400
Weak sunlight filters in from the window on a spring morning, and the birds chirping are both cute and ridiculously irritating. The mirror is fogged up, and Magnus can only see the faintest outlines of his shoulders and a wayward tuft of damp, black hair in the glass. He reaches his hand up to wipe at his reflection, but halfway there he slows and involuntarily grins. The air in the bathroom is heavy, pushing down on him and wrapping around him like a warm embrace, but nothing warms him up quite like the soft, lazy look reflected back at him from over his shoulder.
"Alexander, darling, I just took a shower and I have clients this morning. Don't make every single morning I leave you harder than it already is."
A ghost of a chuckle skims over the delicate skin of his neck, and Magnus can't help the shudder that runs up his spine. It only takes a hint of a glance from Alec for the warlock to melt into a shining, glittery puddle.
Magnus closes his eyes in contentment. It makes him happy in a sick way, he thinks, that this overwhelming, soul-consuming love for Alexander has lasted. Magnus has never doubted it, even at the beginning of this infatuation when all Alec was to him was a blushing Shadowhunter, but still, it's a little surprising. For all the people he has claimed to love, somehow this one refuses to dislodge himself from his eternally beating heart.
A loud knock on the front door interrupts his reverie. By the time Magnus turns around, the bathroom is empty.
"Your super Shadowhunter stealth abilities are far too sexy," Magnus sings out.
Turning back to the mirror, Magnus sighs with fond irritation and snaps his fingers to undo the wards. The door tumbles open and he hears Max fall in.
"Hey, Papa. How are you?" his son yells from the hall.
Magnus wanders out of the bathroom a second later, fully dressed and done up.
"I'm doing well, my dear. Any interest in a bloody mary or a mimosa?"
Max is quiet, head askance as he looks at his father.
"Papa, were you talking to Dad again?"
Magnus turns from the counter and stares before smiling weakly at his son, his cat eyes bright but weary.
"You know I can't help myself, dear. I miss him so much. I miss them so much."
"I know, Papa. I do too."
Max scratches at his horns, then walks to stand in front of Magnus and grasps his shoulders.
"Are you happy?"
"I… I think I am. All things considered."
"Good. He'd want you to be happy. He'll always want you to be happy."
Magnus smiles.
"I know, biscuit. It sounds overly sappy, he'd say, but knowing I loved and was loved, I can't help but be at least a little happy."
162
For a week, Magnus disappears. Max cannot find him, his clients cannot reach him, and not even Tessa or Catarina have a clue about where he is.
Magnus isn't sure where he is, either. He portaled himself to Jakarta, he knows, but the details after that are murky. All he knows is that he's alone in a room with the blinds shut and that the worn black sweater he's wearing, spelled for preservation, still smells like Alexander. That's all he needs right now.
Usually, he quite successfully keeps himself together, despite occasional swings toward depression. He puts on a smile, applies extra glitter, and keeps his mind occupied. After all, the High Warlock of Brooklyn will always have things to do and people to see.
He can't stop himself now, though. As he sits in the dark, Magnus thinks he can almost hear his husband whispering reassurances in his ear, telling him it's okay, and dropping weightless kisses on his cheek.
"Oh, my angel. Am I being too dramatic?" Magnus laughs quietly. He raises his hands, enveloped in too-long sleeves, and takes a deep breath.
It hurts his heart to know that he's made it a hundred years without Alec.
72
He takes some time off from being High Warlock of Brooklyn. No one protests – they understand.
Accepting loss is hard, especially when you're immortal.
62
Friends he knows grasp his shoulder, squeezing in an attempt at comfort. He would try to say thank you, except that he doesn't care to identify anybody through the tears that are making his vision blurry. A select few avoid him and the slow-burning magic seeping out of his pores – he is a Downworlder, after all, and some old prejudices are hard to kill, even after decades.
