Alec was working late again. Most of his friends and colleagues had long abandoned offices, labs, and training spaces, for the more relaxed common spaces, the dormitories, or their own homes. Clary and Jace had arranged a low-key date night at a local bar, and Izzy had retired early, exhausted after running patrol the night before and spending the day assisting with repairs in the armory. It's as close as he gets to having the Institute to himself, and usually he'd savor it.
Right now, he's just tired.
There's not a part of him that doesn't hurt, and his head is so foggy that it's impossible for him to concentrate. He's been staring at the texts in front of him that he's supposed to be cross-referencing with recent reports, but they have steadfastly refused to yield any meaning. In truth, he's mostly delaying heading to the loft, where he's promised Magnus he'll spend the night.
His stomach twists. Guilt? Anxiety? Hunger? He can't tell anymore, and it doesn't seem to matter. There's the sharp, serrated, hollowness in his middle, the pressure of his spine against the wooden back of his chair: that's enough. He scrubs at his eyes, cold hands soothing against his throbbing head even as lights flare behind his lids – and a familiar voice breaks the silence.
'I can see life at the institute is riveting and glamorous as ever.' When Alec opens his eyes, blinking back the spots in his vision, Magnus is there, closing the office door behind him and leaning back against it, his hands pressed to the wood behind his back.
'Magnus. Hi.' Alec says. 'Everything okay?' Surprise gives way to worry. He knows that the Institute still isn't Magnus's favorite place, and he'd assumed they'd be meeting in Brooklyn.
'Everything's great. My last client was nearby, and I thought you'd beat me home, but when you didn't answer your phone I guessed you'd be still be here. Is there anything I can help with?'
'Sorry.' Alec says, deciding not to mention that he'd left his phone with his gear jacket on the other side of the room, silencing it for good measure. Lately, every notification or interruption makes him flinch. 'Thank you, but it's okay. I was just finishing. Give me two minutes to clear up here and I'm all yours.'
'Two minutes? That sounds reasonable. Or...' Magnus says suggestively, snapping his fingers. The books, files, and general detritus on Alec's desk vanishes instantly, a spate of muffled thuds and rattles sounding as things find their places on shelves or in cabinets – or, in a few cases, the trash can. Alec raises an eyebrow, and Magnus smiles innocently. 'What? You could hardly expect me to wait after an offer like that, and every good prison break needs a little flair.'
'Is that what this is?'
'Prison break, heroic rescue of the distressed damsel… either works. Ready to go?'
'Sure.' Alec says, shaking his head but deciding it's not worth arguing the damsel point (he'll only encourage Magnus, and the distressed part hits a little too close to home).
'Your portal awaits.' Magnus says grandly, his gestures equally exaggerated as he sweeps his arm in a wide circle and bows theatrically.
'Show off.' Alec says fondly, taking Magnus's hand and tugging him through the blazing circle of light.
That's when it all goes wrong.
Portals don't usually bother Alec anymore. The first few times he'd travelled this way, he'd been left disorientated and queasy, skin prickling with an uncomfortable static charge. Now, only the rare, especially long journey has any impact, and it's the barest echo at that. Repeated exposure, maybe, but Alec suspects he's attuned to Magnus's magic in particular. It's familiar to him, soothing and almost affectionate, as if it's attuned to him, too.
There's none of that harmony now.
They step through the portal and Alec is hit with such a powerful wave of nausea and dizziness that he stumbles. He closes his eyes, and holds himself completely still except to tighten his grip on Magnus's hand. He hears the quiet fizz of the portal closing behind them, but he doesn't risk looking yet. He knows by the rising ringing in his ears, his complete lack of ability to orient himself in space, that if he moves, if he opens his eyes, he's going to live up to Magnus's 'damsel' quip and faint like the corseted heroine of a bad regency drama. It's possible he already has. He genuinely can't tell if he's upright.
His heart is too light, too quick, in his chest.
Then there's a pressure on his hand, and a blissful warmth, with just enough weight to redefine his shape, to place him firmly back in his body and steady his stance (thank the angel he's standing at least) begins to spread through him. It radiates to every part of him, and for a second he simply appreciates it. This is the magic he recognizes.
He's forgotten what it is to be warm.
