Savor – Part One
Prologue
It had escaped his notice that he could die. Yes, a thought here and there, but it was a fictional thought. One that whispered at the dark corners of his mind, reminded him off the life he had forsaken. He could remember what it meant to be born in Heaven's eyes. To be expected to do so much, to expect this and that of other people. Humanity had slapped him in the face hard. What would his parabatai think? His sister? Was every single one of his kind laughing at him? Grimacing at all he had embraced in his time on Earth? Falling to the ground, he looks up. Blood fills his mouth, reminded him of the cafe, of other things. Learning thankfulness. True happiness. Staring at his own purpose in life, he realizes that even if he dies he can't go back. Why would he want to?
Alec couldn't help but bring himself back again and again... and again.
The first time he actually felt the taste of hot coffee, he wanted more. He had yelped when the fresh tea burned his lips, but came back for seconds. And then he extended his pallet to the meat section; hamburgers where delicious. The hotness of steaks were bitter but appetizing. And the cool of vegetables, salads and then the fruits such as apples and peaches. And mixing it all, god, Alec prayed by the angel that every dish would be just as great. Warm soup, then the salads with the different mixtures. Ranch, Italian, and strawberries on the side with whip that looked like soft snow-covered mountains. More of that delicious pork, but on segments on a stick with herbs and sauce flavouring them. Wine, water, and most of all coffee afterwards. He could never get enough of coffee.
Which was why he was facing his current predicament.
Never before had angels ever been heard of lusting after the very heart and soul of what humanity had created. And even when the sun that was just as bright as the lights of home blinded him, when the water was suffocating and the automobiles were so loud and threatening, and every crack of thunder shook him with a force that reminded him of his brother, he never wanted to go back.
He stayed.
And stayed.
Angels weren't supposed to stay in a place they didn't belong, it was unnatural. He had to go home at some point. He had a duty, plus this earth couldn't sustain him. And he had almost done it, until he made yet another mistake.
He had one more coffee.
It shouldn't have been a bit deal, right?
But god, as the server, who had proudly made the coffee himself (so the server said to Alec), handed him his drink, Alec realized he didn't want to go. The drink was warm, a light shade of brown like the skin of the man who handed it to him. Full of sugar, like the personality of this intriguing human. Alec had choked, but the waiter just helped him with a towel, offering a refund. Alec shook his head, before leaving with his coffee to enjoy in private. Because the waiter himself was just as inviting as the coffee, and Alec just knew he couldn't handle all the social pressure in that moment.
And of course, he was back. Menu in hand, he sat behind it, doing his best to peer over the top of the brown and black plastic. White words he didn't bother focusing on, why should he? No, instead he looked to the kitchen doors, watching. Soon, his waiter came out. Ridiculous to think of the waiter as his, but Alec couldn't help it. Alec ducks quickly behind his menu, sinking a bit into his seat, face heating up. Calm down, Alexander. You've done this before. So many times, in fact, which was exactly why this particular waiter always waited on him. Waiter. Just 'waiter', Alec didn't even know his name.
It was easy for an angel to read a person, and find out his name, but the longer Alec had stayed he already felt those powers fading. He would've cared more, had the Earth not infatuated him so much. Plus, this man seemed strangely hard for Alec to try and figure out-
"Hello, back again I see."
"Uh... yes sir. I mean person. Waiter..." Alec looks up, silently cursing at himself for messing up again. Yes, he had messed up before. Almost every time he came back. Which would be... a few weeks? A month? Alec didn't keep track of time anymore. Angels never bothered to, but when he first came to Earth he had tried, just to fit in. But he thought it was pointless, so why try? Alec bites the inside of his cheek as the waiter laughs, brown-gold eyes shining.
"Always such a social butterfly. Usual? Or something new?"
"New."
"Hmm... alright. Normal price. Anything to eat?" The waiter bounces on his toes, always so eager to serve. Alec nods, looking at the menu and pointing at a random thing. The man leans over, looking to see the order. "A blueberry muffin. That's a nice choice. I'll be back with your order."
Alec nods, and the man smiles and turns to walk away. Alec decides he will ask for his name at some point, in the far, far future. The simple 'waiter' wasn't cutting it. What were human waiters called? Every angel in heaven had a name, and every single one knew each other's name. Some couldn't be pronounced in simple human tongue. But, humans had short names. If Alec had more power, he could probably figure so much more about this man. His mind was slowing and halting now- time in the human world was wearing him down.
