When Magnus returns, Alec has prepared for everything: anger, pain, tears, disgust, questions, a lecture; he's promised they'll talk, and he's resolved to try – so he's surprised when, on opening the door, Magnus gives a casual flick of his wrist and calls 'Catch.' Alec's hands rise reflexively, and he catches what proves to be a deck of cards. Not Tarot cards, not Oracle cards, or any other cartomancy or even vaguely magical tool: a simple, slightly worn deck of Mundane playing cards. Alec fans the deck slightly, studying the familiar black and red motifs. Four suits. His gaze lingers on the dark King of Clubs, the constellations of diamonds and the piercing shower of hearts. Bleeding skies, competing courts. Instinctively, he starts to shuffle them.

'Are you familiar with Gin Rummy?' Magnus asks, pulling Maryse's chair closer to the bed and lounging with graceful indolence, stretching his legs so that they rest, ankles crossed, on top of Alec's sheets.

'I guess.'

'Good. Your deal, then; we've got some time to spare before Catarina finishes at the hospital, and she's generously conceded you'll be safe enough in my hands. Even Jace agreed, and I never imagined I'd be receiving that commendation.' He laughs lightly and shrugs. 'I thought a few games would keep us out of trouble, but there's no pressure.'

Alec snorts and shuffles the cards more diligently. 'I think I can manage cards.' He says, but there's a slight tremor in his hands, and he sees Magnus glance at his vital observations, sees the crease in his brow when he notes the slightly erratic heart rate. Magnus says nothing, though: he slouches further and closes his eyes, extending a careless hand, palm up, and fluttering a few expectant fingers to indicate he's ready for his cards. Alec finishes dealing and hands Magnus his cards: their palms cross, and Magnus lets his fingertips catch the inside of Alec's wrist. It might have been chance, except that in that moment a blissful, cool, tranquility steals through Alec. The tremor vanishes, his muscles unclench, and his heart, his thoughts, seem to regulate.

'No cheating.' Alec admonishes, mock stern, referring to both the game and the magic.

'Never.' Magnus smirks, and takes another second or two before he opens his eyes and studies his cards. He hums absently, thinking, and Alec feels it in his chest. The magic, Magnus's unharried, patient movements, his low tone, all serve to soothe Alec's anxiety. Alec marvels again at Magnus's people skills, the empathy and wisdom that always seem to guide him towards the right words, the right movements. Magnus tends to understand people before they understand themselves, and for all his playful façade, for all the internal conflict over his heritage, in many ways, Magnus is the most human man Alec knows. All over again, Alec regrets the pain he's caused, the walls he's built between them. So much he's missed out on, pretending that it was for the best and that he wasn't missing anything. Now, Magnus is in front of him and Alec inexplicably misses him.

He swallows down the lump in his throat.

'Sure. You first.' Alec says, focusing on his own hand.

'So generous. I find half the fun's in waiting, but if you insist…' Magnus murmurs, far too demurely, and Alec looks up to find him raising one eyebrow suggestively. Alec does not feel his cheeks flush – at least not until Magnus winks.

'Yeah, well. Age before beauty.' Alec manages, pleased at his recovery, however clumsy. 'And don't flirt with me. That counts as cheating.'

Magnus simply flashes a wicked grin, and pulls the first of the remaining cards, replacing it after brief consideration.

'I have heard that somewhere before,' Magnus concedes with a shrug, then drops a wink. 'which makes it your turn, pretty boy.'

