Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Part of heroism is being able to see the future and still remain standing. If you don’t believe in God or Fate, you still must believe in the narrative.”

-- Richard Siken, “ René Margarite, La Clairvoyance, 1936 (Three Proofs) ” from War of the Foxes

&&&

“I’ve been trying to love myself better. He is helping.”

-- Emma Bleker, “ They’ve Been Using Their Teeth ” from Here’s Hoping You Never See This

Daybreak in the city is a provisional thing when there’s no sunlight to mark it. Beyond the window, clouds hang heavy and the light that slides through the blinds is a haze: dull, grey, and dreary, and yet highlighted by silver periphery. Unreality lingers like a mist, like a shimmer; it could be the afternoon already. It could be just a moment past the dawn.

Outside, the rain still pours. And it’s like white noise without the silence nor the emptiness, falling like bullets on concrete, simmering on the sidewalk where the city packs heat. And yet the beat of it against the windowpane is not what wakes Alec from sleep.

He rolls over onto his stomach and it’s the slide of the sheets against his sutured thigh that stirs him. His skin is tender, marbled by blue and grey and burdening yellows, and the neat stitches snag as he shifts; pain pinches in his knee and in his hip, scampering up his ribs and sinking its unblunted claws into his shoulder. 

Alec grumbles, pressing his nose into the pillow. The smell of sandalwood smothers him. The mattress is too soft to be his own. He’s acutely aware of the sheets sticking to his clammy skin; he’s in his underwear but his chest is bare, and the morning cold is like the flick of someone else’s fingers against his each and every exposed scar. 

For a moment, he forgets where he is or how he came to be in a bed not his own.

Alec extracts his hand from the sheets and presses his fingers against his eyes, rubbing lazy circles against the weight that presses down on his forehead. He feels tired, sluggish, but not weary; like the ache of his bruises is nothing but a memory, a reminder that he’s still alive and drawing breath. 

The night before is a vagrant dream: fits and starts of rain and thunder, blood and bleeding and the sink of a needle into his skin. Dizzy spells and messy thoughts and complications of things he feels too inherently to be complicated. Disrobing honesty, heart-on-the-line sort of stuff, where does this leave you and me?

Together. Together, that’s where.

Alec rolls onto his back and feels the heavy weight of an arm slung across his waist fall waywardly to the side.

Alec’s breath catches. The soreness in his leg is suddenly very real; there’s a tender ache on the back of his head, and his cheek burns where his skin is rubbed raw. He turns his head to the side; creases from the pillow mark his face too.

Magnus sleeps next to him, curled onto his side. One hand is pushed beneath his pillow, his other palm-up on the mattress between them. His eyelids flicker, a shift in the light away from waking, but there’s this slackness in his jaw and between his brows that Alec has never seen before.

The grey light of dawn is soft and forgiving against his skin, gossamer where it dances with the iridescent silk of the robe he fell asleep in. The deep blues and peacock greens don’t scatter, but they do shift like oil in a puddle, as if each rise and fall of Magnus’ chest is a ripple, extending outwards. 

Alec wets his lower lip; his breath whistles as he inhales. He stares hard at the ceiling and remembers the roaming of car headlights and the way that same light had filtered down on Magnus from above. 

Heat coils in Alec’s gut. 

So, that was real too .

He rolls onto his side and his eyes fall upon the shadow of stubble darkening Magnus’ jaw in and amongst purpling bruises. They look sore, tender in a way that doesn’t require prodding, and that rare looseness in Alec’s chest begins to tighten again. Magnus’ hair, licked with fading colour, flops across his forehead and hides a deep gash along his hairline. Ugly red welts cut into his wrists and wrap around his throat. 

Alec’s not sure why he was hoping for them to be gone. 

Once, long ago, stood on the roof of a skyscraper overlooking a pink and purple city, Alec had wondered if Nightlock might fade away with the dawn.

‘ Sometimes ,’ he had said, and there’s a lump in his throat, even now, as he remembers. ‘ I wonder how you look in the daylight .’

He’s never seen Nightlock in the daylight. It’s always been the downpour, Nightlock lit up in shards of neon; or it’s been the unforgiving fluorescence of Magnus’ windowless office as time slipped away from them; but it’s never been this.

Never this, and yet -

Nightlock lingers on Magnus’ skin like a deeper bruise. 

