Author's Note

Sorry this is so terribly late in getting out. RL decided to chew me up and spit me out. In the future I'll try to be more punctual with updates. As a result, I'm posting two chapters, and you can find reviewer replies at the end of the second chapter.

Disclaimer

All disclaimer and warnings can be found at the beginning of the prologue for this story. Magnus Bane, Alec Lightwood, and all other characters, items, and places from The Mortal Instruments series are not mine and are the property of Cassandra Clare. All original characters and places are from my own imagination. Resemblance to any real life person is coincidental. No money is being made.

-chapter one-

Living life as a mundane was harder than it looked, especially when you couldn't talk and had no clue what you were doing.

Alec had both of these traits and found mundane life more troublesome than it was worth.

"Hey, New Guy!" Alec turned his head to look. Sam Ramiro was walking towards him.

Alec found almost all mundanes annoying, but he supposed Sam was tolerable. After all, as the owner's son, Sam was, Alec supposed, the most "popular" amongst the younger staff. He'd heard stories from some of the girls – they thought Alec was an excellent listener – that Sam had often driven new hires out if he didn't like them. Alec wondered, somewhat bitterly, if the fact that he couldn't speak had anything to do with his "likeability". Sam did appear to like the sound of his own voice more than that of other people's.

Lifting a hand in greeting, Alec sat the rag on the table he was bussing and turned to give Sam his full attention. He supposed it was the "polite" thing to do considering he couldn't speak and needed the job more than he needed enemies.

"Hey man," Sam said. "We're all going out to the club after work tonight. You in?"

Clubs reminded him of Isabelle, and for a moment, a look of nostalgia crossed his face. How many times had Izzy tried to get him to go clubbing? How many times had he refused? For a moment, he wanted to go back to before, just so he could have that experience of going clubbing with his sister. But regrets were a waste of time, and he shook the thought from his mind.

Quickly, he pantomimed that he was exhausted and needed sleep. His co-workers had any number of stories for how "the cute new guy" had become a mute. He tried to wear high-collared shirts or turtlenecks (despite the heat) to cover up the worst of the scarring, but in truth, it was impossible to do. The nice thing about bussing restaurant tables was that he didn't have to speak or interact with any of the patrons. Unfortunately, he did have to interact with the staff, and it seemed everyone was fascinated with the weird scarring on his neck. It was obvious that something bad had happened.

One of the girls had actually gone so far as to ask him if he'd been involved in a car accident to which he'd given a noncommittal shrug. He supposed a car accident was better than "leader of a gang" or "kidnapping gone wrong". Alec did take a certain kind of pleasure on eavesdropping on his co-workers. He usually hated being the center of attention, but with no one looking at him, he found it easy to stick to the shadows and listen in as they talked about him.

Several of the girls actually found him cute, and had contemplated asking him out. It was while eavesdropping on these conversations when Alec was actually glad he couldn't speak, as the girls were less inclined to go out with a mute when there were plenty of talkative guys to date. Besides, he didn't like girls anyway, and he wasn't entirely sure how his co-workers would react to him being anything less than straight.

"You sure, man? I hear this club is amazing. Their bartender is supposed to be one of the best in town. Leroy's inclined to disagree, but hey, a drink's a drink, right?" Alec didn't say anything, but Sam was already laughing at his own joke. Alec guessed Leroy, their bartender at the restaurant, had probably phrased things a little differently when he'd told Sam what he thought about this "great bartender".

"You have my phone number if you change your mind, right?" Alec frowned, shrugged, and pointed to his throat. He felt a small jolt of satisfaction at seeing Sam wince at the reminder that Alec couldn't speak. Sam backpedaled quickly. "Well, uh, right. So, why don't you, uh, text me or something if you wanna come down? Okay? I gotta go check on Em. Gotta drive her back home so she can get ready. You change your mind, you text me, okay?" He gave Alec a hard pat on the shoulder, before turning around the corner and disappearing into the staff room. Alec went back to bussing the table, losing himself in the monotony of the job.

/

Alec worked at a small restaurant called Ramiro's. It was a rather posh Italian restaurant that saw a considerable amount of business given the fact that it was family owned and operated. Sam was set to take over the business in a few years' time, which, Alec supposed, explained a lot about his attitude, although Alec didn't really see how someone like Sam Ramiro was prepared to run a business. He was, to be sure, absolutely nothing like his father. Raymond Ramiro – "Papa", as everyone around the place called him – was a fairly jovial man, who appreciated honesty and hard work. He also gave what he could to charity and attended church on Sunday like a good Catholic. Alec thought this probably contributed to his willingness to hire him, given the fact that Alec had, essentially, no record of schooling, no references, and no voice.

The interview had been brief. He'd been at the library perusing the newspapers and seen the ad. The "No Experience Needed" qualifier was a definite plus, and Alec figured a job was better than nothing. Besides, he was pretty sure that any mundane job was going to be excruciating compared to battling demons on a nightly basis. And yet, it was excruciating enough just thinking about the life he'd left behind.

So he didn't.

Papa Ramiro had done the usual double take upon first meeting Alec and noticing his scars. He'd asked Alec a series of questions, to which Alec had written his replies. One of the questions – "Are you a runaway or in any kind of trouble?" – made him grin just a little, but the smile was laced with bitterness, and he quickly schooled his expression before writing, No. I'm an orphan.