It galvanizes him, and Alec takes a deep breath to make sure he really can trust his balance before opening his eyes. He releases Magnus's hand and gives him a rueful, apologetic smile.
'Alexander, are you alright? I haven't seen a reaction like that… ever.'
'I'm alright. I'm sorry, I don't know what happened. Maybe I'm out of practice. I'm fine now, though, really. Thank you.' Alec says as reassuringly as he can. Magnus watches him silently, twisting a pendant hanging from a long, fine chain around his neck. It's an uncharacteristically nervous gesture, so Alec tries again. 'Magnus, I promise. Look at me. I'm fine.'
'I am looking at you, Alec,' he says quietly, 'and I don't think you're fine.'
'Magnus –' Alec starts.
'Please, Alec. I'm worried about you, and not just because of what happened with the portal. Can we talk?'
'We – we can, of course we can,' Alec manages, the immediate anxiety making it hard to order his thoughts, to stay present, 'I just don't know what there is to say.' What he means is, there's nothing he wants to say. Or hear. Not about himself. He's desperate to escape, to do everything he can to avoid or diffuse this conversation – but he doesn't know how.
'Well, how about I talk for now, and if I'm wrong, or if there's anything you want to add, you can just tell me, okay?'
'Alright.' Alec says cautiously.
'Good. Why don't you sit down,' Magnus says, nodding towards a somehow harmonious collection of mismatched chairs and couches by the window, 'just until you're sure you've got your bearings, and I'll get us something to drink.' He turns before Alec can decline, so Alec decides he may as well do as he's told. In truth, it probably is best if he stays still for a while. He still feels a little faint, and Magnus is not likely to be soothed by another woozy spell. He chooses an armchair, to hint that he needs space for this, although he knows that Magnus isn't above climbing into his lap if he wants to.
Focus, he scolds himself. Now more than ever he needs to concentrate, to pay attention to what Magnus says and how he responds. It seems unfair, and he so doesn't want to be the focus of any sort of discussion. All he wants is to be left alone until he's better – even if he isn't sure what that means.
He only has a minute or two to try and compose himself before Magnus joins him, holding two mugs. He hands one to Alec and sits cross-legged on the nearest couch, turned just enough that they can face each other. Alec isn't sure what he'd been expecting (honestly, probably something alcoholic, or sweet, or both), but the tell-tale scent of peppermint and the warmth of the mug is perfect. Even the cup, smaller than most Magnus owns, is reassuring. Non-threatening.
Alec wants to laugh – as if tea could be intimidating – but he doesn't, because he thinks if he did it would sound slightly hysterical. Either that, or he would cry.
Because it's all intimidating. Scratch that, terrifying.
And that is laughable. Tragic.
'Thanks.' He manages. 'So, um. You wanted to talk.'
'Yes, I… You haven't seemed yourself, not for a while, and, I know how you get when you're stressed but this is different. Like I said, I'm worried.'
'I'm different?' Alec hedges.
'Distant. I thought it was just me at first, but I've noticed you're spending less time with your family, too, and more time working, or training. I rarely see you sleep, and I never see you eat. You look exhausted, and I know we all find ways to cope, when we need to, and we're all allowed off days – Raziel knows I can be a diva when I'm upset - but things don't seem to be getting any better. If it's… bad, if you're struggling, you can talk to me. I'm here, and whatever else is going on, you're my priority. I want to help. If I've misread something, fine, but I need to ask. Are you okay?'
Alec can't breathe. Rather, he isn't aware of breathing. Or moving. His heart might have stopped. He's looking at Magnus without really seeing him. His vision, his focus, his thoughts, are all sliding off in search of safer territory. He's going away, and he knows that if he doesn't make a conscious effort now, he will smile and say something bland and dismissive that he won't even remember later, and Magnus will be hurt or upset but nothing will need to change. He can't have this conversation. It's too raw, too humiliating. The words, the emotions, they are far too vast to acknowledge, let alone examine, or share.
And this is his business. Survival. Security. Whatever else it is, it's his, and he doesn't know what would be left if he gave it up.
Magnus is waiting, patient, calm. Kind. Always so kind. His expression is soft and open, like nothing Alec could do or say or be would be wrong. Magnus has always understood him, even when they've disagreed. Magnus has always seen him – and isn't that the problem? Alec never wants anyone to see this.