Alec imagines the shape of a black mask stretched across Magnus’ eyes, hiding his face from view. But even then, Alec can’t understand how the cut of his jaw, the mark above his eyebrow, or the curve of his lips went unrecognized for so long.

Did you really not know? How could you not know?

Did you want to know?

Alec swallows against the lump in his throat. He thinks about reaching out and dragging his fingertips across the rope burn on Magnus’ neck, but finds he can’t even lift his hand.

It’s a whirlpool sort of feeling, finding himself perpendicularly in love with two separate people. Magnus. Nightlock. Maybe just a strange amalgamation of them both, and the lines are too blurred now to really tell where one starts and the other ends. 

Alec thinks of Nightlock’s bitterness: his anger, his power, crackling in his fingertips, that makes him formidable even as he puts his hands on Alec and promises that he’s not alone. And then he returns to Magnus and his stubborn determination to do right, to save all those who need to be saved, no matter the cost. The way he can look through Alec as if he’s made of glass, transparent in the dark, and know what Alec needs to hear.

The feeling buffets Alec; too much water, too much rain. He doesn’t know whether to relinquish himself to the spin of it, or try and swim against it, the current and the riptide that threatens to pull him under as he tries to make sense of the weight in his chest.

Because that weight, it’s real too. As real as the bruises on Magnus’ throat. 

(Perhaps moreso.) 

Across the pillow, Magnus’ mouth twitches. Without opening his eyes, he reaches up and rubs at his neck, kneading his knuckles into his throat. His eyebrows pull together and his jaw clenches, and he cracks open one eye, then the other, and squints against the daylight. His stare falls, slowly, on Alec.

He says nothing.

The air is wet with pressure, the taste of rain bled through the windows, and Alec wonders if he moves, if he speaks at all, whether it will begin to rain in here too, nimbus clouds sucked in through the blinds to shroud them. He feels the weight of Magnus’ gaze like a hand pressing down on his sternum the same way he can always taste a downpour before it comes, like pressure building.

But then, Magnus smiles, and the corners of his eyes crinkle, and quietly, Alec’s world changes. 

“Good morning,” Magnus whispers, his voice low and sleep-ruffled in a way that does nothing to unravel the tight knot of heat in Alec’s belly. His eyes flick across Alec’s face; his smile lifts at one corner, almost curious. He tilts his head. “How’s your leg?”

“Sore.” Alec clears his throat. The stale taste of smoke clings to the back of his teeth. He hesitates. “You?”

Magnus pouts, inspecting the discolouration around his wrist. He rotates his hand in a cautious circle. “The same. I feel like I’ve been hit by a semi. A few more days of gratuitous bed rest would suit me well.” He holds his hand up to the light and winces as his skin stretches where scabs have already formed. “Unfortunately, I don’t think Nightlock can afford to take a break - what is it?”

“Huh?”

“You’re staring,” Magnus says. “I look horrendous, don’t I? How bad is it? Tell me the truth.”

“No, I - you don’t, I just -” Alec bites down on his lower lip. His face feels warm. The sheets slip against his leg, stirring like a hand creeping up his thigh. “You look -”

Magnus’ expression softens. He reaches out and brushes the limp hair away from Alec’s forehead with the backs of his knuckles, and Alec’s eyes flutter closed as he leans into it, his fingers tightening in the sheets. He holds a breath and then expels it, huffing against Magnus’ wrist.

Magnus’ touch is warm against Alec’s clammy skin. It grounds him. The disorientation of sleep begins to fade.

“Magnus,” he breathes out. 

“I know,” Magnus says, a whisper. “I know.” His smile slips; his focus drifts, mapping the graze on Alec’s cheek and the way it snakes up into a bruise darkening his temple.

His fingertips trail up the rise of Alec’s cheekbone, following the curve of his brow, across the bridge of his nose, drawing the lines of Alec’s mask. Sentinel’s mask. Magnus probably has it memorised. 

Alec wouldn’t be surprised. 

“We have a lot to do,” Alec whispers into the shallow space between them, quiet enough that they could both pretend not to hear it, were duty not so loud. “Penhallow, Herondale … I don’t know what Idris will do now. I don’t know whose side they’ll want to be on in the fallout, but we - we need to get ahead of them. We need a plan.” 

Magnus sighs, rolling onto his back. He sinks into the pillows, his neck arched, drawing Alec’s eyes to the bob of his throat as grey light sloshes shadows across his bruises. There are scabs of dark, black blood dried below his ear where chains broke his skin, and Alec -

Alec is possessed by the need to put his mouth there. 