All around him, he sees white. White jackets, white dresses, and white shoes to honor the passing of one of their own – their best – in the tradition of Shadowhunters. Magnus wonders absentmindedly at how much bleach it must take to keep their clothes clean.
Alec fell in love with the warlock who laughed in the face of tradition, so Magnus will be damned if he spends this last opportunity by his husband's side cowing to the establishment. This is why he finds himself wearing a bright blue silk shirt, tight leather pants, and a full face of makeup at the most painful event of his life. His body is bare of jewelry, except for one gleaming band on his ring finger honoring the one tradition he will never ignore.
Whispers go around and people greet long-lost acquaintances, but Magnus never leaves the pyre and never lets his gaze stray from the white silk bound over his love's closed eyes, the matching ring gracing his wrinkled hand, or that rune on Alexander's neck that had made Magnus's knees weak for more than half a century. He hears and feels their sons come and go, but he cannot bring himself to walk away until the last moment.
When the time comes and Alexander is finally entombed in the ossuary, Magnus drops to his knees and sobs out loud.
"Pulvis et umbra sumus."
We are dust and shadows.
61
"It won't be long now, you know."
"Shut up, darling."
"I love you."
"I love you, too."
25
Magnus is deciding on the day's makeup theme when tattooed arms wrap around his waist and wet lips trail against his neck.
"Will you ever learn to walk a little louder, Alexander?"
Alec doesn't bother to dignify that with a response.
Magnus hums in delight and pushes back against the solid wall of warmth that is his husband. It's no shock that Alec is still the hottest Shadowhunter around (Magnus will fight anyone who claims otherwise, even if Clary tries to argue for Jace), and the smile lines and stray gray hairs only increase Alec's appeal.
"What shall we do this morning? Brunch in SoHo? Visit Rafael? Portal to Marrakesh?"
"Just let me hold you for a bit longer, hm?"
"One more minute."
They end up cuddling on the sofa for five hours.
7
After a handful of incidents, Magnus sets up a spell to detect when the kids are up to guarantee that he and Alec will have enough time for a good round of morning sex. He knows Alec appreciates it.
5
By the time they get married, it seems like an afterthought because Magnus and Alec have been the standard bearers for a committed relationship for years.
Except of course it isn't an afterthought – Magnus Bane's first and only wedding is going to be spectacular, and he spends hours upon hours working with Izzy and Clary to make it the most splendid, colorful affair possible.
In apology to Alec for disappearing under yards of tulle and lace for months before their wedding, Magnus makes sure that their wedding night is fan-fucking-tastic.
1
As Magnus comes to, the first thing he notices is the warm, vise-like grip on his hand. After that comes the soreness in his limbs, a sharp pain in his side, and a slight emptiness in he always feels when he's depleted his magic reserves. He forgets who he'd been fighting. Nevertheless, he exhales laughingly and opens his eyes.
"I'm very glad to be alive, sweet, but I'd like to keep my fingers. One, because I only just painted this hologram polish on yesterday, and two, because there really are a lot of other lovely things I need them for."
The grip loosens just a bit, and Magnus gazes into Alec's concerned, beet-red face.
"Don't I know it," Alec mutters as he turns to face the foot of the bed. Still facing Magnus's feet, he adds, "I'm glad you're okay."
Magnus skims said fingers across Alec's cheek, forcing Alec's gaze back.
"You never cease to amaze me with how adorable you are," he muses fondly, a hint of laughter at the edge of his words. "I don't think I ever want to wake up without you being the first thing I see."
There's a slight pause, a hitch in Alec's throat.
"Ever, huh?" he asks.
Magnus waits.
It comes out in a rush. "I don't even know if I want to talk about it, but it's been on my mind almost from the start. I didn't want to ask, because I'm happy and… and I think you're happy too, and everything right now is so good. It's just though you're you, you're still lying here injured, and I just don't know about tomorrow, or the day after, or… or fifty years down the line, if it's even realistic to think I'd be alive or we'd be togeth –"
"Alexander. Slow down."