But maybe it's too late. Maybe he owes Magnus the truth, and in any case… talking, just talking, doesn't mean anything has to change immediately, or ever. He's just as entitled to make his own choices, good, bad, or indifferent, as everyone else. He's no stranger to consequences. Still, maybe he can test the water somehow…
'Alexander.' Magnus prompts gently, and, by the angel, that sound, the sound of his name on Magnus's tongue. Like something cherished and wondrous as any spell. It breaks him.
'No.' He breathes. 'No, I'm not.'
'Tell me. Tell me what's wrong.'
'There's… there's so much. Too much - or I guess, I'm not enough. Things don't let up and I'm trying to keep up and fix it all, but...'
'All? That's not your job, Alec. What we do… it's hard, but no one is in it alone. You put yourself under so much pressure, but I promise you, you're doing more than enough. How many lives have you saved already? I wish you'd give yourself the same grace you give others.'
'That's just it though. There's no such thing as enough, because it never stops. I have to be ready, to be better, to protect people. That's my job.'
'I get that. You're good at it, but… how can you do your job if you're not taking care of yourself? You want to be 'better', ready, fine. Of course you do. It's been drilled into you since you were a child. But how is it better for anyone if you pass out on patrol, or in the middle of a battle?'
'I didn't pass out –'
'Close enough. My point stands.' Magnus insists. 'If you're not sleeping, or eating, you could get hurt. Or sick. Are you… just not making time for those things, or is it deliberate?'
'What do you mean?'
'I'm trying to understand. I know you've lost weight, you're hardly sleeping, and you're isolating yourself, but I don't know why. Is it stress? Have you felt low? Is it something between us that I'm not seeing? Because I'm happy with you, Alec, and I thought –'
'No, Magnus, nothing like that. We're great. You're great. I'm sorry I've not been around much, but I am happy with you. I am. You can ask Jace; he says it makes him ill.' Or he did. Usually. They hadn't talked properly for a while. Alec tries for some levity, a reassuring smile, and Magnus does look briefly mollified, but otherwise does not rise to the bait.
'Then I don't understand. Are you sick? Is it an image thing? I don't mean to push, but I'm watching you run yourself into the ground and I can't ignore it anymore.'
Are you sick?
Alec blanches. His throat seems to close, and he tries not to physically recoil against the violent rush of cold that runs through him.
He's not ill. He's not sick. He is in control.
Or at least, he was.
'I don't either, okay? Magnus, I'm sorry, but I don't have an answer for you. I worry about everything. Everyone. And low is… whatever, I can deal with that. It passes. The eating thing, it's not about looks, really, but food is hard. It's hard to tell myself I need it or deserve it. And it hurts. It feels wrong. So does sleeping. It's like… if I can just work harder, push myself further, maybe I can make up for the mistakes. For being what I am.'
Eating. Food. Even saying the words out loud makes him feel base, polluted.
'Alexander, there's nothing wrong with what you are. You're the bravest, most loyal, most caring man I know, and… I wish you could see… But even if you weren't, even if you were the most diabolical creature from the deepest pit of Edom with everything to atone for, how would punishing yourself, starving yourself, help?'
Alec cringes from the word, visceral and blunt, but Magnus doesn't. He betrays no judgement, no dismissal. His tone is matter of fact, no question about what Alec's doing, regardless of his intentions. Something venomous rises and Alec wants to spit poison, cool words that will hurt and deflect and demean. Don't be ridiculous. Starving myself, how melodramatic. You're overreacting and I'm not a child, this isn't any of your business.
But is it? If their positions were reversed, how would Alec react?
He imagines Magnus, withdrawn, fanatic, suspicious, denying, his spark dimmed. The devastation is visceral, a ruinous wave, and Alec nearly shouts the instant no. It would break his heart.
It's so hard, trying to evaluate a new perspective.