They pass an easy hour or so that way, playing games which soon devolve into lawless competitions and challenges of their own devising. They do talk, too, but for now there really is no pressure. Magnus tells him about some of his latest clients, shares some of the Institute and Downworld gossip that's slipped past Alec, and even recalls some of the times he and Ragnor had gambled their way into and out of trouble over the years. Only at one point does he ask if Alec needs anything, if he's in pain, or hungry, or thirsty. Alec answers truthfully enough that he's fine: whether he's simply lost the ability to read his body's cues, or because of the regimen of fluids/runes/drugs/who-knows-what-else-but-try-not-to-think-about-it-too-hard, there's nothing he needs, and Magnus take him at his word. Magnus's other questions, when they come, are equally open, with no sense of expectation, or judgement, and Alec knows he'd be free to ignore them. For this reason, more than any other, he finds himself sharing a little. He tries to explain the switch, the all-consuming, cyclical nature of his thoughts. The disconnection, the isolation. How everything has come to represent a threat. He admits he's forgotten there's any other way to be, that he's not sure he wants to change because everything seems so much more manageable when he has the structure and satisfaction of his shrinking world. His shrinking mind and body. Though, he realizes now, the satisfaction doesn't come from these things specifically, but what they suggest, what they provide. A sense of atonement, a purpose, a way to subvert expectations and claim autonomy. A way to anaesthetize himself against the rest of the world, including himself.

And Magnus listens. He does not recoil or lash out, and when Alec stumbles over his words or struggles to articulate something, he's patient and considerate, asking questions and offering small insights that help Alec clarify his thoughts. He is not surprised or frustrated when Alec's mind seems to skip, when he trails off halfway through a sentence, unable to locate the word that should be obvious. When Alec's gaze slides, or he loses track completely, Magnus is not alarmed. From this, Alec gathers his disorientation, his withdrawal and disengagement has not only been obvious to everyone, but become more of a handicap than he acknowledged. How often has Magnus had to fill in his blanks? How much has Alec overlooked? What slack have the others had to pick up? Only at one point does Magnus betray himself: Alec is talking about the incident with the water bottle, laughing at himself as best he can, to show that he, too, understands the ridiculous side to his behavior, when Magnus's eyes grow misty.

'What's wrong?' Alec asks alarmed. Magnus shakes his head and smiles sadly.

'I just... I didn't know. I wanted so much for you to be okay that I missed how far things had gone. I wish I'd done more, sooner.'

'You tried.' Alec reminds him. 'I wouldn't let you.'

'Not you. Not you, you, anyway. Your illness. I'm still trying to understand, but it doesn't sound like you had much choice.'

'Maybe.' Alec allows, not quite ready to reconcile himself to the fact that his means of asserting control might be the very thing that has robbed him of it, that he's abandoned himself to the service of an illusion.

'There's so much I don't know.' Magnus says, more to himself, and Alec understands: for all the things they've dealt with already, all the things they might have anticipated facing, neither of them could have predicted this.

'This is… it's all new to me, too. I never imagined…'

'Never imagined what?' Magnus prompts.

'Things would go this far, I guess. I'm supposed to be smarter than this. I thought I was in control. Guys, Shadowhunter's, we don't… I've never known anyone go through this.'

'You know these things don't discriminate. No-one is immune to pain, and we don't always choose the nature of that pain or the way we respond. Would you judge someone else in your position?'

'That's…'

'Different?' Magnus challenges, part bemused, part exasperated. 'How? If it was me in your shoes, would you think less of me?'

'Honestly? A little. You hate my shoes.' Alec jokes weakly, nodding towards his boots, still standing sentinel against the wall.

'Alec.'

'No. Of course not.' Alec relents.

'Of course not. You're the most compassionate man I know. Turn some of that kindness towards yourself.'

'Mm.' Alec murmurs, non-committal. He toys with the cards fanned out in his hands and studies them without really seeing them. The markings aren't making much sense anymore, and he's long since abandoned any semblance of strategy. He can sense Magnus waiting for him to look up, to meet his eyes, but can't force himself to do so. The world is blurring at the edges, and Alec wants so badly to succumb to the soft-focus haze, to lose the sharp edges of sensation, thought.

'You said illness.' He blurts, scrabbling for a distraction.

'My mistake. Clearly, you're the pinnacle of health.' Magnus scowls and gestures to the ersatz hospital set-up: for the first time, there's the spark of anger in his eyes, a sarcastic bite to his tone. Alec knows him well enough to detect the pain and concern beneath them, so he isn't surprised when Magnus collects himself and adds, 'Could you honestly say that you're well? Do you understand that your life is at risk?