And in a way, it was true. His parents didn't want anything to do with him. His Shadowhunter blood had been effectively stripped away. And it wasn't as if he could tell the mundanes anything about where he came from. In truth, it was as if he had come from nothing, which was exactly what he had now – nothing.

Whether it was his answers to the questions or his willingness to work, Papa Ramiro was keen to hire Alec, and quick to treat him as if he were part of the family. Mrs. Ramiro, who sometimes worked afternoons in the kitchen, was just as kind-hearted as her husband, and often gave Alec boxes of food to take home.

And as much as it killed him to bus tables, the work was fairly mind-numbing, allowing him to forget the past and focus on something, even if it meant polishing a table till it sparkled. He supposed he owed a lot to the Ramiros. His scars were definitely appalling, and with nothing to his name, it had definitely been a risk to take him on as an employee. Alec figured the least he could do was put his all into the job, much like he put his all into being a Shadowhunter. Or rather, had put his all.

Because he wasn't a Shadowhunter anymore.

He was a mundane.

He was nothing.

/

His apartment was as far away from the Institute as he could possibly manage and still afford. The building itself was run down and definitely not much to look at. But the apartment was cheap, and the landlady was fairly agreeable if not a little high-strung. She gave Alec constant assessing looks every time they passed one another in the corridor, as if she didn't fully trust him.

He supposed she shouldn't, but he was grateful for the room considering he had no background to check into.

"If I catch you dealing, boy," the woman had snapped as she handed him the key, "don't think I won't call the cops. Payment is in cash at the beginning of every month. No exceptions, you understand?"

Even though he was grateful, Alec found her to be a pretty annoying individual with a voice equivalent to nails on a chalkboard. Not to mention he had always hated being scrutinized, so he found it hard to meet her eyes on most days when they saw each other. Still, he didn't want to give her reason to kick him out, so he did his best to keep a low profile and not make her suspicious.

The apartment itself left something to be desired. There was a small kitchen, a bathroom whose pluming didn't always work, and an unfurnished living room and connected bedroom. At first glance, Alec hadn't been quite sure what to do with the place. His bedroom back at the Institute had always been clean and lacking in decorations. This place was dirty and just lacking, not to mention much of the space needed massive repairs.

He'd cornered the landlady, handing her a note that asked if he could make repairs to the room. She had grudgingly agreed, stating that he'd have to be responsible for everything, and that was all he needed to get started.

In a way, he enjoyed working on the apartment almost as much as his regular morning jogs, which wasn't saying a lot. But still, it was another job he could lose himself in. And the library had plenty of books on how to do household repairs.

It probably helped, too, that Alec didn't require a lot of the "comforts" most mundanes did. He hated television, had never really spent a lot of time listening to music, and could care less about getting a cell phone. (He'd left his at the Institute in hopes that he could just forget.)

Day by day, the apartment looked a little cleaner and less shabby. The satisfaction he felt at restructuring his apartment didn't exactly make him feel better, but it did make him feel like he could survive in the mundane world. He didn't know for how long, but at least, for now, he felt he could manage.

/

Six months passed. Fall came and went, and Alec realized how ill prepared he was for the winter months. He hated winter because of the cold. He hated cold because he was always cold to begin with; the weather just made it that much worse. His apartment had no heat, so he bought some blankets at the second hand store up the block and spent his evenings and nights wrapped in them. It didn't completely warm him, but it kept out the worst of the chill.

It wasn't until one somewhat sunny morning in mid-December, that he allowed himself to realize what winter really meant for him.

He was setting up silverware and helping to get the restaurant ready for opening when Papa Ramiro came up behind him.

"Alec." He turned. The man held out an envelope. "Here. Merry Christmas." Alec nodded as if to say the same and made to put the envelope in his back pocket, but Papa Ramiro stopped him. "No, open it!"

Alec put down the napkin he was folding and focused his attention on the envelope. In opening it, he found his paycheck had significantly increased, although he knew he hadn't worked any extra hours than normal. He gave Papa Ramiro a quizzical look.

"I give all my employees a Christmas bonus, Alec. It's my little thank you for all the hard work you do for my restaurant." Alec looked at the figure on his check again, and then looked back up at Papa Ramiro. "Thank you," he wanted to say, but was forced to find a way to pantomime it instead. After a couple of seconds, Papa Ramiro got the gist of what Alec meant, and gave him another smile.

"You're a good kid, Alec. You use that money to buy yourself a nice Christmas present, ok?"

Christmas, Alec thought as Papa Ramiro walked off. He hadn't even thought about Christmas. Suddenly, the memories began to assault him. Him with Isabelle, Jace, and Max, opening presents in secret on Christmas morning, because Maryse and Robert Lightwood didn't really adhere to the holiday all that much. Isabelle, in an apron Max had given her, trying to cook a special Christmas breakfast while the three boys tried hard not to grimace or make faces behind her back, even though they wanted to. Isabelle and Jace, both tipsy from too much eggnog and liquor, leaning against him on either side while they traded old favorite stories of their escapades. He remembered he'd been blushing, that he was so very grateful they were both too exhausted to look at him then, and that he had never felt more at home than at that moment.

He quickly threw the napkin back on the table and ran to the bathroom, where he proceeded to lock himself in one of the stalls and retch into the toilet. Isabelle was dead. Jace likely had no idea where he was. And he no longer had a family.

There would be no feeling of home this Christmas. Only the ticking of the clock as it counted down the minutes to the New Year.

Feedback is always welcomed!