A/N: I own zip. Nothing. Nothing. CC owns all. I just get my fics.
Kind of a companion to Love on our Hands. I think it's… okay. I wrote it in ten minutes. Although I do really hate the ending. xP I feel like it need something more, but I don't know what that is. Anyway, Gema's fic and a song inspired me, so I felt the need to write something. AND I WROTE THIS AT 12:30 AM SO DON'T BITCH AT ME FOR ANY TYPOS I MISSED 'KAY?
If anyone has any questions: Yes, Alec killed himself. The other fic explains it all. And I still am working on LooH, by the way. Maryse next.
Thar be a poll on my profile page, and nobody's voted in it. –prods- Pleeez?
Reviews are sunshine and happy and sparkly and loved.
It was a Sunday afternoon when Magnus Bane became convinced that there was something wrong.
He had woken up that morning – as in 1 AM - to apprehension curled in the back of his throat like a bitter taste. It was something that no amount of tooth-brushing or drinking water would remove, but it felt the same – lodged there like a layer of paper, thick and textured, permeating the taste of the air. The world seemed sour with the taste of his unsettlement.
Stress? Not likely. But possible. And therefore, nothing to puzzle over.
But things only got worse throughout the day. Magnus found that the feeling moved almost like a fast-growing tumor. It got all over the inside of his mouth, and slithered down his throat into his stomach, and on and on until he knew something was missing, something was very, very wrong and out of place. He could feel it in his fingertips. It stirred within his legs with every hesitant step.
He wanted to collapse, to let the feeling of wrongness fade away with more time sleeping, to let life sort itself out. But the feeling swarmed inside him nonstop, until it was more than unpleasant. Until it hurt, until it stung so badly that he wanted to scream in agony.
So Magnus looked. He hunted for the thing that was off, whatever it was, eyes frantically scanning, slender hands shaking, unsteadily scrambling through piles and piles of things. Looking for something. Any clue as to what was wrong. Then tangling in his unwashed hair despairingly as he found absolutely nothing.
It was a Sunday afternoon when Magnus Bane became convinced that there was something wrong.
It was late Sunday night when he was proven right.
For the clue he was seeking was not strewn across his apartment, hidden away in dusty boxes in dusty corners. No, the clue was walking down the street, each step slow and pained, climbing the steps laboriously, and stumbling in the door without knocking.
Magnus stood up with a start and raced towards Jace Wayland. The apprehension was turning into fear, absolute terror of what was to come.
Because somewhere inside of him, Magnus Bane knew.
He knew even before Jace looked him steely in the eye, handed him a few papers, and watched wordlessly as his trembling hands scrambled through them.
But it was the worst when Magnus saw the suicide letter staring him straight in the face.
Until he dropped it to the floor and tumbled quickly after it.
It was as if every bit of fear and nervousness inside of him had been replaced by total despair and sorrow. As if he had a million of tiny hearts inside his body, each of them all over underneath his skin, each of them broken.
Magnus lay shaking on his floor, the name burning his throat like fire as he screamed it over and over again.
"ALECALECALECALECALECALECALECALECALEC"
It was an invocation just as much as it was a lament. It was the hope, the need, that saying his name would bring him back to life. That saying his name would make his heart start beating again, make him stand up and be okay and walk through the door with a smile on his face and regret in his eyes.
But Magnus couldn't cast that kind of spell.
He could only do what he always had – hunker down and live through the pain. Wait for it to go away. And if it didn't, go on without it.
Magnus knew this was impossible. But he had to try.
It wasn't like he had a choice.
It wasn't like he ever had.