Magnus stretches his arms above his head, tangled fingers knocking against the headboard. He eases tension out of his shoulders, but more floods in; his answering groan is stiff, the line of his mouth pulled down at the corners.  

There is a lot to do. Alec wishes that there wasn’t; he wishes that he were wrong. 

He wishes he could stay here, in this bed, just watching Magnus breathe for the rest of forever, but neither he nor Magnus have forevers to spare. He knows that. He knows Sentinel is needed: there will come a point where Izzy can’t wait any longer and she’ll have to track him down, call him in. Jace will have done something stupid. His mother will have decided enough is not actually enough. 

Another war might have erupted beyond the windows and Alec could be none the wiser. 

That thought alone makes him feel guilty. And guilt, it always itches, like a still-healing scab begging to be picked. He’s never been able to resist the urge to do harm to himself before.

And yet, his eyes are drawn to Magnus’ skin as his robe, untied, slips from his shoulders.  Magnus’ chest is stained with red and purple contusions, a spillage down his sternum and across his rib cage shaped like knuckles and boot prints. The morbid beauty of fresh bruises pulls Alec like a magnet, but it’s the faint ridges of old scars, white like feathers and barely visible across Magnus’ skin, that fascinate him more. 

The press of a knife here. The flash of a burn there. An old puckered wound that looks like the wreckage left behind from a bullet, but it must be years, if not decades, old. Alec feels the ache of it as if it were buried in his own skin - how hollow it is, how sad it is, how acutely he feels the cruel pull of longing tangled up in that same guilt of letting any of this happen to Magnus at all. 

Alec’s fingers twitch the same way they do when he longs to string his bow; again, he needs to touch. He needs to press down upon those bruises and hear Magnus hiss because that means he’s still alive. 

He stares too long. Magnus turns his head and looks at him. It’s not pity that Alec sees in his eyes, but it’s something similar.

“You’re thinking very loudly,” he whispers, brushing his knuckles against Alec’s temple. “What’s going on in there?

Alec’s mouth feels dry. He picks at the bedsheets. “I don’t want to leave,” he admits. It’s not what he means: I don’t want to leave this bed . “But I think I have to.”

“I don’t want you to leave either,” Magnus replies. “I only just acquired you.”

The uncomfortable heat in Alec’s gut squirms. He feels himself flush. 

“I’ll, uh … need to go back to my apartment. Find Izzy and the others. We might have to go back to headquarters. Sort everything out - I dunno.” Alec pauses, his attention flicking to his thumb as he picks at it. He adds, quietly, “There’s probably still people buried in the rubble too. Sentinel could be of help.”

“I’m not going to stop you,” Magnus says. “I’m not going to ask you to stop. I know what you’re like, Alexander, and I know what you need to do and why you need to do it.” He covers Alec’s hand with his, squeezing Alec’s fingers. “But I’ll be by your side every step of the way.”

“As Magnus or as Nightlock?”

“Which would you prefer?”

Alec pushes himself up on one arm and leans over Magnus, bracing his hand next to Magnus’ shoulder; the light is too soft for him to leave a shadow, but he imagines it falling across Magnus’ face all the same. 

“I need them both,” Alec says, “Always will.”

He searches Magnus’ face from the curve of his mouth to the graze across the bridge of his nose that could only have been caused by a leather mask worn for an hour too long. He leans down, and then stops, close enough to feel Magnus’ quiet expulsion of breath against his jaw; he watches Magnus’ eyes darken, the way his focus clings to Alec’s eyes and then flicks to his mouth. 

Slowly, Magnus wraps his hand around Alec’s wrist. A gentle tug, and he pulls Alec closer, close enough to get his hand around the back of Alec’s neck, for Alec’s nose to brush his, and then, he draws Alec’s lips to his. 

Alec sighs into the kiss, the ache in his leg unravelling but condensing in the heat low in his hips. He plants his hand on the other side of Magnus’ head as Magnus deepens the kiss, cradling Alec’s jaw as he slips his tongue into Alec’s mouth. 

And oh, it’s so easy to lose himself to the push and pull of it: the lick of Magnus’ tongue, the pliance of his mouth, the warmth of his palms working at the stiff tendons of Alec’s neck. The sound of the rain beating down outside, the weight of water in the air -

A current, dragging him deeper and deeper underwater until the rest of the world becomes muffled and, in the quiet, all he can hear is the hitch in Magnus’ breath and the swish of silk sheets against skin.

