now and inform us what the hell is happening or we will break down your front door, but that's how some of them say that they're concerned for him and he's not concerned that they'll actually do that. They're immortals, after all. Immortals know what it's like to live forever; they all have their secrets. They know to leave him alone when he needs to be.

He doesn't want to be alone, though, he wants to be with the one person who –

They implore him not to do anything stupid. Not a problem, as all he's done is eat a little and sleep a little and stare at the ceiling and out the windows and wreck a few rooms and for the briefest moment, allow himself to break down. Thinking this over, he admits to himself that this is probably exactly what they would define to be such. Ah, well.

They all mean well, these callers; well, not the business ones looking for their next easy solution, but the ones who call as friends. And he's grateful, he really is, and if he wasn't so numb he might smile at the thought; but he is numb, he's tired and cold and empty, and he can't bring himself to care all that much.

He makes it through another ten, all We need you Hey do you want to What's going on with you and other various cries. He drinks them all in, partly desperate for a bit of comfort and distraction and partly irrationally angry with every syllable he hears and partly detached from it all. Soon he stops paying attention completely, the voices through the speaker blurring together and fading out, and he hears a different voice in his head, the one he craves and misses with every last part of his empty heart,

Magnus, give me another chance, I love you –

He's jolted back to reality as the next message begins, physically snapping forward, pausing it on reflex; startling, yes, it is from a person he thought he'd never hear from again.

But it's not Alec.

It's Isabelle.

Something clenches in his gut; he debates skipping the message altogether as it's likely just a few minutes of her furiously chewing him out for breaking her brother's heart. He hesitates. But he presses play.

And with the first sound he knows something is wrong.

Magnus?

We – we haven't been able to reach you for days.

Guess we know why. Al-Alec told us – a few days ago – that you had broken up with him.

Well, that doesn't matter anymore.

He thought that you wouldn't want anything to do with him anymore, and maybe he's right, but I saw the way you two looked at each other and I know there has to be more to the story. I know – you loved him. It was clear to see. And if what happened – hadn't happened – well, Jace and I would have come knocking on your door, I guarantee it.

It just doesn't matter anymore.

He – he was so upset, Magnus. My god, if you had seen him, if you had seen how empty someone's eyes can look while at the same time hold so much pain –

But that doesn't matter anymore.

Magnus – Alec's dead.

A couple days after, after you broke up, we – well, he was a mess. We were going to barge in on you any moment, believe me, we were angry, but we were too busy staying with him, making sure he was alright, making sure he wouldn't do anything – reckless. We tried to look out for him they way he did for us. But he wasn't alright. And he did manage to do something reckless.

We were stupid too. We took him out hunting – we thought it would be good for him, good for him to get out and start living again, well – killing counts as living when you're a shadowhunter. But – but – his heart wasn't into it.

He didn't move in time.

Please. Don't blame yourself. It wasn't your fault. If anyone's, it was ours – and now I've lost two brothers – and god, he was so sad, so miserable, bitter, he hated himself so much –

Does that even matter anymore?

You loved him, I know you did, and I – I think you still love him now – and you needed to know, you need to – Oh god, Magnus, I can't do this, I –

He loved you.

And that still matters.

You never officially became my brother-in-law – hell, I don't know if it would have ever worked out, but it doesn't matte- it would have happened in the end. But just, know that, even if you don't want anything to do with us anymore, that's how I think of you. As – family. Alec – Alec told us – we never, ever thought of you as a pet warlock, Magnus. You were our friend. You still are. You are the best thing that ever happened to my brother, and for that and everything you did for us and for him thank you. Thank you so much.

Thank you for loving him.

It clicks off without a farewell, and Magnus is left with silence. He stares fixedly at nothing at all, seeing blue eyes instead, and replays Isabelle's words in his head, comprehending them yet not, unable to do anything but stay utterly still as they soak in. She sounds so broken. So familiar to the way Alec had when he had broken up with him, when he'd told him with no uncertainty that it was over between them, kissed him for the last time he ever will. And he realizes that the last words that Alec ever said and will ever say to him were inflicted with the same pain he feels now, that Alec died with his heart already torn apart; the underlying pain that's been with him ever since that day explodes in his chest and hurts. Goddamn hurts.

Alec's dead. The words have a thousand tastes on his tongue and he doesn't even speak them aloud, just mouths them and releases their bitterness into the air around him. The taste that lingers longest in the air is the sourness of guilt. He does blame himself. He does like he's never done before. Because he made Alec hurt like this.

He drops the phone, drops to the floor, and closes him eyes.

Finally he speaks, out into the empty space, his voice raw from being unused for so long, raw from pain encompassing him and touching every part of him and becoming him; "I love you, Alec." He says. "I'm so, so, sorry."