Okay guys. Sorry sorry sorry for not posting this yesterday like I promise. I know I'm a bad girl. But blame StarryOwlEyes and her very helpful constructive criticsm. This chapter wasn't up to snuff really (because I was rushing to get it out) and she called me on it. So, because of her, you now have a much better, more perfect chapter. I hope you can forgive us.

In retribution (sort of) for delaying this chapter, there will be a THIRD chapter lol. BUT I PROMISE THAT'S ALL lol. A specific image inspired this entire story, and it will show up next chapter. That is all lol.

I highly recommend you listen to Billie Holiday's More Than You Know while reading this. Seriously.

http:/ /www .youtube .com /watch?v=FmkBst1cixI (remove spaces)

I own nothing but the plot.

It was a chilly October evening. Magnus had made it through the day without becoming ill, for once. He had been prone to do that when he let thoughts of Alec creep in too far. It gave him immense anxiety, and he couldn't help emptying what little stomach contents he had throughout the day. He'd managed to go four days in a row now without an episode. He figured he was getting better. Not better at living without Alec, but better at handling the day to day.

He climbed the stairs to his small campus apartment in the ever-present numb haze that occupied his brain nowadays. He was close to graduating, and he was trying his damnedest to focus on his studies, and not on how much he missed those clear ocean eyes piercing into his own. Upon walking through the door, he let it shut behind him, and threw himself backwards against the thin wood sliding down to the floor. He sometimes did this when the day was particularly taxing trying to keep up the façade of nonchalance. After all no one actually knew what had gone on between him and Alec, besides Isabelle. No one knew his heart was aching for a soldier that wasn't coming home.

He slid his head down into his hands, and gave one gut-wrenching sob. He didn't have anything else in him to give. His voice had grown hoarse with tears combined with disuse otherwise. He sat there on the floor, heaving and letting the tears soak the knees of his pants where his head was pressed into them.

After what seemed like days, he peeled himself up and staggered to the living room. He didn't need to look at the record already sitting on the player to know what it was. It had been there for days. It was what he fell asleep to, on the couch, every single night for months now. He flicked the needle down into the grooves, and waited for the melody to start. It was Billie Holiday, which always reminded him of the night of their first kiss. But this was far different from Pennies From Heaven.

More than you know, more than you know

Man of my heart, I love you so

Lately I find, you're on my mind

More than you know

He shuffled to the banquette along the wall as Billie's sweet voice began to fill the tiny living room. He wrenched open the cabinet at the bottom, pulling out his sleep aid of choice. Bourbon was the only way he achieved any semblance of a normal sleep schedule. He never drank enough to knock him out, but he did consume enough to bring back the numbness long enough for him to slip away as Lady Day serenaded him with a song that felt like it came from his own heart.

Whether you're right, whether you're wrong

Man of my heart, I'll string along

I need you so

More than you'll ever know

Loving you the way that I do,

There's nothing I can do about it

Loving may be all you can give,

But Honey, I can't live without it

He stood idle on the worn rug in front of the couch, his suspenders hanging at his thighs and his collar open. He took a long pull from the rocks glass in his hand, making a rather large dent in the contents. He looked down at the now half-empty glass. He was so fed up with everything. How was it that one could find pure, unadulterated happiness one moment, just to have it snatched away by pure evil the next?

He placed the glass to his lips and snapped back the rest of the liquor, then went to pour himself a second glass. He watched the amber liquid pour smoothly into the crystal, willing himself to be that flexible. He wanted to be able to conform to new surroundings, new situations like his liquor could. He wished to be molded into some shape of his former, pre-Alec self, as the bourbon could be coaxed into the glass.

Oh, how I'd sigh, how I'd cry

If you got tired and said goodbye

More than I can show

More than you'll ever know

As the instrumental section picked up, he sipped slowly, savoring the burn in his throat and the tingle in his lips. If he imagined hard enough, he could feel that spark he once lived off of. Alec's sweet lips brushing against his own always pulled electricity into the air between them, only to be sucked up by the deepening of the contact. How he longed to kiss those lips again, to feel the life in them. Those lips were the only thing that could breathe their life into his tattered soul.

Remember that, and keep my heart safe inside your soul, for I am empty here, having left it with you.