Water ebbs and flows against Alec’s ankles - the tide of duty reminding him that moments for standing still are few and far between - but for a second, caught in the slow lull between riptide waves, time pauses. 

Last night had been too frantic: the beat of his heart climbing the fire escape, his feet swept out beneath him on that balcony, blood weeping from his mangled thigh, and then afterwards, his body too weary to truly grasp the significance of what he has now.

But here, with the seconds slow and languid and heavy where the gold of dawn has been stolen by the rain, Alec breaks the kiss. His mouth is wet and reddened, his face flushed by the heady look in Magnus’ eyes that seems endless. He stares down at Magnus, spellbound, and his stomach clenches as Magnus rubs his thumb back and forth across the skin of Alec’s wrist. 

It’s the only point at which they touch, and yet, Alec feels hands all over him. The familiar pressure in the air, the same thrum that has always stalked Nightlock’s footsteps and lingered in Magnus’ shadow, spreads across him now: an invisible hand stroking up the back of his neck, static electricity sparking against his throat, but this time, it slips inside of him, seeping through his skin. This time, he feels the shifting of space inside his chest. A hum, like a city at night, exists in the centre of him.

Alec’s eyes fall closed. He can picture Nightlock’s palms thrust out against a collapsing building; he can remember the roar of the warehouse falling down on top of them when Magnus was freed from the ropes that bound him to that chair. He can feel the keen tremble of power drawn to Magnus’ fingertips. He knows how Magnus looks when he wants to turn New York to dust and rubble.

But as Alec opens his eyes again, it’s Magnus who stares up at him and Magnus who the morning sweeps across, soft, unblemished, a contradiction that Alec cannot rationalise and yet finds himself drawn to like the centre of a whirlpool.

Alec feels like his arms might give out. He’s weak; his shoulders ache, his wrists wobble. He’s bruised in every place a man might bruise, but Magnus holds him in place with only the sterling look in his eyes.

I need them both. Both Nightlock and Magnus , Alec thinks again, I’m going to need you . That’s always been the case, hasn’t it?

“What is it?” Magnus whispers. He touches the side of Alec’s jaw, and then his fingers drift down, dancing across the divot at the base of Alec’s throat that moves as he swallows.  “What’s wrong?” 

“I - “ Alec begins, but his voice catches and he can’t quite form a word. 

Magnus’s hand drags lower. He splays his palm flat against Alec’s ribs, feeling each and every uncontrolled spasm of muscle beneath his touch.

Colour stains Alec’s face. It’s not something he can control. Magnus doesn’t seem to mind.

He pulls Alec down on top of him, surging up into a kiss. Alec wonders if he’s heavy, but Magnus’ hands tighten on the back of Alec’s neck: closer , he seems to say. You’re not close enough . 

“I’m glad it was you,” he whispers into Alec’s mouth. “ Alexander , I’m so glad it was you.”

It’s too much. Alec’s heart clenches. Eyes screwed shut, he has to grit his teeth to stop some embarrassing noise escaping him, but he grinds down, rocking against Magnus, and he gasps anyway. He’s hard. Alec is too.   

“ Oh ,” Magnus whispers. Alec hears the catch in his throat. He can feel Magnus’ skin thrumming with titinous energy. Currents arc from his fingertips where he slowly grips the bedsheets. 

Alec wants to know this . He wants to learn it. He wants to learn the way Magnus’ power crackles and sputters not when he’s bleeding, but when he’s sprawled across his own bed, sunk into the mattress and breathing deeply, eyes fixed on Alec. 

Alec presses his mouth to Magnus’ throat, and then to the bruises splashed like rainwater across his chest, and Magnus’ body draws taut like a bow. 

Alec kisses the indentation of four knuckles against Magnus’ ribs. The old bullet wound, the slash of a knife just above his hip. The flutter of muscle in his stomach, the trail of coarse hair tickling Alec’s chin.

Alec pushes aside the robe; it slips from Magnus’ skin with water-like ease, but Magnus’ doesn’t try to free his arms. Instead, he watches; he breathes slower; he wets his lower lip with his tongue. He circles his fingers in the air, pushing the sheets down to the end of the bed with a flick of his wrist. 