'It just does.' Shut up! Shut up! Part of him reels at the tacit admission, but Alec forges ahead. 'I know it shouldn't. I know it's stupid and dull and it hurts. I don't like lying to you… But I like this. I need it.' There. He's said it. Now that he's started, it's hard to stop talking, but he forces his mouth closed and looks at his feet, perfectly parallel on the ground. Dull. He's never thought of it like that before, but for the first time he realizes that he is bored. His life, his world, has narrowed so far, become so small. He's become utterly single-minded, so deeply entrenched in his own repetitive thoughts and behaviors that nothing else is permitted to exist. Not for any significant length of time. And yet… it's also true that he likes it, however perversely. His hands are shaking, so he sets his cup aside. This, Alec thinks, is surely it. The moment Magnus finally understands and walks away. Alec wouldn't blame him. He braces himself as Magnus searches for words.
'Oh, Alec. I didn't realize… I didn't know things were so desperate. I'm sorry.' There is genuine sorrow in Magnus's tone and it's so different from the pity or revulsion Alec anticipated that he startles, and exhales.
'It's not your fault, Magnus. It's not like I wanted you to see.'
'Well, thank you for telling me now. I'm glad you trusted me.'
Alec nods mutely. He can feel himself floating again, scrambling to process what he's just done and shrinking from whatever comes next.
'Is there anything else you want to talk about?' Magnus prompts, stretching out a leg to press the toe of Alec's boot with the sole of one of his own, much more decorative, shoes. The simple gesture brings Alec back to himself, and he makes a concerted effort to think before he answers.
'No. Not now. I guess I'm glad you know. I don't know if things can change, if I even want them to, but at least I don't have to hide anything anymore.'
'Never.' Magnus promises. 'I will never judge you. But… Do you get why I'm worried? That what you're doing, whatever purpose it may be serving, is not… sustainable?'
'Yes.' Alec says, and some lost part of him does. He knows that what he's doing is just a way of surviving until he can't. At his core, he feels tired. Old.
Consumed.
'Then I'm going to ask you to keep trusting me. I know nothing changes overnight, but I'd like to do what I can to help, try and put things in place so that you don't… need this so much. So that you can be…
'Well?' Alec suggests, remembering their conversation from what feels like a lifetime ago. I, for one, think you are wonderful, and I want you to be well, okay?
'Exactly.' Magnus smiles 'Will you work with me?'
'Yes. I can try.' Alec amends, because the loudest part of him is seething, spewing all sorts of bile and vitriol at the slightest prospect of change. In this moment, he knows enough to know that he might not be the most reliable judge of the situation, and he knows he can't trust this new lucidity forever.
He can trust Magnus. He wants to. He does.
'That's all I ask' Magnus smiles gently, though his breathing is a little shaky, a sign of his own anxiety. 'And I mean it when I say you never have to hide. Good days, bad days… We'll take them all one at a time, okay?'
Good days. Like they, too, are a possibility for him. Alec wants to cry, so he only nods. He notices distantly that his mug is back in his hands, his thumb tapping on the lukewarm ceramic. One leg bounces slightly. Magnus sees his distraction and seems to decide that they've covered enough for one day.
'It's going to be okay, Alec.' He says, standing and taking the few steps between them to stand in front of him. He tilts Alec's chin up and presses a kiss to Alec's forehead. 'You're going to be okay. And I know we'd both be a lot better for some rest. Do you think you could sleep?'
The other questions are implicit. Do you feel safe here? Will you tell me what you need?
He shouldn't. He's already gone too far, and he senses there will be a cost for his honesty tonight – but Alec is exhausted, and Magnus's calm words, the familiar scent and warmth of him, help him find a peace, a sense of completeness, that he had forgotten. Right now, all he wants is to be, to exist in this moment, whether that's 'allowed' or not. And sleep… Sleep would be wonderful.
'Yes.' Alec replies, and Magnus extends a hand to help him to his feet.
'Okay.' Magnus says, tugging Alec to his feet. Alec deliberately ignores the resulting dizziness, the sick, self-satisfied thrill of pride at the way his head swims, the boneless, weightless rush carrying him up, threatening (promising) to let him float away (away, away, safe, divine). He pushes it down. For once, just for tonight, Alec lets himself be led. Just for tonight, Magnus asks no further questions, makes no comment on the unfinished drink, or the myriad wounds littering Alec's skin, the result of delayed healing and a stubborn refusal to apply runes after missions or training. Alec doesn't fight the ever-present fatigue, doesn't evade Magnus's warm embrace, or think about what the morning might bring. He lets himself rest, hold and be held. The lightness inside him tonight is not the familiar ravenous thing, but a liberation, an unburdening. An entirely different sort of weight is, for now, off his shoulders, and he permits himself the reprieve.