Sitting back in the seat and putting down the menu, Alec crosses his arms. The cafe was called simple the New York Cafe. Unoriginal, compared to other places. Alec knew for certain that New York was a place itself. But the people in it? No, he couldn't figure out names. So, the waiter's name? On the back of his all-black uniform was New York Cafe, but that was only the name of the business, yes? The man also had a small silver tag that said Bane in black writing on his left breast. Was that it? Or was it just his position among this small cafe's band of coffee-makers? If the latter was true, that only bought up the question, what was a Bane?
Suddenly, Alec can see the waiter coming back. Panicked, his sits up and picks up the menu again, trying to appear like he's reading instead of keeping his eye out for the waiter and his order. When the man arrives at his table, Alec nervously looks up and sets down the menu, reaching into his pocket to dig out the money. Humans also used a type of currency; angels never needed it, because they either had everything, or if they needed something other angels helped out. The waiter sets down a white cup and white plate with a small bread-like thing on top. The muffin, surely.
"Your order, sir. Five-ninety-five."
"Uh... T-Thanks." Alec stumbles out the words. Again, angels never needed to thank each other verbally, they showed thanks. But this particular fumbling angel doubted there was a way other humans could show thanks in the way angels did. He could count out the money, but the anxiety was getting to him, socializing was not his profession. He pulls out a twenty, handing it over and saying quietly, "keep the change". The waiter nodded enthusiastically. Alec knew 'keep the change' was a social custom, because he had heard other humans saying it in various shops.
"Thanks! Anything else, sir?" The man leans forward, smiling again, and Alec frantically shakes his head. Dark black hair blocks his eyes, and Alec reaches up to brush them away. He watches the waiter walk away, New York Cafe emblazoned on the back. Remembering all the earlier confusion, it was probably best to now clear it. Clearing up his throat, Alec prays he can find the courage to speak just like he did when working as a soldier of heaven.
"Waiter?"
"Yes?" The man turns around quickly, wanting to talk to him. Alec swallows, glancing at the small silver with black writing.
"What is a Bane?" Alec sits stock still, back straight, as he ask the question carefully. Praying it isn't a weird question, inappropriate. The waiter blinks, confused, and Alec realizes he has a made a mistake. Lifting a hand, he points to the man's name tag. "It says Bane."
"Oh. Oh! That's my... name. Last name."
"...Ah." Alec, absolutely mortified, looks down at the table before looking up again. He can feel the now-familiar sensation of blushing happening. Stupid emotions. This man, Bane, nods. He seems to feel the intensity as well of the embarrassment of the situation, so as any good waiter, he asks if there's anything more Alec would like. Alec shakes his head. And Bane leaves.
Still blushing, Alec sips his drink. There is a soft white film on the top that Alec recognizes as some type of whip. Then a layer of light brown under that, and he enjoys the taste immensely. Sipping, he looks up to see waiters and waitresses catering to other people. And there is Bane, talking to a group of younger humans. Teenagers, as Alec has learned they're called in English. Alec quickly looks away again to make sure he wasn't caught watching, and he goes back to enjoying his order. The muffin he quickly grabs, taking a chunk of it as he heads out the door, dashing into the open sunlight. It is hot and warm, and Alec has learned that he really shouldn't wear black on days like this. But hey, old habits were hard to break. Taking another bite out of the muffin, he heads off to find a favourite park of his. The pigeons would like some of his muffin too.
For some reason, whether for better or worse, Magnus found himself waiting on the same person. Everyday. Which was normal, except the person didn't talk much. Completely anti-social. Was never really prepared to make an order. But the man always did, all because of Magnus himself. Magnus would ask if he either wanted his usual order (a coffee) or something new. Sometimes the man changed his order, sometimes he didn't.
Magnus honestly couldn't stop himself from checking him out. Always wearing dark clothes, bringing out blue eyes, the man was gorgeous. Hot. And some tattoos, not too visible from underneath his layers of clothing but there was still a glimpse from his wrists and neck under his collar. He also came off as nervous. Calm, but still not very social.