Alec kisses lower and the heat in his belly flares, burning out the pain and the ache of whatever it is that hangs heavy in his chest. He’s not sure what he’s doing, but his heart is beating fast and frantic like it does when he steps off the edge of a rooftop into the dark and is winded by the plummet before his zipline catches him. His grazes Magnus’ hip with his teeth, not on purpose, but Magnus inhales sharply and his hands falter; he squeezes the back of Alec’s neck and pulls Alec up. Up the bed, up the line of his body, cupping Alec’s unshaven jaw and kissing him earnestly.

“The night,” Alec mumbles, “that I was shot.”

“How could I forget?”

“You saved my life. I could’ve been anyone, but you - you saved me anyway.”

“I did,” Magnus whispers, rolling his hips up when Alec begins to frown, “Oh, come on, you know why. I told you.”

“You said you figured it out after,” Alec says. “Not when I - you didn’t take my mask off, but you could’ve. You could’ve checked to see if you were right. You could’ve checked before I was lying on your couch for three days.”

Magnus rubs his thumb into the creases that form at the corners of Alec’s eyes and between his brows, smoothing them out. His mouth upticks, a wry smile, but in his eyes -

“It wasn’t mine to take.”

In his eyes, tenderness. Only that.

Alec’s head spins. “It’s mine to give now,” he says. “You said - you said before, ages ago, I can’t remember - you said that giving someone your identity is the most dangerous thing you can give. But I - it’s yours. I want you to have it, Magnus. I want you to know.” 

He slides down the bed, slotting himself between Magnus’ legs. Magnus threads one hand into the sheets, the other curling into Alec’s hair, and it’s a present weight, a real weight, and it makes Alec huff against Magnus’ hip.

The rush is making him giddy.

“ Alexander ,” Magnus breathes.

“I don’t really know what I’m doing,” Alec confesses. “Tell me - tell me what you want me to do. Tell me how I can make it good.” 

“Doesn’t matter.” Magnus’ fingers curl and uncurl in his hair; Alec grinds against the sheets. “Anything. Anything .”

Alec tucks a kiss into the hollow of Magnus’ hip, but his hands are less assured, his fingers light on Magnus’ inner thighs. He wonders if Magnus can feel his callouses as he clumsily rids Magnus of his underwear. He wonders if Magnus’ stomach tenses because Alec’s breath tickles his flushed skin or because it’s cold in the room and the downpour still lashes against the window. 

Last time, Alec’s supersuit was between them. Last time, he had his mask, his leathers, the cover of dark; cold stone against his back and rain dripping down his forehead; he could only feel what was in his hand. He could only taste Nightlock’s fervour, his anger.

It was quick and it was dirty and it was done. Alec doesn’t want that this time. He wants to look , he wants to chart each and every ugly bruise and scrape across Magnus’ skin, and not because it’s punishment. 

He wants all of it. All that Magnus will give him. 

He glances up and meets Magnus’ eyes. The hammering of his heart matches the pulse of energy in the air: eddy, leaping static that arcs from Magnus’ fingers as he tosses his head back into the pillows and his arm, thrown above his head, knocks against the headboard.

“Magnus -”

The invisible touch of Magnus’ magic pushes and prods at Alec’s jaw; it skitters, it scampers; and Alec watches as Magnus’ fingers twitch beyond his control.

“Alec,” Magnus presses, impatient but breathless, “ Alexander . You said we have places to be. Are you going to keep staring all morning?”

Alec huffs and bows his head, burying a kiss in the hair below Magnus’ belly button, before brushing his knuckles against Magnus’ bare cock. 

Magnus’ breath catches, his fists clenching in anticipation, his hips canting up off the mattress. An answering rumble starts deep in Alec’s chest - half a laugh and half a groan - as he pushes Magnus back down on the bed and takes him into his mouth and the hot, heavy weight on his tongue is good.

God, it’s really, really good.

“Oh God,” Magnus moans. His mouth is bitten-red and his knees squeeze at Alec’s sides and fuck , it’s too much. It’s too much. Alec grinds down against the sheets, but he’s wound too tight and he thinks he might come just from the way Magnus is laid out in front of him, his head thrown back against the pillows, exposing the line of his throat. Not a single part of him hidden in shadow. 

Alec fixates on the red marks that ring Magnus’ neck. His heart twists; the next grind of his hips into the mattress is almost painful. He immediately takes Magnus back into his mouth, and the ache in his jaw makes his eyes water. 