They don't say anything else that night, but Magnus keeps hold of his hand, and they lie on their sides, curled inwards, heads bent so that their foreheads rest against each other, and each of Magnus's even breaths brush warm and sweet over Alec's skin. Bit by bit, his racing heart slows. His mind does not exactly follow suit, but it does quiet some as he lets each thought come and go unchallenged. Sooner than anticipated, Alec is pulled under. He sleeps deeply and dreamlessly, and it is divine.

He pays for this the next day. His body, unwilling to suspend this unexpected recess, rebels and he feels practically calcified when he wakes. Each movement is slow and laborious, the weight and pain of his resisting muscles, the swimming in his head, twice as fierce. This would, perhaps, be manageable, had his mind not resumed its usual litany of threats, rebukes, and instructions with somehow renewed emphasis.
Weak. Pathetic. Failure. How could you? What were you thinking? You caved and it's going to be even more difficult to follow the rules now. This doesn't mean you get a free pass. Get away, now. Deflect. Move. Get off your ass and prove you can stand on your own two feet. You don't need anyone. Or anything. More importantly, you don't deserve them, and that will never change if you get soft.
He hasn't even opened his eyes. For a split second, Alec is angry at this onslaught. This isn't fair.
Stop whining.
He pauses, perched on the edge of the bed with his bare feet on the floor.
'Alec?' Magnus' voice is cautious. Alec hears the rustle of the sheets as Magnus sits up, and then there's a hand on his shoulder. He reaches up, meaning to brush Magnus away gently, but instead finds himself covering Magnus's hand with his own, knotting their fingers.
Weak.
So what? What does it matter if he's weak, in this moment? He wants this. He wants Magnus. He's terrified of pushing away the man he loves for good, and even more so because part of him tells him that that would be the best outcome for them both.
Alec gives himself two seconds, lifting Magnus's hand to press his knuckles to his lips before opening his eyes.
'Good morning.' he says, turning and freeing his hand under the pretext of combing his fingers through his bedhead.
'That it is.' Magnus says. His voice is low with sleep, but Alec can hear the warmth in his tone and his smile is lazy but genuine.
'Somebody's in a good mood.'
'What can I say? It's nice to have you home. I've missed waking up to you, and I intend to get back in the habit.'
Alec panics. He struggles for a joke, some light allusion to their long hours and the necessity of him staying at the Institute more regularly (easier to hide, easier to push, work, get better) but his defenses must still be low following their conversation last night, because he finds himself smiling.
'I could get used to this myself.'
'So do.' Magnus says, suddenly more alert. 'Stay with me for a while. I can portal you to the Institute, make sure we both work a saner number of hours. We might, shock-horror, get to spend some time together, go out once in a while.'
'Scandalous. I'm sure that's against –'
'The Law.' They finish in unison, and grin.
You're wasting time. Get out.
'Ah, the Law.' Magnus rolls his eyes. 'Forget the Law. I know for a fact I'd benefit from a bit of structure, and seeing clients is always so much easier when I know what I'm coming back to.'
It's a poorly disguised ploy. Alec knows a large part of this suggestion, the overriding logic behind Magnus's words, is his desire to keep a closer watch on Alec, to make it more difficult for him to withdraw or mask his less healthy habits. Alec also knows that any resistance on his part will only fuel conflict and provoke more extreme measures on Magnus's part. Best to go along with things for now.
'Hm.' He muses, pretending to consider the offer. 'You're immortal. Define 'a while'.'
'As long as you want, of course.'
'Very specific.'
'It's just bad business to share the fine print.' Magnus winks and stands, stretching to display generous stretches of glowing skin.
'Should I expect a contract?' Alec challenges.
'No contract.' Magnus promises, his teasing tone gone. 'Seriously, Alec, I think it would be good for us both. If it's not what you want, or if it makes things harder for you, there's no pressure, but… I'd like to have you around.'
'You're sure?'