Always fumbling around, as if he had no idea how everything worked.
Magnus guessed he was from another country. The man's accent was like any New Yorker's, his speech was nice, void of any stutters. But hesitant, careful. Magnus remembered the first time, when the man gave him a tip. In a way that made it obvious that he never gave a tip before. An entire fifty-dollar bill, for a four-dollar coffee. When Magnus asked how he'd like his change back (after he gave him a second cup when the man spilled the coffee on himself), Mr. Blue-eyes told him to keep the rest. Magnus took it in disbelief, but was always grateful for the extra money. Counting his tips, he looked at the window seat in the corner, where the mysterious customer always sat. It was already eleven PM, the man was long gone from his early morning visit. Swallowing, Magnus decides he should start cleaning up to get out early.
"Honestly, it's not fair that you get all the good-tipping customers," Ragnor pouts behind Magnus, passing him to drop some cups off in the sink. Magnus rolls his eyes and folds the money into his uniform's pocket, his friend's envious demeanour amusing him. Both of them walk into the kitchen, where Magnus grabs a rag and Ragnor gets himself a towel. Cleaning off the dishes, Magnus looks at the other man with a smile on his face.
"I'm going to ask him out."
"Seriously?" Ragnor snorts, drying a cup and putting it on a tray. Another waitress comes buy, picking it up and moving to put it away in a cupboard. She smiles and winks at Ragnor, and he smiles in response before turning to Magnus. "That's a bad idea. Relationships are complicated."
"Doesn't stop you from hitting on your co-workers," Magnus says, flicking bubbles into the air. Ragnor bats them away, wearing a frown.
"That's different. This guy tips you a lot. You also said he might be from another country." Ragnor raises his eyebrows, as if that explains everything, and Magnus shakes his head, not understanding the point. Tossing another soapy dish into the sink, making sure to splash as much water onto Ragnor as possible, he sighs softly.
"So?" Magnus swallows, knowing Ragnor would try and talk him out of it. Then again, Magnus wasn't even sure it he was 'in on it' in the first place. What would he say to the customer? Something cheesy? Hey, you asked what a Bane was, but I'll be your Bane for you. If you'll have me. Magnus giggles to himself, stomach turning at the ridiculousness of the situation. He turns to Ragnor, who is still frowning.
"I'm serious, Magnus. If he tips well, he might be rich. A rich guy from another country. Rich people and waiters don't mix well." Ragnor crosses his arms, mouth set into a firm line. Magnus turns away, knowing what is friend is referencing. He doesn't want to hear it though. Anything, any mention about his ex would definitely put Magnus in a foul mood for the rest of the week, so it was best to just avoid that topic.
"I know, I know..." Magnus decides to hold his tongue and say no more. Both men go back to their job, silence surrounding them. When they finish, Ragnor quickly says goodbye and begins walking away to the back to change. Magnus pauses, handing the last tray of dried dishes and cups to a fellow waiter before walking to the back himself. Grabbing his bag, he puts on his yellow jacket (no one could wear too much yellow), not bothering to change out of his uniform. He digs around for his necklace, a special gift he received a long time ago, and puts it on. Shoving tips into his messenger bag, he heads for the door. Passing Ragnor, he looks at him.
"Want me to walk me home?"
"Your not my guardian angel, Magnus."
"It's New York, though. You should stay safe."
"No thanks." Ragnor looks at him, expression relaxed. For once, he actually smiles, gaze friendly. "Worry about yourself more, for once."
"Will do." Magnus stops at the front door as he best friend leaves the restaurant, watching him go. Sighing, Magnus glances at his watch. Eleven-thirty-five, he had some time to catch the bus. Someone walks up beside him, talking on the phone. Magnus turns around to see Tessa, smiling warmly at him as she says goodbye to her phone-partner. After she hangs up, she exits with him, ready to walk home together. If Magnus was honest, he wasn't a fan of walking home alone; walking alone was fun, but not when it was nearing midnight and there was a chance of you getting jacked. Tessa didn't exactly look like protection, but she 'knew' people who apparently 'taught her' to defend herself. The curly-brown-haired girl with large soft grey eyes was not someone to be messed with. Pulling her hair with ease into a ponytail, she glances up at him.
"Busy day today."