He needs something he doesn’t have a name for, but it’s urgent and possessive and overwhelming. I’m alive, you’re alive ; the rhythm sounds like a heartbeat. I’m so glad it was you.

Magnus’ hips stutter again. He hitches a leg up over Alec’s hip and his heel digs into the base of Alec’s spine, urging him forward. His hand tightens in Alec’s hair, tugging sharply, moving Alec’s mouth where he needs it. 

And oh, a sharp stinging pain lances through the back of Alec’s head where his skin is still raw, still broken, and he shouldn’t want to chase it, but he does. The dull pulse in his thigh urges him to open his mouth wider, the quiet punctuated by his breathing, by Magnus’ breathing, by the rustle of sheets that sounds like rain. 

“Alec, ah -” Magnus gasps.

Alec has to breathe. He pulls back suddenly, replacing his mouth with the tight grip of his hand, and he knows the sound he makes is far too harsh, too telling. He looks up at Magnus, at the dark bruises that seem only darker with the fine sheen of sweat, and Magnus’ eyes meet his and -

And it burns. It burns like fire, like heat, like rain when it comes down too hard, and Alec feels overwhelmed.

“Alexander,” Magnus breathes. He cups Alec’s cheek, thumbing at the soft skin below Alec’s eyes. “Alexander, look at me.”

Alec’s body is thrumming. Adrenaline tramples through him; he can hear his pulse in his ears. He digs his fingers into the meat of Magnus’ thighs and he licks at Magnus’ cock again, drawing his hand up to meet his mouth.

Magnus hisses, his back arching.

“Too much?” Alec asks, but his voice is hoarse, his throat raw, and as he swipes his hand across his mouth, he smears saliva down his chin. He feels himself trembling.

Magnus lets out a low groan. “Is that even a question?” he manages, teeth clenched as he stares at Alec hotly. “ Alec .”

Alec presses his thumb into a pale purple bruise on Magnus’ hip and Magnus keens, precum leaking onto Alec’s tongue. He curls his tongue to catch it.

“Alec,” Magnus gasps, “Alec, Alec - that’s -”

“Tell me,” Alec rasps, “Please.” 

Please.

Magnus swipes his thumb across Alec’s lip and blood rushes to the touch.

Alec licks at the pad of his thumb. Magnus bites back a soft moan.

“It’s - ah - good. You’re so good, Alexander.”

You’re so good.

Alec’s heart skips a beat; the noise in his head is snuffed out like a candle flame. It vanishes. The rain, the rumble, the ragged rhythm of Magnus struggling to catch his breath, the way Alec can still hear the clang of bullets shattering against metal and fire roaring somewhere in the distance -

Gone.

“Yeah,” Alec breathes. It’s all he knows how to say. He reaches for Magnus’ free hand, and Magnus is quick to lace their fingers together, squeezing tight. “Yeah. I want - I want to see you come.”

That’s not what he means. Maybe Magnus already knows what he means. Maybe Magnus hears him as he wants to be heard: I want to see you. 

Just you. 

In all the ways you’ll give me. In all the ways that there are.

Magnus huffs, drawing their joined hands to his lips so that he can kiss Alec’s knuckles and press his nose to the faded burn scars that cover the back of Alec’s hand.

Alec has to blink back tears again. He doesn’t know why.

(Yes. Yes, you do.)

He takes Magnus back into his mouth and he knows he’s clumsy, he knows it’s messy, but Magnus’ cock twitches and he bites back a gasp, teeth sinking into his lower lip, and Alec did that . 

“Alec, there , yes, that’s good -”

He hardly sounds like himself, breathy, undone, neither Magnus nor Nightlock, but someone else, someone only Alec knows. Drenched in silk and fuzzy grey light, his eyes dazed and bleary at the corners, his mouth pink and slack and falling apart, and real and real and real -

Alec is drunk on it.

And when Magnus comes, it’s more like a soft sigh than a gasp; his knees clench either side of Alec’s ribs but his hand smooths across the back of Alec’s neck, his touch gentle, and Alec knows this isn’t a version of himself permitted to just anyone. It’s too vulnerable for that.

“Alec …”

Alec presses his forehead against Magnus’ stomach, squeezing his eyes closed. His hands are shaking where he grips Magnus’ thighs. He swallows back the taste of Magnus on his tongue. He listens to Magnus catch his breath. 