'Isn't it always? Isn't yours? Look at our jobs.' Deflecting, still. He can't help it.

'At risk from yourself.' Magnus amends, refusing to play along.

This, Alec knows, is the crux of it. It will kill him to continue. He's equally certain it will kill him to change. He cannot live as he has, but he can't see any other way to live, either.

'Yes, but… I don't see the problem. I don't want it.' He realizes, and only by Magnus's sharp intake of breath does he know he's spoken aloud.

'I do.' Magnus says firmly. 'I want your life. I told you once I didn't think I could live without you, and that hasn't changed.'

'What if you're better off? If I can't change, if this never goes away –'

'Alec, there's no better for me than you. I want to be with you – especially when things are difficult.' He exhales slowly. 'I understand, if you can't be in it the same way I am right now, but you don't have to protect me. Don't put yourself under pressure to make this easier for others.'

'Some habits are hard to break.' Alec sighs, not quite sure which habits he's referring to, but knowing the truth of the words regardless.

'Good thing you're so stubborn then.' Magnus says. He sweeps the mass of abandoned playing cards from the sheets. 'You may be Nephilim, but nobody's expecting miracles. It's going to take time – and that's all I ask. Give yourself time.'

'No miracles? Some Warlock.' Alec chides, mock-scornful. Magnus swats him lightly with the deck of cards then takes his hand.

'No miracles,' he confirms, 'Just us. Everything I need is right here.'

Alec raises their linked hands and presses his lips to Magnus's knuckles.

'Pretty miraculous to me.' He sighs. He can feel his eyes getting heavier by the moment, his limbs seeming leaden. Even know, he can't stop the spike of fear at the exhaustion, the heaviness –

'Lie with me.' He says, as much to interrupt his thoughts as anything, tugging Magnus gently closer. Magnus complies, a little hesitantly at first, wary, perhaps, of the tubing, of causing pain, but Alec breathes a quiet 'please', and he really must seem desperate but he can't bring himself to care because all at once he's wrapped in a familiar, warm embrace. They hold each other, hearts and breathing slowing as sleep descends, and that's how Catarina finds them just half an hour later: knotted dreams, knotted limbs, two heads of dark hair turned towards each other even in unconsciousness.

Catarina almost debates disturbing them. Alec, and even Magnus, she knows, could use the rest. However, Alec is no longer only a Shadowhunter. Not simply Magnus's love, or even her friend: he is, right now, her patient. More importantly still, he looks awful. Despite their interventions so far, there's still a pallor to his skin, a labored edge to his breathing, and she'd be happy with his vitals… from a vampire.

So she doesn't hesitate to wake them up and steer a bleary Magnus into the chair by the bedside, giving her space for a proper assessment.

'Cat.' Magnus manages, but it's not a greeting so much as a focal point around which to orient his sleep-muddled thoughts.

'Yes. And don't try to be coy, we both know I've caught you in compromising positions, and this is just embarrassingly domestic. I'll tease you later.'

'Ugh. Must you always be so very… you?' Magnus asks, and though he's more alert, there's no bite to his words: his increasing focus goes entirely to Alec. 'Just…' he gestures helplessly towards his slowly-rousing boyfriend, and his voice breaks against the fear she knows he's been disguising. 'I've done what I can, but this is your domain. Please.' Magnus manages. 'How is he?'

Catarina had been the first to formally assess Alec when his heart failed. Magnus had called her immediately, and she's been overseeing Alec's care, in consultation with the silent brothers, since. The sight of them both, Magnus beyond terrified, Alec so very still, so very ill, was devastating. It was only through a combination of her magic and the force of Alec's angelic heritage that she was able to revive and stabilize him. She'd been beyond horrified by the damage he'd done to himself, and it's only marginally less shocking to see him now. Alec has improved slightly, she notes as she performs some initial diagnostic spells. The runes have mitigated the worst of his injuries – stress fractures, and broken skin – but he remains dehydrated, and malnourished. His immune system is shot, and part of his alarming weight loss is diminished muscle mass and poor bone density. That will take a long time to repair, and that's without considering the threat of further organ failure.