"I guess." Magnus shrugs, glancing up at the sky. He wants to bring up that particular customer to Tessa, but what would her reaction be? Strict like Catarina, but encouraging? Disapproving like Ragnor? Magnus looks at his friend, expression guarded. "You know that customer that's been showing up for the past while? The one I serve?"
"The one who tips well? Mags, the entire staff knows about him," Tessa laughs, putting her hands in her pockets to guard from the cold.
"Yeah. I... I've been thinking about asking him out." Magnus speaks cautiously, gauging Tessa's reaction. She nods, biting her lip while glancing at the ground. Deep in thought, she looks back up at him.
"Did you... were you looking for my opinion?"
"Yes."
"Okay. Well, if I was looking for stuff in your best professional-interests, I'd say no. But, I'm your best friend. I'm saying yes, because it's been god-knows how long since you've actually been interested in someone. It'd be good for you," Tessa says, nodding while smiling. Her advice makes Magnus beam. Sighing happily, he glances forward again. They're nearing her apartment. She shares one with Catarina, who is attending med-school. Magnus himself shares one with Woosley, a guy he met at the bar and who needed a cheap apartment and a roommate he could split the bill with. Magnus was more than happy to oblige.
After a few minutes of silence, the pair arrive at Tessa's place, where Catarina sits outside in the air. She smiles and waves from the steps, and Magnus waves back. Ascending the long staircase, Tessa looks back and waves bye. Smiling, Magnus turns and walks away, going home to his own apartment. Checking the time again, he sees it is already midnight; he better hurry. Rushing across the busy street, he is determined to shower and get ready for tomorrow morning. Dress better tomorrow. Maybe even put on makeup. And then see Mr. Blue-eyes.
The thought makes Magnus blush.
Why did the man have to be a customer though? And a seemingly rich one at that.
And why did he have to have blue eyes?
And why did he have to look so damn appealing?
After some time of trying to come up with what to say tomorrow, Magnus finally arrives home. Walking up the front steps, he digs in his bag for his keys, all while mumbling to himself terrible pickup lines. And trying to tell himself he can ask out that man tomorrow. I can do this. I can do this. It'll be simple. Just a simple hello, and I'll ask for his number. Shaking nervously, butterflies in his stomach, he looks down at his bag when he can't find his keys. Fumbling around, he grabs his phone and shine a light into his bag.
Not seeing anything, he glances around the street; there's no one around. He turns to the railing, if the large slabs of stone can be called that, and dumps the contents of his bag onto it. Wallet, money, various papers, clothes, and other assorted items. But no keys. Frustrated and annoyed, he decides he either lost his keys or never left the apartment with them to begin with. Tired, making the decision to yell at Woosley's bedroom window or climb the side of the building, he quickly tosses all contents back into his bag. Walking around to the back, he begins yelling.
"Woosley! Woosley, I forgot my key!" Magnus cups his hands around his mouth as he yells at the window five stories above ground. Waiting a minute for his roommate to answer, and when he doesn't, Magnus yells again. Impatient, he bounces on the balls of his feet, needing the warmth of his bed. Yelling some more, he wonders if Woosley is even home. After another minute passes, someone comes around the corner. Thinking it is his friend, Magnus turns to the approaching figure. Almost immediately, he knows it is not his friend though. Heart jumping, he turns back to the window.
"Woosley!" Magnus silently curses for forgetting his keys as he digs in his pocket slowly, feeling the pepper spray. The man's footsteps are getting closer, hitting the pavement lightly. Woosley, open the damn door. The footsteps stop when they are near Magnus, and he looks over his shoulder. First thing he noticed was that the man was handsome, and probably around the same age as himself. Tall, heavily built and decked out in black and grey clothing. Eyes that matched the dark outfit, and some intricate tattoos. But the hair was a startling blond that looked nearly white. Heart racing, Magnus steps away, but the man just takes one step closer.
"...Can I help you?" Magnus' throat feels too dry, but his palms are sweaty. He clutches the weapon in his hand tighter, praying he won't have to use it. The man shrugs, smiling, but the movement looks so inhuman and unnatural that it sends shudders down Magnus' spine.
"You can, actually... " The man trails off, not saying anymore, and Magnus bites his cheek.
"Okay..."
