Alec Lightwood was sitting at the top table. He was watching his adoptive son dance with Clary's sister. They were four and seemed more comfortable in his world than he was. How was that possible? He had spent the first eighteen years of his life becoming the perfect Shadowhunter: dedicated, loyal, dutiful, obedient and a thousand other things that set them apart from mundanes, all the while oblivious to how free and honest their lives were, even as he hid part of himself from everyone except his sister. Then Clarissa Fairchild had come into his life, having come out of hiding with her parents and Lucian Greymark as they tried to convince the Clave Hodge Starkweather was on the move again, searching for them and for a way to 'cleanse' the world of Downworlders and demons alike. She and her brother had been living among mundanes their whole lives, with the Shadow world kept secret from them, until Clary was attacked by a Ravener demon on her way home from a club. Had Jace not been following her ('I was not following her, Alec. I was tracking the demon. It just so happened to be following her.') she would have died.

She woke up in the New York Institute infirmary, and from that moment on Alec's view on his world and that of the mundies had changed. He hadn't liked her much at the start, nor she him, but that hadn't stopped her from showing him – showing them all – that Shadowhunters could learn from mundanes. They fought for no reason at all, and had, as a general rule, very little purpose in life, but sometimes they did get things right. Over time, with the sheer donkey-minded stubbornness of a small number of people, they could change. Change themselves, change their minds and the minds of others. Prejudices were no small thing to try to erase, and they were rarely totally successful, but when the majority accepted that they were wrong, that those labelled 'different' were not so different after all, the battle was all but won.

Shadowhunters, not so much. Not yet at least. For centuries, if you had feelings for someone that could not eventually result in a child (parabatai excepted), you had to hide those feelings, lest the Clave deem you unworthy or unfit for the service of the Angel. Alec had realised that he had such feelings for Jace – both a guy and his parabatai, the ultimate dishonour – when he was fourteen years old, and had spent the subsequent four years pretending he didn't feel the way he did – or at least, not doing anything that might suggest otherwise.

His plan had worked for all of three months before Isabelle had waltzed into his room, announced vaguely that his secret was safe before wandering back out again. They never spoke of that incident again until after Clary confronted him about his crush on Jace. He'd pinned her against the wall in a fit of anger and fear of discovery, then had released her and had run to Izzy's room. She'd taken one look at his face, anguish and dread written on every line and every feature, and guessed that something had snapped inside him.

'By the Angel, Alec, what happened?' Isabelle gasped. She'd never seen her calm, collected older brother with so much emotion so plainly visible.

'Clary,' he choked out. 'She knows. And I don't know if she's like you. If she'll be… discreet. I pissed her off, Iz, I really did. I hit her head against the wall. I don't even know why. I just saw red. If Jace finds out… I don't think I could take it.' He was breathing in short, raw gasps, gulping down air as though he was about to drown. Alec scrunched his eyes shut and tried to slow his heart rate, which was galloping like a horse.

'If Jace finds out what? What part of this do you think he'll take offense at, exactly? That you care for him as deeply as anyone can? That someone made you angry and you overreacted, for once in your life? Or is it the idea of someone being able to see a part of yourself you're trying to hide?' Isabelle sighed, then hurried on as Alec glared at her. 'As much as I hate seeing you like this, maybe this could be a good thing. You can't get through life with just me and Jace at your side. Jonathan and Clary might be exactly what you need.'

Although he would never admit it out loud, Izzy had been right. Clary had helped him realise that his feelings were valid, that they were part of him, and that if he truly wanted to be the perfect Shadowhunter, what better way to do it than by being honest with his family? He got over Jace – which Clary also helped him with, albeit unwittingly. Once Clary and Jace became an item, Alec realised that he and Clary both had part of Jace's heart – the Shadowhunter and the Mundane. Loyalty and love. Working together and bringing Alec and Clary closer – especially as a united front when Jace was being a prat (which was often).