'He is sleeping.' Alec mumbles before Catarina can answer, and he blinks to look at them both. 'Or he was.' He swallows. 'Hi, Cat. Good to see you.' Alec's tone is oddly formal, so she knows he's nervous, unsure of her reaction – and his eyes go to Magnus as he speaks, so she knows, too, that what he's grateful for even now, is that Magnus has her support. For some reason, this blatant lack of regard for himself grates at her, but she reminds herself to go slowly.

'Don't speak too soon,' she says wryly, 'I doubt I'm going to be your favorite person for the foreseeable. Are you in any pain?' Alec starts to shake his head, but at the pointed scowls of two warlocks, reconsiders.

'A little.' He admits. 'My chest, and my head. I'm mostly tired.'

'That's to be expected. Physically, your body's been under extreme stress, working overtime until it effectively shut down.' Catarina says, as evenly as she can. 'Has anyone explained?'

'It was my heart.' Alec says neutrally, and Catarina doesn't miss the attempted evasion.

Yes. It failed. Do you know why?' She asks not so much to test his knowledge, as to gauge his response. Will he be honest? Will he continue to deflect, downplay?

'My mother said I was dehydrated. Malnourished. Kind of overworked.'

'Understatement.' Magnus mutters. They ignore him.

'Magnus is right,' Catarina says, 'that's true, but it doesn't tell us why. Those symptoms are manifestations of something larger.' She wonders if Alec notices his own flinch at the last word, the twitch of his hands and tightening of his mouth.

'Enlighten me.' He says.

'You have an eating disorder. With the combination of low weight, evidence of excessive exercise, and your history of isolating and perfectionism, I'd say anorexia.' She lets that sink in, knowing that it's unlikely Alec or Magnus have ever thought about this so bluntly, that naming something can increase or diminish the power it holds. 'Ultimately, we can use the terminology you're comfortable with, but would you agree with me so far?'

'I don't… I can agree I've crossed a line.' Alec says, which is not quite the acceptance she's looking for, but Catarina knows better than to push too far too soon. 'I just don't know… what that means for me. What do I do about it?'

'That's why we're here.' Catarina assures him, with a genuine smile. It's a relief to know that, for now, Alec is amenable to support, open to challenging his behaviors. 'I won't lie, Alec, you're nowhere near out of the woods, but there's a lot we can do.'

'Sure.' Alec says skeptically.

'There is. First of all, you're going to eat. That's non-negotiable. To begin with, we'll taper the fluids and supplements, and I'm not so worried about what or how you're eating, so long as you are. We want to make sure you're at a healthy weight, so that your body has the resources to mend. The only way to do that is to up your intake.'

'That's –' Alec has blanched, his eyes slightly wide and wild, the sheets gripped in one fist. 'I don't know if I can do that.'

'You can. Your body wants you to. It needs you to, and if you trust it, it'll help you. But I know it's daunting. We'll build up to it.'

You say 'we', but it's me. My body. Is it – is it necessary?'

'Yes.' Catarina insists. She pauses, but Alec's efforts to calm himself are in vain. 'You don't think so?' Magnus looks as though he wants to throttle her, but she's not capitulating: she wants to give Alec the chance to speak, to let him know he'll be heard – and get a better understanding of where his mind is.

'I get that I probably shouldn't lose anymore weight. I'm not sure if I believe it, if I can see it, but I can work with that. I can work on… not restricting more. But if I eat –' he opens his mouth almost unconsciously, and a hand flies briefly to his throat; there is a small motion, as if he's started to swallow but stopped himself. He shakes his head, and it's all physically painful to watch. Catarina can only imagine Magnus's anguish, so she isn't surprised when he interjects.

'Then what? What happens? The world won't end, Alec. No-one will die.'