"You can say I'm a bit hungry. And I realized that even though I can see you, you are... how can I put it..." The man steps closer, and Magnus edges away. The creepy vibes he was getting off this man was too much. Hungry. That didn't sound right at all. The man stops again, smiling wider. "A... bit hidden."
"Hidden." Magnus moves away again, not understanding. Absolutely confused, he tries to piece everything together. Hungry. Hidden. Was this man a serial killer? A vampire? Some man hired by Woosley to prank Magnus? While that last one seemed likely, Magnus doubted it. The man nods, walking toward him quickly, steps brisk. Reminding Magnus of a predator. Quickly, the New York waiter does what any city fellow would do; he pulls out the pepper spray. Hand and voice shaking, he says coldly: "Don't come any closer."
"And what do you think you're going to do with that?" The man pauses, smirking, and in a flash he sprints full speed. Magnus pushes the button, but the small device is ripped away from his hand as he is shoved against the apartment wall. Air is knocked out of his lung as his back violently hits the brick. Choking and coughing, before he can even breathe again a hand wraps around his neck and lifts him easily into the air. The spray is still in the air, stinging at his eyes painfully. Magnus tries to fight off the grip, but the hand closes even tighter. It feels like his windpipe is collapsing in one itself. Trying to get the hand off of him, he squints down at the man holding him.
"You shouldn't have done that." The man's voice sounds off suddenly, deeper and more vicious. Magnus can see eyes, if you can call them that. They're black, so black. The hand closes more, and Magnus swings his leg, kicking and fighting. If he was going to die, he wasn't going down without a fight. The man seems to find this amusing, but his grip is unrelenting. The man pulls at a chain around Magnus' neck.
"So that's how you're doing it." Ripping the necklace away, the blonde inspects it in his free hand. It is a red pendant, one Magnus got from his ex. Think of it as my personal protection for you, she had said. She knew how much he loved looking at it, so she gave it to him. Magnus tries to protest and reach for the chain, but the man simply crushes it with ease. The red turns to dust, and Magnus feels a spark of rage. Contempt. Black surrounds the corners of his vision, and soon colours begin to swim. I'm going to die. It seems so surreal. Hand weakly hitting whatever it can, legs moving with less force, Magnus isn't going to simply go down and take it. But he's terrified, and his eyes are beginning to tear up because they are still burning. Black engulfs the colours.
White spots blink.
Suddenly, gold yanks him from the grip, sending him crashing to the ground. Coughing as air finally greets his lungs, he rolls onto his side. There is a violent scream, a yell, and footsteps. A metal smell begins tainting the air. Red powder dusts over the side of his cheek, and he chokes again with the loss of the pendant. Forcing himself onto his knees, he shakes and tries not to cough anymore. The night is filled with the sound of crashing, and he looks around. His bag is still on him, but the pepper spray sits on the ground alone. Stumbling over to it, he grabs it in a tight grip and sprints down the lane to the corner, knowing he only has to get around that corner and he'll see the street-
"Magnus," Woosley's voice calls out just as Magnus is sent flying to the ground again. The pavement scrapes painfully over his face, his nose begins burning along with his eyes, and he goes sliding far enough on the ground so he reaches the alley. And he can see Woosley coming down it, wearing pyjamas and slippers and a pink robe. Magnus' robe, and had this been a different situation he would've said something but he could care less right now. Standing up, he sprints again, his muscles and joints aching painfully. His roommate looks absolutely confused, his mouth opening to ask what is wrong, but Magnus just keeps running. He can hear someone yelling run... is it him? He didn't even notice, everything was moving so fast. He hits Woosley, nearly sending the slimmer man to the ground.
"Run," Magnus chokes out, gripping his roommates wrist in a death grip. Woosley frowns as he is dragged, and he stops full force. Magnus pulls at his wrist without and explanation, his friend opens his mouth to demand an explanation, and Magnus can see blond out of the corner of his eye. Shit.