'You already have a key, don't you? And I don't think the apartment would let me set wards against you if I tried.'
'I'm honored.' Alec deadpans, but there's no sting in the words because he's nodding his head. If he commits to spending more nights here, it will go a long way towards reassuring Magnus, and encouraging him to ease any of the strategies he hinted at last night (it's only just occurring to Alec to wonder what they might entail). Besides, they will both inevitably spend most of their time at work, where Alec can continue unobserved. 'Alright. You drive a hard bargain, Magnus Bane. I'm your prisoner for the foreseeable.'
'Fantastic. I think you'll find me a lenient jailor.'
'Sure.' Alec snorts, finally managing to stand himself. Magnus has stationed himself at his mirror, and Alec decides to go about washing and dressing himself before he gets distracted watching his boyfriend (it's fascinating, watching Magnus go about his routine, arranging his hair and makeup, subtly or not-so-subtly tailoring his appearance to his mood; fascinating and restful).
'You wound me. As an example of my great magnanimity, a choice for you: I'm not meeting my first client until late morning, and, judging by the fact that you're still here, your schedule today is flexible, correct?'
'I guess.' Alec agrees, frowning at the small collection of clothes he now keeps in Magnus's closet. The streak of black looks drab next to Magnus's eclectic mix, but there's something to be said for limited choices: at least selecting a shirt and pants doesn't leave him incapacitated, as almost every minor decision seems to lately.
'Then I was thinking we could stop by Catarina's. Madzie won't be there this morning, and I'm sure Cat would appreciate an adult social call – or we could visit that café you like by the Institute.'
A choice indeed. Alec could read between the lines. Magnus was gathering information, trying to gauge the nature and boundaries of what Alec was going through. Where and how might the challenges present? He was also betting that Magnus would be not-so-covertly employing Catarina's clinical gaze and experience in this assessment, today or otherwise.
'Okay, that's a great idea. Let's see Cat.' Alec decides, heading for the en suite bathroom. At least at Catarina's, Magnus's attention would be divided. Catarina was tactful, and a nurse besides; she had her own priorities, and would be unlikely to notice or raise any cause for concern without prompting. In any case, it was just a social call, and they all had jobs waiting for them. Surely, he could manage a short visit in the interests of reassuring Magnus.
Alec sighed. At least at Cat's, they were much less likely to be surrounded by food.

Alec was right, and he was wrong.
Magnus's attention was indeed divided. In fact, it was entirely diverted. Within minutes of their arrival, Catarina effectively banished him to Madzie's room, where she insisted his artistic skills were necessary. Madzie had embarked on a scheme to redecorate her space, but, young as she was, her magic lacked the necessary refinement to fully realize her vision and maintain the wards. Out of pride, she had refused Catarina's assistance, but Cat assured them that coming from Magnus, a few tweaks and final touches would be appreciated. Magnus had grumbled a little, on principle, but Alec knew he never begrudged an opportunity to flex his creativity, and he set off with the far-off gaze of someone already lost in their work.
So, correct: Magnus's attention was divided.
Where Alec went wrong: there was what seemed an offensive quantity of food.
Catarina and her colleagues seized any opportunity to spoil and rally their patients, but there was only so much that could be arranged around individual needs and hospital restrictions. Combined with the additional focus on patient well-being, this usually meant food. Potluck meals on the ward. Baked goods to celebrate milestones and holidays, or as the focus of fundraising drives. Local catering businesses invited to take over the cafeteria and provide some variation to the routine of hospital life.
Alec, of course, thought this was a wonderful thing – for them. He dreaded to think of the havoc he could wreak by getting involved, though he'd always been happy enough to meet patients before. Cat clearly didn't share these concerns. Today, which promised to be unusually mild, she explained that she'd agreed to chaperone a picnic for her pediatric patients, and stationed Alec in her kitchen to help assemble packed lunches and fill Tupperware with a daunting array of snacks and near-luminous beverages. Alec couldn't think of a way to refuse, but he had not predicted being faced with… any of this, and his panic was immediate.
He had been wrong, and it was bad.
What did you expect? There wasn't going to be any right choice that involved you.
Worse still, Cat did not seem to be in the mood for tact. Whether it was his expression or his uncertain movements, she not only noticed that something was wrong with Alec, but wasted no time challenging it.
