So, so sorry this is so, so late. What with school starting and Catching Fire (so amazing) coming out, I've barely had time to brush my teeth and go to bed. I actually forgot about this until just yesterday. Oops.

Hopefully you can all forgive me.

Disclaimer: I am most definitely not Cassandra Clare.

"In love, everything is true, everything is false; it is the one subject on which one cannot express an absurdity" —Chamfort

And give up your last chance at mortality.

If Magnus refused, Alec would die, but he would be able to end his own suffering. If he agreed, Alec would survive, and he would live out eternity wondering if he had done the right thing. Dead Alec. Living Alec. Two horrendously uneven ends of the same scale that if tipped the wrong way could send Magnus spiraling towards death or insanity. But he didn't care about himself.

Dead Alec. Living Alec. It wasn't a choice.

Magnus dug out the bottle from his pocket—the glass miraculously whole, the liquid glowing weakly in the Queen's presence, reflecting the light from the phosphorescent moss. He pulled the stopper and bent over, shoving back Alec's hair, letting his fingers linger on the faintly scarred skin of his cheek. Reaching to force open Alec's lips, Magnus jumped when he was met with resistance. Not just resistance, powerful resistance, Alec's hand flying up to crush the warlock's fingers.

The Shadowhunter's eyes were cold and defiant, daring him to move any closer. "No," he said firmly, but so quietly that Magnus wasn't sure anyone else heard him.

"Alec?" Magnus asked, leaning forward so that the tips of his sweat-drenched hair brushed Alec's chin. The grip on his hand tightened, and he could feel the bones in his knuckles begin to protest. Would Alec break his hand?

"No," Alec said again, louder. "I don't want to live without you."

Magnus gave him a puh-lease look. "Okay, now you're just sounding cliché."

Nails dug into the soft flesh of his palm, drawing slivers of bright red blood. "I mean it," Alec pressed, his eyes running over Magnus' every pore—not in a lazy, appraising way, but in a way that suggested he thought there was only so much time left. "I finally found someone I could love. I won't give it up."

"Alec," Magnus said, setting down the still-open bottle and resting his fingers of Alec's overly tense ones, squeezing gently. "If you don't drink this, you'll die."

Alec stared back unfazed. "And if I do, you'll leave again." There was a pause and in that moment, his voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. "And it'll be just like I never drank it in the first place."

The muscles in Magnus' face hardened into a fiercely resolute mask, blood rushing to color his cheeks and pump his veins with nervous adrenaline. "I'm not going to sit here and watch you die."

"Then promise you won't leave if I drink," Alec said, his eyes so clear and blue that Magnus couldn't look away. Not if this might be the last time he could stare back without hiding his emotions behind thick, unbreakable walls. He wouldn't look away. "Promise you won't disappear."

"I can't. I just…can't." The sliver of hope on Alec's face disappeared, and Magnus shook him gently, trying to chase the despair from his eyes. "Just like I can't watch you die now, I can't watch it fifty, sixty years from now."

Alec shoved aside Magnus' hand, riots of blood pumping from his wound each time he moved. A bit bubbled up between his lips. "It's up to you," he said, spitting flecks f crimson. "It's your choice."

"This isn't fair," Magnus breathed, biting his lip and squinting back tears that showed anyway, in every word he spoke. "You know I love you. But you know I can't be with you. I can't promise anything, it wouldn't be the truth."

The ghost of a smile danced over Alec's features. "What happened to 'I'm a wonderful liar'?" he goaded, raising his eyebrows.

Magnus frowned. "I don't want to lie to you."

Alec shrugged; though doing so made his face crinkle in agony. "You do what you have to, right?" he said through gritted teeth.

"But you'd know it wasn't real," Magnus pressed.

It looked like he might've tried to shrug again, but the pain must've been too much, because he simply lay his head back. "Sometimes lies are easier to swallow."

Someone cleared her throat. Magnus glanced up and saw the queen glaring down at him disapprovingly. "How moving," she drawled, her eyes holding a world's worth of contempt and utter indifference. "But I would appreciate a little haste. I do have things that must be done."

Alec laughed. It was weak, humorless, and barely counted as a laugh, but Magnus jumped all the same. "Ball's in your court," whispered the Shadowhunter.

Magnus shook his head, slowly, his face contorted with internal suffering. "I love you," he choked, holding Alec's hand so tight, he felt a few bones splinter. But Alec was too far gone to care. "So much. But I can't lie to you."

"Magnus…"

"Be quiet," Magnus spat around the thickness in his throat.

Magnus twisted, hiding his face and arms in the voluminous folds of his coat. Tears came unbidden down his cheeks as he reached for the bottle, holding the opening to his mouth for a long, apprehensive second. Then he flicked his wrist, letting the contents slip and slide over his teeth and tongue.

The rainbow liquid tasted like syrup and pain.

Setting the half-empty bottle beside his knee, he turned back to Alec, whose eyes were lidded and dull, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The warlock leaned over and cradled the boy's face in his hands. He felt breakable, like a priceless porcelain doll that would shatter at the slightest touch. But that didn't stop Magnus from kissing him so hard his lips went numb.

It was like kissing someone already dead.

Magnus threaded his fingers through Alec's hair anyway, going through the motions, making it look as real as he could. It was hard to keep his lips shut tight, but he managed it long enough. Then he spat into Alec's mouth.

The warlock kept kissing him until he was sure the boy had swallowed.

He tasted like rust and cold metal.

Magnus pulled back, his face smeared with streaks of blood, his lips stained cherry red. He could've been a vampire. "Forgive me," he whispered, closing his fingers around Alec's hand as the boy began to thrash.

If anyone is confused, I totally understand. I tried to write it so it was a little vague, hopefully everything will be cleared up next chapter. Soon I'll be going back to Jace and Isabelle for a chapter or two, and the pieces will start fitting together.

Tell me what to change—and seriously, I can always improve; I'm not freaking J.K. Rowling. Constructive criticism ranks higher on my list of "things I love" than sleep. How many teenagers can honestly say that?