'Where does it stop? There won't be any rules. I'll lose control. I'll be slow and lazy and repulsive –'

'You'll be none of those things, I promise.' Catarina says. 'You will gain weight, and there may be a period where you feel compelled to eat to excess,' she explains, deciding Alec will respond best to honesty from the onset, 'but that ends. Your body finds a balance, and it's all necessary to your recovery. Necessary to your survival.' She wonders if that last was a touch melodramatic, even if it's the truth, but Alec closes his eyes and, after a few deep breaths, lets the matter drop for now.

'Okay. What else?'

'Rest. Complete. Total. No sneaky half-days in the office, no patrols, no training, no coasting with runes – to begin with, I don't even want you walking a couple of blocks for coffee.'

'That seems extreme.' Alec scowls.

'More extreme than a heart attack?' Catarina counters. 'It's energy conservation. All your body's efforts need to be going toward repair. Once you're out of the danger zone, we'll help you get back to your routine – a balanced version.' She adds warningly.

'Fine.' He smiles ruefully at Magnus. 'Guess I'm grounded. I swear I won't be offended if there's more interesting places for you to be.'

'More interesting than with my captive boyfriend?' Magnus quips archly.

'Flirt on your own time please, Bane.' Catarina interrupts, though she's glad to note Alec looks slightly less panicked. 'And yes. Food. Rest. They're the most important things. I'd also like to try a treatment plan I've put together with the Silent Brothers.'

'There's more.' Alec says, looking queasy.

'Yes. Eating disorders aren't solely about your mental or physical health, so we want to take care of both. We've come up with a plan combining runes and Mundane medicine, and there's a friend of mine, an ex pack-member who decided he wanted to do the 'lone wolf' thing, and took up counselling. He's worked with lots of people, Mundanes, Downworlders, even Shadowhunter's. I think it'd be a good idea for you to meet him, and if you get on, schedule some sessions to talk. He leads groupwork too, for families, or a place to meet people with shared experiences.'

'I'm not great with words.' Alec hedges.

You don't need to be. You just need to be as honest as possible. Leo's a professional, and it can be helpful to get a different perspective. If it's not the right fit, we can try something else, but I think these are some good ways to start.

'I guess you did warn me about the uncomfortable.' Alec says, turning to Magnus.

'I did, but you can do this. I have faith in Cat, and you always surprise me.'

'You won't be doing any of it alone, either.' Cat reminds him, using her magic to subtly replenish the fluids and supplements being delivered to Alec. As if reading her mind, Magnus takes Alec's hand, and breathes lightly against presumably cool fingers to warm them, effectively distracting their patient.

'She's right. You're not alone Alexander.' He says softly, and all the tension in Alec seems to drain. His careful poise and composure evaporate, and she can see the sheen of tears and fear in his eyes as he looks almost beseechingly at Magnus. She understands his panic, which stokes first her sympathy, and then her anger. Neither of them deserve this. She resolves there and then that she won't watch Magnus lose another loved one, that she will help Alec be well, help him live. He is, above all else, a good person: he has no need to punish himself, and she will help him understand that. Even now, she sees him tracing circles with his thumb against the back of Magnus's hand in mutual reassurance. This, she knows, is not the High Warlock and Alec Lightwood, but Magnus-and-Alec. Masks have been dropped, and, despite the circumstances, she is touched to be trusted in their private space. She busies herself closing the window, straightening things that don't need to be straightened, so as not to intrude on this acutely intimate moment.

'Thank you.' Alec says after a moment, addressing them both now. 'So,' he continues, clearing his throat a little, 'just so I've got everything… Nurse's orders are food, rest, runes, and talking?'

'For now.' Catarina confirms. 'It's a four-pronged approach, I suppose' she continues without thinking, 'like a fork.'

There is a beat of silence. Magnus glares.

'A fork.' Alec repeats, deadpan.

'Yes.' She's confused, then mortified. Tactless. Even as she feels herself flush, she decides there's nothing for it but to brazen out her clumsiness.

'So, I have… we're treating an eating disorder… with a fork?'

Another beat of silence.