'Alec.' She began, and he flinched. 'You know how important Magnus is to me.'
'Of course.' He swallows, a little perplexed now. Perhaps this isn't going the way he expected.
Of course not. Not everything is about you, you raging egotist.
'And I know how much he loves you. I watched him fall for you, and that means…' Cat pauses before forging ahead. 'I'd like you for his sake, if nothing else, if that was all there was to it – but I know better now. There's more. I've seen how you love him, too. I've watched you with Madzie, with your family, with Shadowhunters and Downworlders, and, well, you got to me too. You're a good guy, Alec. I like you. I respect you. I'd like to think we're friends.'
'Definitely.' Alec reassures her.
'Then, as Magnus's friend, as a nurse – as your friend – what have you done to yourself?'
What have you done? What are you doing?
Not enough.
'Sorry, Cat, but I don't follow.' Alec says carefully, and now he's grateful for the spread in front of him, for the repetitive motions of sorting and assembling; it gives him something to focus on, and an excuse not to meet Cat's eyes.
'We both know you're smarter than that, Lightwood,' Catarina says, and there's a brief burst of static around her as her magic, fresh and herbal and different from Magnus's, flares. 'but alright, I'll bite. The weight loss? All those minor injuries that should have healed by now? The ones beneath the surface, the stress fractures? The heart rate and blood pressure I've only ever seen in vampires before? Your system's in shutdown. And that's not to mention the fact that when Magnus doesn't see enough of you, I'm the first to hear about it. And wow, have I heard about it. I can read between the lines.'
'I think you're reading too closely.' Alec tries, not quite daring to roll his eyes for effect.
'Forgive me if I don't think you're the most objective party here.' Cat says, a little more gently. 'Believe me Alec, I'm your friend. I can see you're not… right, and I only want you to be well.'
That word again.
Not right. Wrong. Still. They want you to be weak.
'I'm not sick.' Alec insists. Despite his discussion with Magnus, the truths he's trying to come to terms with, there seems to be a world of difference between admitting he's not at his best and pleading illness. The last thing he wants is pity, a reason to be babied, monitored, an excuse to go easy on himself. And if he's sick, what does that mean? Letting go of the one thing helping him function? Admitting he never had the control or the capability he strives for?
Are you ill?
No.
No, no, no.
His hands are shaking, fumbling as he knots the ties of a clear plastic bag.
'I'm a nurse, Alec. I know 'well', and this isn't it.' Cat presses,
'Then what's wrong with me?' Alec challenges, but it doesn't come out scathing, or breezy, or amused, or any of the hundred ways he might have preferred. It comes out desperate.
'My guess? You're experiencing a mental health crisis. There's evidence of disordered eating, too, but without more information…' She says it all so calmly, as though Alec's ears aren't ringing, as if his skin isn't prickling and every word is not another stone on his chest.
'No. No, I can't –' Alec swallows. 'I can't have a crisis. I don't get to check out or fall apart like that.'
'Don't do that.'
'Do what?'
'Blame yourself, or belittle it. People don't choose this. And it won't be forever, I can promise you that much.'
It won't be forever, because you're not strong enough. You will break first; the only question is collateral.
Alec knows it's unfair, the resentment that surges inside him. He knows, objectively, that he is irritable and overworked, behind on sleep and further behind on meals. He knows this, and the resulting embarrassment only makes him angrier. Between Magnus and Cat he is already over people making judgements and decisions for him, trying to placate and entice him into confessions, into reneging on his promises to himself. The rules were supposed to protect him from this, from vulnerability and disappointing people. He takes a deep breath, and shoots Catarina the truest smile he can.
'Thank you. You're a good friend, but I've got this.'
'Alright. If you decide you don't, we're all in your corner.'
Alec smiles, and tries not to imagine crumbs beneath his nails, juice stains around his mouth.
'I'll remember that.' He promises, wondering how permeable Tupperware is. Feeling his skin crawl with sugar and salt.
'Do.' Cat says simply, and, finally, they move on.