Just as Magnus is going to pull at his friend's arm again, there is a delicate slicing noise, smooth and wet, and blood sprays all over the ground. Disbelieving, Magnus watches as his friend looks absolutely confused, wide-eyed, staring down at a sword protruding directly from Woosley's chest. Magnus stares at his friend, the weapon not registering in his mind. His friend falls immediately as the sword is withdrawn, and Magnus finds himself staring at the white-blond again. Fear grips Magnus, and instead of running he collapses to his knees and tries to stop the bleeding. His friend... best friend, roommate, was laying too still already. Was it possible to paralyze someone with a sword? Eyes still burning for an entirely different reason now, Magnus lays his hands down, but the blood just keeps on coming. Coughing, he looks up at the blond, wanting to ask, what did you do?
It is so obvious what was done though. Wordlessly, the blond lifts a sword to Magnus' throat, laying the black blade on his neck. It was cold, but hot where blood had stained it; empty feeling, Magnus realizes he is about to die. Just like a few moments earlier. A tear slides down his cheek, and he wants to swipe at it, hating himself for feeling weak. Just kill me already. Be done with it.
There is that light again, just out of the corner of one's vision. Magnus turns his head, and the boond does the exact same, and someone else with a sword shows up. There is a clash of metal, but the figures are moving too fast for human eye's to see, just white and gold fighting viciously. Blades, white and black hitting each other repeatedly. Magnus is transfixed, and can't bring himself to move, but he can still feel his friend's blood seeping through his fingers, warm and wet and sticky. He should run, find help, get an ambulance, but the scene in front of him is too exciting and moving.
Almost as soon as it started though, the guy who just killed Woosley jumps back, sword still tightly in his hand. Black eyes look toward the body at the ground before moving upward. Magnus can feel a shudder go through him as the empty eyes stare at him. With a cruel smile, the man, turns and jumps up onto the next apartment that is seven stories in the air, moving with deadly grace and ease. The other man who was fighting him stared and watch, not bothering to try and chase him down. Magnus watches him, trying to decide if he is friend or foe. He was blond too, but more golden. When the man turns to look at him, and his eyes are as well gold; a fiery gold, burning like the sun. But his face looked weary, tired, and he was staring at Woosley with a saddened expression. Putting his sword away, he walks closer, and Magnus immediately goes on guard.
"Are you alright?" The man asks, and Magnus laughs, the noise coming out chokingly. Alright? His friend looked practically lifeless, he was just attacked by something that was unnatural strong and fast, all because he forgot his damn keys. The golden man freezes and blinks at the response, lost as if he doesn't know what to do. But he sets his jaw, straightens, and resumes walking again like a man on a mission. He stops, and Magnus looks up at him, realizing he might die now. The man crouches, his hand reaching out to touch Magnus' forehead. There is a sudden warmth, a feeling that speaks home, and all of Magnus' injuries stop hurting.
"What..." What are you, Magnus wants to ask, but his voice gets cut off. The man's hand never leaves his forehead, and Magnus can hear sirens approaching. Police. Everything, the sound of New York and the hard ground, all the sensations begin coming back. But the golden man seems to fade, even as Magnus watches him, and he wants to ask another question. Who are you?
"Forget me," a voice says distantly. Magnus can feel something leaving him, but his question still stands.
Who are you.
Who are you.
The question suddenly seems silly. Who was who? Magnus looks around, seeing no one, and suddenly he can't remember how he got there. I was... going inside, yes? I... lost his keys? It was like when you were standing in the supermarket and you remember something pushing at the back of your mind, something not related to the purchasing of groceries at all, but it is still there. A memory pulsating. Dazed and confused, Magnus feels cold, but a warmth. On his hands. Looking down, he sees blood so that looks so unnatural on his skin, like it doesn't belong there. Red and sticky, all over his jacket and pouring onto the pavement. And Woosley... Magnus felt his heart stop, fear gripping him and choking the life out of him. A sob escapes. Woosley.
What happened?
Did I do this?
Lawyers: I don't own The Mortal Instruments, or any other of Cassandra Clare's novels. I just own this plot.
Readers: This is completely AU of course. I came up with this because I was bored and had no other ideas to write. I imagined it a month ago, but I wasn't sure what fandom to use so... yeah. And angels would be cute. And demons. I also know angel-stories have been written before, but I wanted to write my version on it. Um yeah. Sorry in advance for any mistakes, misinformation, etc. Chapters may be long. Oh and... Um a lotta pairings maybe? Maybe smexy-sexy time? I don't know. Possible violence and language too.