And then, all at once, the three of them dissolve into near-hysterical laughter, Catarina glad to make a fool of herself if it lights that spark of humor, overpowers Magnus's anxiety, and keeps Alec communicating. They laugh, and it is a blissful relief until Alec slumps back against his pillows, eyes and breathing heavier from the sudden exertion, despite the incredulous quirk to his lips. This sobers Catarina and Magnus, too.

'I've given you a lot to think about,' she says, 'so maybe it's time you get to work on that second tine. Unless there's anyone you especially want to see, now's as good a time as any to get some more shuteye.'

'I, personally, was very comfortable before my dreams were interrupted by a certain blue menace.' Magnus says hopefully.

'Me too. Yeah, okay. If you can manage to put off my Mom…'

'Done.' Catarina says. 'Someone will be checking in every 6 hours or so for now, so I'll be back later tonight.'

'Thank you, Cat. For everything.' Alec says, but, already halfway out the door, Catarina doesn't reply.

'She isn't doing this just for me you know, Magnus says shrewdly.

'I'm beginning to see that.' Alec smiled, and, almost unthinkingly reached towards Magnus. 'Come here.'

'So authoritative.' Magnus teases, but then pauses, eyeing the tubes and machinery, Alec's fragile skin. 'Will you be comfortable?'

'Magnus, not to sound sulky, but I'm tired, and I'm... Afraid. I don't care about comfortable. I just want you.'

'You have me.' Magnus smiles, allowing himself to be pulled down beside Alec. Neither of them sleep, exactly, but they do dose, drifting in and out of that liminal space between dreams and reality. They both realize it's a reprieve of sorts, this peace, and a temporary one – but it's all the more important for that, so neither of them disturb it. Alec floats, basking in the calm, this suspension of pain and anxiety, until Catarina returns.

And then, the work begins.

To begin with, Alec thinks the most challenging thing about recovery is sheer boredom. It's surprisingly monotonous: without his usual routines, banned from work, he has excessive amounts of free time. Even after the first couple of weeks, when he's completely tapered from IV support, and granted a modicum of freedom within the Institute, there's still a regularity to his check-ins with Cat, or one the Silent Brothers, that becomes more tedious than anxiety-inducing. He's met Leo, and thinks they'll be a good fit, but he's yet to have a formal counselling session: Cat wants to make sure he's physically stronger, and he agrees it would be counterproductive to start too soon – he's still dealing with a not-insignificant level of brain fog, compounded by his newly prescribed SSRI's.

He sleeps a lot. He reads. He spends time with his family, and Magnus, when they aren't working: games and TV, low-key errands and chores; more often than not, just talking.

And, yes, he eats.

It's uncomfortable. He has to detach himself from decisions and conscious thought, or it becomes impossible. Most of the time, when he's eating, he ignores the mechanics, lets his mind hover somewhere outside of him and it's bearable, then, when the whole process feels less immediate, and he can act as mildly-intrigued bystander. In some ways, it's not so different: he's still following rules. Still doing as he's told. Trying not to think or feel too deeply. In some ways, it's so different he convinces himself none of it is real: not the switch, not his crisis, not… whatever it is he's doing now. Catarina was true to her word and maintains it's too early to worry about a structured diet plan, so they settle on a compromise. At least three times a day, at something approximating traditional mealtimes, Alec will sit down to eat with someone. It might be Magnus, conjuring high tea or a picnic as his whims dictate, or it might be Izzy, an evening meal in the lab's artificial light while she enthuses about their latest developments. He and Clary might linger over toast in the morning, she taking advantage of the early light to sketch, he content to watch and guess at her latest inspirations. Really, whoever is free: the important part is that he is not alone, and that, if he is paralyzed by doubt and indecision, he can follow their lead, copy their choices. Sometimes, he clears his plate. Sometimes, he simply can't manage the first bite. Catarina says this is okay, for now. They can work on decisions and consistency. Part of the process to begin with is just reacquainting himself with the concept of food, making it a neutral, everyday thing. What matters is that, a minimum of three times a day (more is encouraged; little and often while his system adjusts), Alec has food in front of him. This fact alone means his intake increases, even if his appetite does not.