As much as he had hated her when she had first come to the Institute, now he was grateful for her friendship, not least because she was the one who had (inadvertently) given him the courage to reply to Magnus's fire message, asking how his leg was healing, and wondering if he might want a drink to take the pain away a bit? Had Jace not been following her and brought her into their lives, Alec wouldn't have his – ahem – magical husband and his adoptive son. Nor would gay or Shadowhunter-Downworlder marriages be relatively widely accepted – although a marriage that was both definitely pushed the boundaries of the admittedly reluctant Clave a bit.

Alec's ruminations were cut short by a husky voice sounding in his ear. 'It might never happen, you know.'

'Come again?' Alec glanced up at the smiling face of the High Warlock of Brooklyn, Honorary Member of the Clave, and holder of a seat on the Shadowhunter Council. In short, his husband, Magnus Bane.

'You looked like hell was staring you in the face and you decided to stare back.' Alec could hear the laughter in Magnus's voice, even as he caught sight of the worry in his eyes.

'You forget, we've been to Hell. It doesn't scare me.' Alec raised his chin almost defiantly, but instantly felt like a petulant child and tried to backtrack. 'I mean, I was just thinking. About Clary. And Jace. And us. And everything that's happened in the last six years. And – what?' Alec stopped, noticing the twinkle in his husband's eye and the half-smile on his lips.

'Sometimes you're just so… human!' Magnus laughed.

Alec reddened. 'In a good way, or…?'

Magnus realised he'd hit a nerve and was instantly serious again. Only a being who had lived for centuries could make the transition from joy to anger to gravity and back again in seconds. It was exhausting trying to keep up at times, but Alec loved watching him do it, seeing the many facets of his personality come out in quick succession.

Magnus caught Alec's hand in his own, twining their fingers together as he sat down in the seat next to him. 'Alexander. My Alexander. When I say you act like a human, it is a compliment.' Alec raised an eyebrow. 'I mean it. I envy you for your humanity. For your ability to remember your whole lives, even the things you might wish to forget. For your tendency to focus on one small thing until someone helps you step back and see the bigger picture. I wish I could remember how to do that. But as it is, I get to see you doing it every day, and for that I am grateful.' Magnus raised their entwined hands to his lips and kissed the back of Alec's hand.

Alec hated having to be reassured, even though he knew that no one he cared about would ever judge him for it – especially Magnus. Eighteen years of hiding his secrets with no one but Isabelle to trust had left their mark, which despite his best efforts, refused to disappear completely.

Sensing his discomfort, Magnus leaned towards his husband and whispered, 'Dance with me.'

Far from dissipating Alec's uneasiness, these three words seemed to have made things far worse. Alec froze, eyes widened in horror and chest barely even moving, suggesting that he had stopped breathing. Magnus pursed his lips and stood. Still holding Alec's hand, he pulled his husband to his feet and led him to the darkest corner of the dance floor.

'Magnus, I don't think… I mean, I can't… I don't know–'

Magnus cut him off with a kiss. Their lips met and Alec breathed again. His eyes fluttered shut as he drew Magnus closer to him, running his hands over his shoulders, down his back and back up again before locking around his neck. There was only a two-inch height difference between them, but Alec often slouched in a futile attempt to avoid being noticed, resulting in what appeared to be a far greater discrepancy.

I have died every day waiting for you

Darling don't be afraid I have loved you

For a thousand years

I'll love you for a thousand more.

Magnus drew away slowly, running his thumb along Alec's cheekbone one last time. His hands settled just above Alec's hips, all the while keeping him close.

'What was that for?' Alec murmured.

Magnus smirked. 'A distraction.' Unbeknownst to Alec, preoccupied as he was, Magnus had started moving in a slow circle. Although it wasn't much, it still qualified as 'dancing,' which was all Magnus wanted: to dance with his husband in front of friends and family, who would see it as the message it was – I love this man, he is mine, and nothing anyone says will make that stop.

'Dance with me, Alexander,' Magnus whispered. 'I won't let you fall.'

Alec danced, and for once, forgot about what others thought of him.

All along I believed I would find you

Time has brought your heart to me

I have loved you for a thousand years

I'll love you for a thousand more.

The song used in this chapter was A Thousand Years by Christina Perri. Full credits to the artist and the songwriters.