The line from Alec's last letter pierced into him. Another pair of tears created tracks down his tanned cheeks, and one fell into the glass. It must be true, he thought. Alec's heart was still with him, and that was how Magnus was even alive. For there was no way in hell his own heart was still beating. He downed his second glass of bourbon, and placed it back on the banquette. He slumped down onto the cracked leather of the camel-colored couch, and pulled out another letter. He read over how Alec had been moved from his post in Warsaw to fly bombers over Germany in an attempt to desecrate their fuel industry. This was from May of '44; He talked later of how ruthless the Germans were, but how he was hearing that the Russians were advancing on all their fronts. Magnus usually didn't much care for battle talk. He skimmed through other letters, to lines that wrenched his heart and had, at one time, put a huge smile on his face each time he read them.

The cold here is penetrating. Not just in weather but in morale. The only thing that keeps me going is your warmth. I feel it at night, when I can't sleep. I feel your fingers comforting my frozen nerves. These thoughts of the future keep me fighting. Fighting to get home to you.

Now, as he read them, he couldn't help the psychotic sneer that slid across his face at the irony. Alec was cold somewhere. Cold to the bone with death. For all Magnus knew, his body was scattered across the fallen industry of Germany, never to be found again—never to come home to Magnus. Billie started her song over again, and Magnus picked up another tattered page, reading Alec's elegant script.

How I wish I could fall into your eyes again. Don't think me over-sensitive, dear. I'm just having difficulty coping with not seeing their elation, the brightness that enters whenever I catch their gaze.

Magnus also used to smile at this one immensely. In the second sentence, Alec strives to appear manly, but with the last word he takes on a sentiment that they'd never used before in each other's presence. It marked the first time Alec had ever called him anything like that. When Magnus had read it the first time, he read it a thousand times over to make sure his eyes, the orbs in question, were not being deceived. Now, it seemed, the pseudonym only brought sorrow instead of joy. He would never hear it from Alec's lips. Ever.

He read and read, his masochistic nature not letting him let go of the worn, parched paper in his hands. He relived most of 1942 through Alec's words, remembering where he was and what he was wearing while reading each one for the first time. It pained him so that he'd only have life to memorize the existing ones, for there would never be any more coming. Alas, he cherished every single one.

The hours passed with the swiftness of a gunshot, and with the lazy pace of molasses in winter. He looked up once, and noticed it was now three in the morning. Where had the night gone? No matter. It was Friday night and he didn't have class in the morning. His bourbon, it seemed, was going to fail him tonight. He gazed down at the paper in his hand.

If you take nothing else from my letters, take this: your happiness is my endeavor. I will do everything in my limited power to see that you are happy. And, because I must see your happiness for myself, I must return to you. This is my solemn promise.

I will return to you. Do not forget me, for you are always with me.

I love you.

A loud rap roused Magnus from a doze he didn't know he'd slipped into. The letter still rested on his knees, and his head had fallen on the back of the couch. At first, he thought he'd just imagined it; but, the sound of the knock came again. It echoed through the living room, interrupting the static coming from the otherwise now silent record player. Who on earth, Magnus wondered idly, could be calling on him at—he glanced at the clock on the mantle again—a quarter to four in the morning?

Deciding to best tell the late caller that he was trying to sleep (not entirely a lie) and that he should scram, Magnus lifted himself slowly off the couch, letting the letter slide down onto the leather. He made his way to the door, pulled the chain off, and released the deadbolt. He turned the knob. As the door swung open, he didn't even look up to see who it was, his sleep aid all of a sudden hitting him with a slight headache. Irritated, he ran his hand through his sleek black hair and let his eyes fall to the ground.

"Look, mister. I don't want any trou—" but he stopped. The shiny black shoes in his line of vision were covered at the tops by a distinctly olive colored pair of slacks. They were pressed and crisp, but showed signs of Carolina dust at the hems. The shoes, on second look, bore the same signs. But there was no mistaking the color of the slacks.

So this was it. This was the messenger sent to inform him of Alec's death. To give him closure. He was almost afraid to look up and see that plain box in the man's hand. That plain box that held what was left of the love of his short life. But why would he visit Magnus? Wouldn't he go to the Lightwoods instead? Had Isabelle sent him here for some reason? The questions ran rampant in his mind.

Magnus forced himself to lift his head. He couldn't help that his eyes locked on the man's hands, which were empty, save for a grip on the handle of a ragged, overstuffed bag that was hanging at his side. One of those hands was wrapped in a white gauze bandage, looking pristine but mangled. Magnus' pale green eyes continued up and landed on the man's wide shoulders. It seemed that this man had donned the uniform at a point in his life where he was much smaller. The buttons across his broad chest were pulling slightly at the seams, as if the fabric could barely contain the muscular form. The man was large, but not intimidating. Well, he wasn't even that big. But Magnus figured he evaluated everyone against Alec's slight frame by habit.