He doesn't let himself think about what that means, deliberately forgets the purpose of the whole endeavor, and for this reason, perhaps, he's shocked when he notices the changes. Not shocked: staggered. Appalled. About a month after his crisis, he's dressing, getting ready to meet Magnus at the loft to spend the morning helping with some research for a client – permitted, provided he takes a portal there and back - and he pauses. A low current of fear, faint alarm bells. He's struck by the new fit of his clothes. Too close. Abrasive. He studies his reflection, and sees his softening edges, the obscene flush to his skin, his pulse so insistent beneath. The hollows and shadows he's grown used to have blurred, his angles worn just enough that he seems washed out, indistinct. Bloated and boundless. There's no definition to him, and as he looks his reflection seems to expand further, features erased. His heart hammers as the amorphous, formless thing shifts.

What did he think would happen? He's abandoned his rules, their indisputable logic. Of course he would regress. He knows he hasn't reverted completely, but he's well on his way to the monstrous, lawless, creature he started as. On his way to pre-switch.

Following orders suddenly becomes a flimsy excuse. He can't be this. Cannot possibly live and exist as this new (old?) thing, not now he knows there's an alternative. His current attitude and behavior is indefensible. He curses himself for his blind, blasé compliance with Cat's wishes, his naïve faith in and passive obedience to those around him. How they must be laughing. How he must repulse them.

Alec wants to carve at himself. Claw away the excess that he realizes, now, is suffocating him. Run until he's outpaced any physicality or tangibility at all.

It's then that the portal appears. Magnus, right on schedule. A spike of nausea. Feverish, wild screeching terror inside him. He can't be seen like this. How can he endure Magnus's continued kindness, knowing how little he deserves it, the pity that must underline it?

But there's no time to make a choice. On the other side of the portal, Magnus, browsing the shelves of his library, a growing stack of books hovering beside him, cheerfully calls 'Door's open!', and Alec instinctively steps through the shimmering gateway. Vaguely, he registers the hum as a wave of Magnus's hand draws it closed. With another sweeping gesture that sets his silky sleeves billowing, Magnus sends his selection of books flying and piles them on an already cluttered desktop.

'Alec, my darling!' he beams. He crosses the space between them and lays his palm on Alec's cheek, kissing him softly. It's unbearably, painfully, gentle, the tenderness something Alec does not trust himself to protect, to earn. He pulls away.

'Hi.' He says, hoping that he's smiling, but not quite sure because he still feels as though he's being flayed. His eyes are refusing to focus, and he can feel his polluted insides set like stone, awkward and hefty, unmanageable. Magnus is frowning slightly, a worried crease between his brows, and perhaps he's talking, too, but Alec can't hear anything over the shrieking need to run-hide-vanish. Magnus reaches for his hand, and to his own horror, Alec flinches from the contact.

There's an instant where they are both bewildered, rendered frozen by shock and surprise. Another in which Alec sees the raw hurt and fear in Magnus's eyes. By the next, Magnus has schooled himself to neutrality.

'It's a bad day.' He says, and Alec nods even though it wasn't a question.

'I should go.' Alec says, but Magnus looks aghast.

'Why? No. Not yet, at least. Talk to me first.'

'I'm not sure I can. You won't like it.'

'Tell me anyway. Trust. Honesty. All those heavenly virtues the Clave preaches.'

'The Clave, or Cat?'

'Both – which is something I thought I'd never say.' Magnus's tone turns coaxing. 'It's just us. If you really can't explain right now, I won't push, but I'm here. I make a great sounding board.' His lip quirks in a half smile, and Alec knows he could take the escape offered. He could postpone whatever is rioting in his head and hope Magnus forgets this lifeline was ever thrown. He could. He should.

He doesn't.

'It's all… too much.' He starts. 'I know I'm letting you down and I can't do it. I can't be this. I was better, before, I swear. I was… sharper. Clean. I was so close to perfect and now – do you all really want this? Don't you see? How can you stand to be near me?'

'Stop it.' Magnus says gruffly, folding his arms to hug his middle as if to shield himself – or to keep himself together. 'You were dying before. Maybe you've forgotten, but I haven't. I can't.'

