I know, you'll be shocked and amazed. This Chapter is in Magnus's POV. Granted, still third person because that's the way this story is reading. But I decided it was necessary. We can't have so many chapters of Malec love and pretend there's a happy ending in sight, because, as we all know, we've still have three-quarters of a book to go before we get that chance.
We have to have some conflict and discord, and I figured it'd be around this time (freshly browsed through City of Glass last night) where Magnus decided to put his boot down and smell the cappuccino.
I hope you don't have any trouble loading this chapter! I don't know what's going on with all that.
The house phone was off the hook. It was risky business, being out of the loop – and it would probably cost him. The best gossip has a way of circulating very late at night.
Besides, he was on call to the Clave. At a stiff snap, he'd be summoned to York avenue to open their Portal to Idris. No consideration for prep time, no interest in the fact that he might have other pressing engagements. High Warlock wasn't just some honorary title he'd acquired because he looked so good at work.
No, his busy schedule hadn't even crossed their minds. Or that he might not even want to waste the precious energy playing their travel agent.
Hm, male stewardess. Magnus reconsidered his clothing options for the occasion. No. He hated almost anything in navy. And he wasn't wearing anything remotely polyester.
Even though his phone had stopped ringing, he had the stereo on. Nitin Sawhney was playing on a rough-looking third generation Ipod. The battery life on the older models was pathetic. Without his magic touch, the small device would have had a slim chance. Would have been chucked into the nearest trash can years ago. Or dissected by some techie for parts.
And who says I'm not compassionate?
That's frugal, not compassionate.
Oh, shot up.
The soft, rhythmic music was almost as comforting as blues. Without being that boring. He didn't want to be put to sleep, not yet. Just relax as three turned to four a.m.
Chairman Meow was crying from the kitchen. Had he skipped a meal again? Magnus shook his head, wearily removing his rings. There was no reason to make his cat suffer.
It wasn't usually like this. The warlock didn't have a problem with insomnia – if he chose to keep late hours, then it was to a point – to throw a party, to make a profit. He didn't miss out on beauty sleep for the fun of it. Because bags and dry eyes are so fun.
What's more, he had a routine for Chairman Meow's meals. He'd roll over in the morning and wave his hand and serve up breakfast just outside his bedroom door. The waft of dead fish wasn't allowed within ten feet of his bed, especially while he was trying to sleep in it.
At night, usually whenever he made his own dinner, he'd feed again. It was a functional routine. It worked for both of them.
These last couple weeks, however, everything about his routine had been derailed. His grooming habits, his sleep patterns, and even his cat's meals were suffering. He couldn't remember the last time he had made time for soaking his feet. Or exfoliating. How many episodes of Passions had he missed?
It didn't help that an OCD shadowhunter had taken over his flat for several agonizing days, monopolizing the TV and tormenting his things. His carpet would never forgive him the indignity of being vacuumed. He couldn't even find the right dish when he wanted it. And the lingering smell of bleach in the bathroom was horrendous! He couldn't enjoy a decent soak anymore.
The last time he had attempted one, Alec had called. As exciting as that might sound, it wasn't a social call. Or a sexual call. He wanted his help.
And like the pitiful, whipped SOB he'd become, Magnus had gone at a snap. He didn't even get a chance to do his hair.
"Split ends," the warlock grumbled to himself, running his fingers in distaste through his loose hair. He'd washed it as soon as he got home from the Park. The thought of wearing around the dirt and leaves any longer than necessary was too much.
Why had he thought "park" when he proposed the date?
At the time, there had been some appeal to rolling around with the shadowhunter in the meadow, with no one to see. Or maybe a little chase through the forest. Not that he was much for running.
Of course, Magnus had also imagined inadvertently losing certain pieces of clothing in the process. No witnesses, remote location, warmth of a cloak and a borrowed scarf, not to mention body heat.
He'd even thrown in a blanket, just to make it more comfortable. And give them room to roll around.
Unfortunately, that had not been on the menu. The only thing they'd taken off were their coats. And he'd convinced Alec to wear his scarf for an hour. Not that it had taken any persuasion – he'd found it was so much easier to get something out of Alec without asking.
Wearing of rainbow scarves, fervent, innocent kisses. An occasional tease when Alec roused himself from his drab seriousness long enough to poke fun at the warlock. Unfortunately, the unexpected gestures didn't go far beyond that point.
It'd been too long since he'd been an innocent. Since restraint and uncertainty had been part of his vocabulary, at least in that arena.
It wasn't that he couldn't sympathize with the lanky, ridiculously attractive shadowhunter. Coming out wasn't easy, and as limited as his exposure seemed to be to raunchy television shows, much less risqué magazines or even friends in the know, he could see why Alec was walking blind into a relationship with another man. Or why he might have reservations.
That was fine. Even endearing, the uncertain, shy, painfully green boy.
But being hung up on his childhood friend, the overconfidant, self-absorbed, and incidentally, in love and lust with my vertically challenged sister – that was a problem for Magnus. He just couldn't comprehend why a gorgeous twink with everything going for him would waste the prime of his (potential) love life pining over someone that was never going to even look at him for five seconds at a time. Much less want him the way Magnus wanted him. Care for him the way Magnus cared for him. Or—
No, no. That wasn't happening.
Magnus may be a little hung up on his own shadowhunter, and equally as frustrated when Alec couldn't give him more than twenty minutes worth of canoodling at a time (and only in secret). He was too old and too tired of this game to follow the same path as Alec's hopelessly pathetic situation.