Without thinking, he lifted his eyes all the way to look the man in the face. All the breath left his lungs.

Blue. Blue. All he could see was blue. The blue that was the color of destiny.

He simply wouldn't believe it. It was too impossible. This person in front of him was not the 18 year old boy in his mind's eye. For one, he was huge compared to Magnus' mental image. And the lines on his face hadn't been there before. Neither were the scar over his right eye and the bump on his nose, where it had undoubtedly been broken and healed. But the eyes…the eyes didn't lie. They were that steady ocean blue, staring into his own stunned green as if they could see into his soul. The pale lips below them had yet to speak a word.

Magnus stared in complete shock for what must have been a full minute before he found his voice, shattering the silence.

"Are you real?" he whispered, afraid to move or the image would vanish. Was he asleep? Did he actually imagine this knock at the door and was now dreaming that his every hope and every wish for the past four years had come true? But the man before him didn't answer the question. Later, Magnus would wonder if he even heard it.

"Magnus?" came a raspy voice that held none of the innocence it once did. However, it wasn't off-putting, and it sounded familiar deep within. Magnus was startled by the loud thud of the bag being dropped to the ground, but he didn't look away from the blue.

He felt rough fingertips ghost over the still-wet skin of his cheeks. He sucked in a strangled breath, the world vibrating around him all at once at the feel of those warm hands framing his face. "Magnus, what happened to you? Are you okay?"

He wondered for a moment what that could mean. Sure, he'd had less to eat lately, and what he did eat he couldn't keep down. He'd noticed his clothes fit a little looser, but that wasn't that noticeable to others, was it? In the mirror, he'd noticed his face was a bit sharper, but again who would notice things like that? However, as he thought more about it, wasn't he doing the same thing? They hadn't seen each other in four years. It was easy to catch subtle differences, comparing the present with the image from the past in your mind.

"I'm sorry," Magnus said, not really knowing what he was apologizing for. Not looking his best for this moment, perhaps. He was having difficulty forming words, feeling those hands on him, gently smoothing over his tear-stained cheeks. "I…I just…"

And suddenly, it was just too much. He felt his knees give out and could feel himself plunging toward the ground. Before he could slide any further, he felt strong arms wrap around his waist, holding him up and pulling him close. Magnus wrapped his arms around his visitor's neck, holding on for dear life. His legs were not going to hold him anymore. He finally let ten months…no, four years of tears fall, soaking the shoulder of that pristine uniform. The biceps, which had grown much bigger than they used to be, held him tight against the rock hard chest.

"I thought I'd never see you again," he sobbed, clutching at the thick wool fabric. The next words uttered into the night knocked the breath out of him again.

"Dear," Alec said. "I promised."

Magnus looked up, not loosening his grip on Alec's neck for fear that he would still collapse to the ground. Their eyes met with renewed fervor, only a couple of inches apart.

"And I should have done this four years ago."

A beat of silence passed between them, and then Alec placed his lips on Magnus'. The spark erupted as if it had never died. Their lips moved together, brushing and caressing. When Magnus felt the tip of a tongue graze over his bottom lip, he opened his mouth on instinct, automatically. The feel of Alec's soft, wet muscle entering past his teeth and running over the roof his mouth sent Magnus' soul soaring. It was almost too good to be true, but here he was, flesh and blood and passion, returned to him after so many years and months of uncertainty.

As his knees grew ever weaker, Magnus felt himself slipping again. Alec's strong arms relinquished their grip on his waist, sliding down over his backside. Those massive biceps flexed, pulling Magnus up. Thankful for the help because he simply couldn't stand anymore, he wrapped his legs tight around Alec's waist. Their lips never tore apart, and Magnus sighed in complete contentment as his soldier carried him inside.

So I hope none of you want to kill me anymore? *smiles*

Okay, I just have to say this. I never thought this story would impact people the way that it has. I've talked to some of you through review replies and you've told me how this story/the subject matter has affected you and I just want to say that I'm truly touched. I cried reading some of your reviews. And those who I haven't replied to yet, I'll get to you I promise. Love you all.

IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT! The wonderous supermegafoxyawesomehot FlyAwayDreams made a gorgeous graphic for this story. I'll post it on my profile, please please check it out. It made me cry it's so prettyful.