"I just don't know, Magnus! I don't have the luxury of counting my life in centuries or decades. There's no way we have a forever."
Alec looks down, grasping at the bedsheets, his fingers, anything to keep his hands occupied in his edginess.
"What does it mean for us? That you're never going to die, and that my job means I might die any moment?"
Grimacing, Magnus scoots over on the squeaky cot and pats the other side. Careful not to disturb the warlock, Alec rises and sits on the mattress.
"You're right," Magnus starts, voice steady. "There are many unknowns in my life and yours. I can't tell the future, and gods know if I'd lose my hair if I could. At the risk of sounding patronizing, I've lived a long time, and while I wouldn't ever describe myself as wise, what I know is this: I've only made it this long because I told myself I wouldn't waste my life or lead it in fear of what might happen."
He takes Alec's hand, running his fingers over the calloused palm.
"Maybe something will happen to you. Maybe something will happen to me. Who knows? But the reality is that you're the best person I've ever met, the best person for me, the only Shadowhunter brave enough to come out at his own wedding and make out with the local warlock while looking sinfully hot. Forever means different things for different people, and I know I want forever with you, but we can only take this one second at a time."
The infirmary is quiet for a beat.
"Okay."
"Okay?"
"Okay. That's kind of scary, but I… I'm in. I just want to be with you for as long as it lasts."
Magnus's heart expands two sizes and he pulls Alec toward him, burying his face in the crook of his neck. They stay there for a long moment.
"Can I tell you something?" Alec asks later, the words rumbling against Magnus's cheek.
"Of course, darling."
"Your eyeliner is smudged and you've got a chunk of glitter on your lips."
"Alexander, did you seriously wait through my entire monologue to tell me?! I cannot believe –"
Magnus doesn't mind when his boyfriend shuts him up with a kiss.
0.2
He can't lie. The boy – no, man – is young, but his words are sharp and pierce through whatever armor Magnus has spent centuries building around his head and heart.
"This is all just a game to you, isn't it? You flirt, you laugh, you use magic, but at the end of the day, what do you risk?"
This, he thinks. This is what he risks. This dull ache that resonates through him and hurts enough to make his head ache and body weak.
It's cowardly, perhaps, to disappear. He does it anyway, though, wondering if this hurt is worth it.
0.1
"I'm Magnus. I don't think we've been formally introduced."
A bashful smile forms on that handsome face, and despite all the wicked things Magnus would like to do with those curling lips, the sweet doe eyes gazing nervously at him tell him he ought to slow down. A gaping expanse of possibility has just opened up, a twist in the path of eternity, and it's exhilarating. Magnus can literally feel pleasure bubbling up in his chest, pressing against his lungs and making him short of breath.
"Alec."
Magnus grins as he looks up at his new angel and sends a silent prayer of gratitude to gods he doesn't worship.
He might not know it himself, but this Shadowhunter is as gay as they come, and Magnus is going to have so much fun.
0
Between the heavy thump of the base traveling up from the soles of his leather shoes all the way up to the center of his chest and the slight smudge of his eyeliner, Magnus is undoubtedly distracted from whatever is happening in the Pandemonium. He's pulled away from fixing his makeup at the irritating shout of his name from the Wayland boy, and it doesn't get better when Clary refuses to join him in the safety of his lair. He's so caught up in the utter stupidity frustration that comes hand in hand with dealing with Shadowhunters that he doesn't notice anyone behind him until an arrow slices through the air. The sick sound of the arrowhead piercing flesh and the accompanying grunt of pain momentarily capture his attention.
From the pulse of the crowd, a tall figure clad in black slides through, rushing past Magnus and crouching down next to the dead body. For a long breath, all Magnus can see is a fleeting glimpse of beautiful eyes, broad shoulders, and a deflect rune curling out teasingly from underneath the boy's collar.
Magnus can't stop his mouth from forming the question.
"Who are you?"