As much as he wanted to snap his fingers and snap the boy out of his delusion, Magnus understood that there just weren't spells strong enough to touch that kind of infatuation. Alec well and truly believed himself in love with Jace, and trying to pull him back, trying to smack sense into his beautiful head – it was only punishing Magnus for his efforts. Not changing Alec's situation in the least.
Of course, there were brief, sweet moments when he thought he had been wrong. When he desperately would have loved to be proven wrong. That anticlimactic scene on the river, for instance. When Alec was cut off by the exploding ship.
Damn the action for getting in the way of his fantasy!
Afterwards, when Magnus was recovering yet again from the mass expenditure of his energies – having healed any roughed up shadowhunter involved in the fray that they could possibly throw at him – he'd looked for Alec, wanting to talk to him. To touch him. But Alec was gone.
If he'd had the strength earlier, it would have occurred to him to try to heal Alec's head wound. After all, if not for Alec's gift, he wouldn't have been able to be of any use to the others. But there hadn't been time, and he had an idea Alec would have refused his help this time. Just because Alec was so perfectly considerate and selfless when it came to himself.
When it came to the other people he cared about, however, Alec had no qualms calling Magnus night or day for a favor.
And Magnus had an inkling that, whether or not the Lightwoods were aware that he was seeing their son in secret, they definitely knew he had a weak spot for Alec. They capitalized on that weakness and used it to their advantage. Even calling upon Alec to do the same.
Not that Alec wasn't equally as invested in the health and safety of his family. And if he had any other way to protect them, Magnus felt sure he would have turned to those possibilities. Having a High Warlock with a soft spot for you does make it awfully convenient, however.
Now he was sounding bitter. He was bitter. That was the problem. What was he really getting in trade out of this tryst? Sleepless nights, drained energy, and split ends.
Not a devastatingly cute shadowhunter keeping him company beneath his canary yellow comforter. Not even those adorable text messaging sessions.
Alec was slipping from him. Even if it hadn't been painfully apparent tonight, anxiety tingling across the warlock's skin like pricking gooseflesh, he had seen the truth firsthand.
Of course Magnus had been lying when he said he couldn't make sense of the visions, that night on the river. For one, it was absurd. Magnus had centuries of experience. He couldn't read minds, no, but he knew his way around memories. He knew that they were never neat, perfectly categorized snippets, and they read like poor quality film, affected by bad lighting or distraction, or sometimes even mental illness. Emotion colored experience in the mind. Sorting through these memories - it more than a little frustrating, like dealing with matted hair. You had to be careful, know the correct methods for causing as little pain as possible while working fast to undo the damage. Or make something fabulous out of a hopeless mess.
And Alec's mind had been one, at that. In the couple minutes when those memories were assaulting him, Magnus didn't just hear Alec's voice, but rather saw what Alec had seen. Experienced the emotions that had driven him. The fear-anger-pleasure-pain-anxiety-uncertainty-excitement-confusion-worry-gult-wonder rollercoaster had been almost as explosive as the upending of Valentine's ship.
And when he'd been wrenched back from it, Magnus was shaken. How could one person contain all of that? And still come off looking...well, relatively normal and unphased? That was the second reason he didn't tell Alec the truth, when he asked. He didn't really want to know that the warlock had just had a front row seat to that private screening.
He wanted to help Alec sort of that mess. It'd probably take some serious mind work, though, and maybe a few tricks striclty prohibited by the Clave.
Some of it had been so incredibly unnecessary, Magnus wanted to tell him so. Some of it had been understandable. Mostly, it was exhausting and conflicting, and Magnus doubted that anyone could really make enough of an impression on the shadowhunter, to shake him from that tangle, until Alec was ready and willing to be pulled out. He needed time.
Too soon Alec would be out of arm's reach entirely. And cellular range.
Magnus was trying to convince himself that the distance would do him good. Maybe playing adult with the somber band of shadowhunters wouldn't be all Alec thought it was cracked up to be. He'd be bored stiff. Uncomfortable. Feel that unconscious alienation between him and the other straight-laced, emphasis on straight, brothers. Maybe he'd realize how much he missed back home.
Or was that a little too much wishful thinking?
Maybe he should cut him off early. "Absence makes the heart grow fonder…" He was enabling the boy. The way they were carrying on, he might as well be his five dollar hit. Cheap, easy, and fleeting. And he refused to be a cheap date.
Magnus wanted more from Alec, that was the point. He wasn't going to get it the way things stood between them now.
So, one of two things had to happen. Either Alec had to bend and open up his pretty eyes to the real world, the sparkling, all-encompassing world that Magnus would love to envelop him in. Or he was going to have to learn to get over the shadowhunter. Somehow find the strength to move on.
As much as he hated to even think about it, it might come to that.
Sighing, he rose from the vanity and went into the kitchen to feed his pathetic cat. As much as he'd been a poor excuse for a parent lately, it was nice to come home to someone who needed him. Someone who didn't hesitate to show him affection, or cuddle with him at night. Not that a roughly 5'9'' person with stunning blue eyes, hopeless hair, and an one-note wardrobe wouldn't have made him infinitely more happy, filling those shoes.
But for now, he had Chairman Meow. His underfed, undersized, possibly neurotic cat.
"Here you go, darling," Magnus said, pushing the fragrant plate towards him.