'I remember.' Alec says, thinking that this is, perhaps, the problem. If he could forget what he'd done, what he'd been, then sickness might not seem so simple, so alluring. Magnus takes a deep, steadying breath.

'Shall I tell you what I see?'

Alec, angry and anxious and ashamed, opens his mouth to say no, but Magnus continues.

'I see you. Alec. I see…' he studies Alec briefly, his gaze roving from his worn boots to his disheveled hair and settling on his eyes. 'Your eyes. Like you're actually looking at the world again. I see… your lips. Smiles and kisses and words. Honestly, I didn't think it was possible for you to talk less than when I met you, but... Do you know how much I've missed your voice?' He laughs a little incredulously and rests a finger on his chin, thinking. 'I see scars. Runes. Stories and magic all over your skin. I see… your hands. Steady, clever – and gentle, with everyone except yourself.' Magnus reaches forwards now, letting his fingers almost brush Alec's. 'I see that you're steadier on your feet. More present. I see you laughing with your siblings. I see strength and beauty and you. The man I love. And as to perfect…' He raises a hand, slowly enough for Alec to refuse, and when Alec does not recoil, cups his fingers at the nape of Alec's neck, teasing at his hairline in a way that makes Alec's chest ache, his skin sing. 'Perfect means ideal, flawless; it also means complete. You, Alexander, are perfect simply by virtue of being. Let. Yourself. Be.'

'Magnus –' Alec starts, but whatever he was going to say falls away. How to explain that being as he is is impossible? How to explain that this flirtation with 'recovery' was a bad idea from the outset? All he's learnt is that he gains more by losing.

He can't explain. And he's too selfish to tell Magnus to turn that gentle touch and gaze on someone worthier, someone who won't taint him by association. Alec feels keenly that the poison inside him threatens everyone else, too. If Magnus senses this, he gives no sign. Instead, confident now that he won't be rejected, or at least deciding that he couldn't possibly upset Alec further, he draws him into a fierce hug.

'I love everything about you, Alexander. Never doubt that. The only question is how I can ever stand to be away from you.'

'Don't be sweet to me, please.' Alec says through the lump in his throat. 'I know this isn't easy for you either.'

'No. I hate to see you hurting, but after standing by, realizing I was losing more of you by the day… Things can only get easier.'

'I'm trying. I am.'

'I see that, too. I can't know exactly what you're going through, but I know you. You will get through this.' He pulls back gently and brushes a thumb along Alec's cheek to catch tears just beginning to spill over.

'I'm sorry.' Alec says.

'Don't be. This is a good thing, I think. You're processing.'

You sound like a therapist. Cat again, or have you been talking to Leo?'

'You wound me – credit me with some originality, please. I'm bound to speak sense occasionally.' Magnus quips, 'As to Leo, no, I haven't talked to him. Do you think you're ready to? It might be good to get some sessions lined up, help you sort through everything.'

'Maybe.' Alec muses. 'Can't hurt.' It can, of course, but Alec's thoughts are taking a different path, and the threat of a full-on crying jag passes. He knows the solution, and it isn't Leo – but scheduling counselling will go a long way to reassuring everyone monitoring him, and perhaps buy him some breathing space to pursue the real fix.

He needs to go back, just a little. Not enough to see him essentially hospitalized again – he can admit that he'd crossed a line there - but enough to recover the security of glowing, gnawing emptiness. He'll have to go slowly, at first, but restricting works. Working out, well, works. Not eating hurts, but so does eating, and out of the two evils he's certain which is lesser. He knows where the line is now, he's sure of it. He can stay in control. Why should he give that up any longer?

'I'm proud of you.' Magnus smiles, with painful sincerity, and to Alec the timing is serendipitous; it feels like permission. He returns the smile, but there must be something in his eyes because Magnus gives his hand a sharp squeeze. 'You're doing great. Stay with it, okay? Stay with me.'

'Right here.' Alec says, which, of course, isn't really saying anything at all.