Except that Alec can't. He is completely stuck. Fixated. He is utterly and irrevocably consumed. He surrenders to the rituals, the rules, no longer tries to challenge what Magnus describes as 'paranoia'. He is aware, distantly, that there is an increasing gap between his perceptions, his experience, and the planes of the world around him. There is a growing divide between what he sees, hears, knows, and the world to which the others belong – but he is increasingly sure that he is right.
Jace sees bruises, dark, vacant eyes, and the winter-tree tendons trembling under tissue-thin skin. Alec sees weak, slow, undisciplined.
Izzy knows that Alec has had to switch weapons, his stance and strength no longer matched or balanced to his usual bow. Alec knows this is a sign he's being too lenient with himself, that another night practicing on the roof is the only answer.
Magnus says, 'Let me help,' and, 'Alexander, there's nothing of you,'; Alec hears 'You're weak,' then, 'You're nothing,'.
He thinks this was inevitable. He was always going to disappoint, fail, let down – but that doesn't lessen the guilt. It only fuels his efforts.
This goes on for… well. It goes on. Alec is beyond tracking time. He has fallen out of time entirely, through a funhouse looking glass. He is in the zone. He does not seem to need sleep, and loses anything resembling an appetite. The scents from eateries, increasingly warped and unfamiliar, make him cringe as he walks around the city, and when Magnus sets a bowl of cereal next to him one morning he blinks in genuine confusion because he truly cannot remember what he is supposed to do. There's a bowl, and a spoon – but what next? His rules increase, grow stricter by the day, the conditions attached to his habits more arduous, but he's glad of it.
The others plead. They rage, they threaten, they bargain. Alec does too, at first; then he grows beyond that. He spins blithe stories about what he ate the night before, shares strong opinions on the options in the canteen, and rarely comes back from patrol without something to add to the pantry or a surprise treat to 'share'. No matter that he will not enter the canteen, do more than rearrange and inventory the cupboards. No matter that his lies are transparent. They stop questioning him, and instead Alec notices small things. Multi-vitamins in the bathroom. The extra layers Magnus has taken to wearing and offering Alec, who runs cold no matter how many jackets and sweaters he collects - doubly handy because the last time his mother saw him in a t-shirt she drained of all color. Jace leads slower, shorter drills, and responds to Alec's taunts with silence, refusing to be goaded into another repetition, refusing to push back.
They say 'no more', they say 'please', but their words are quiet and their eyes are tired and Alec only notes that neither of these things inspire the guilt that used to crush him. In all these delicate, reluctant compromises, he can sense their despair, see the resignation and defeat, but he does not feel it. He can't bring himself to be sorry.
The funny part is that he is eating. It seems he does nothing but eat. Food is his every waking and dreaming thought. He can list everything he's consumed in each measured, portioned, timed part, all precisely calculated to keep him on the right side of functional. The funniest part of it all is the fuss and then the silence and his own unwavering certainty through it all.
He is in the zone.
He is transcendent, impervious.
And then he dies.
He wakes up to an indescribable cold. The kind that scours his lungs and locks his joints beneath a thick rime. His muscles seize in deep, cramping waves that do not relent. He's tangled in sheets, but the exposed skin of his cheek, his hands feels raw, flayed. With the shivering, the marrow-depth tremors, come sharper jolts. A darting, carving flare, electric, across his chest.
Something is very, very wrong.
When he opens his eyes, his vision remains mostly obscured, too blurred to trust. He cannot, for a long moment, confirm his surroundings – the, well, institutional walls of his room at the Institute. An open window. An empty sky, glowing white and blank. He's alone.
He's alone, and he's dying. It's not the death he recognizes, loud, crowded, all bone and blood and adrenaline, but he knows it's death.
Surprisingly, there's no panic. His seemingly omnipresent anxiety is gone. Finally whittled away, or perhaps it's outgrown him at last. Either way, if this is the price, Alec does not mind paying it.
Except…
Except his family. His mother. JaceIzzyMax.
Except Magnus.
His heart seizes and stutters, too light, no rhythm.
MomJaceIzzyMax -
Magnus.
He fumbles for his phone, morbidly fascinated by his brittle, leaden, useless fingers. Trying to type is laughably difficult, with both his body temperature and coordination at an all-time low, but speech would be impossible so he manages. The message is delivered just as unconsciousness claims him once more.