He feels excruciatingly exposed. More visible than he ever has before, and - 

“Here,” Magnus says hoarsely. “Here, come here.”

He reaches blindly for Alec, dragging him up into a kiss. He palms at Alec’s neck, fingers digging into skin, thumb rubbing tight circles below Alec’s ear, encouraging him, consoling him, deepening the kiss as he licks into Alec’s mouth. Alec’s bruises sing. 

Magnus pushes up off the bed, rolling Alec onto his back, pinning him to the sheets. The air is pushed from Alec’s lungs by the weight of Magnus’ body on his, the slide of Magnus’ knee between his thighs, the way the light illuminates Magnus from above in soft planes of grey as his hand trails down Alec’s bare chest and dips below Alec’s waistband.

Alec tenses as Magnus grips him and coaxes him towards the edge, stroke by steady stroke. Magnus kisses the cut of his jaw, the corner of his mouth, the tops of Alec’s eyelids; he whispers intelligibly in Alec’s ear, praise and reassurance and reverant words that need not be heard to mean everything. He twists his wrist, running his thumb over the head of Alec’s cock, and Alec pulls him frantically closer. 

“I’m so glad it was you,” Magnus whispers .  

It’s more than enough for Alec.

As he comes, Magnus kisses him deeply, wetly, and it’s all Alec can really feel: his mouth, his hands, his power pushing and pulling at Alec’s skin, searching for all the tender spots. And as the haze clears and Alec wraps his arms around Magnus’ shoulders and pulls him down against his chest, all Alec can think is how their bruises, lined up against one another, are the same damn colour.

A lump forms in Alec’s throat. He presses his lips to Magnus’ neck, consoling himself with the flutter of Magnus’ pulse, stronger where his skin is tender.

“Alec,” Magnus whispers against his ear, carding his fingers through Alec’s hair. “Alexander, look at me.”

Alec hums in acknowledgement, pressing his nose into the juncture of Magnus’ neck. He squeezes his eyes closed until he’s sure they’re no longer wet. Then, he pulls back and, faintly, he smiles. “Hey. You okay?”

Magnus runs his thumb along Alec’s temple, curving down across his cheek. He smiles too. “Yes,” he says. ”Yes, very much.”

Magnus rolls off him, sighing as he flops into the mattress. He seems to glow, the familiar shimmer of power clinging to him where sweat does to Alec, and he twists his fingers in the air, guiding the sheets over their legs. His breath slows, each deep pull of air into his chest like a metronome that could lull Alec back to sleep. 

The sound of rain has faded, no longer a downpour. Now, the quiet hiss is almost missable. 

Alec rolls onto his side, his body curved inward. He charts the lines and curves of Magnus’ face in profile: his mouth as it’s parted, his eyes as they open again. 

“What does it feel like?” Alec whispers. He remembers rain, forks of lightning, the way the city looked from the rooftops the first time they kissed. Nightlock’s eyes had seemed so clear.

He remembers the night at Dot’s house, the way Nightlock had leant against his side and rested his head upon Alec’s shoulder as they stared out across the yellow lights of Brooklyn. Alec had asked the same thing then. What does it feel like, being in love?

Now, Magnus’ eyes darken. He remembers too, repeating himself like an echo: “Do you not know?”

Alec’s heart thumps as Magnus reaches out and traces the shape of Alec’s mouth with his thumb. 

The feeling in his chest is incompressible; it won’t be shoved down and ignored. There’s too much of it. Alec has to say something; anything will do. 

“You know, I -” he starts, but his voice is rough in the silence. “That night when I - the first time we kissed. I stopped you because I wanted it to ... be you .” Alec laughs to himself, scrubbing his fingers into his eyes. “God, it sounds so stupid when I say it.”

Magnus curls in closer, rubbing his hand soothingly against the base of Alec’s throat.

“You should’ve said,” he hums, “All those times when we were alone in the office after hours and I could’ve pinned you down on any one of those cutting-room tables, thrown all my paperwork on the floor -”

“Magnus ... ”

“Mm-hm,” Magnus smiles, leaning in to kiss Alec. He doesn’t pull back, his nose nudging against Alec’s. His voice drops to a whisper. “So, breakfast? I can make a mean mimosa, and Heaven knows I’m going to need one today.”

“You might need more than one.”

Magnus scoffs, rolling onto his back and stretching again. He cranes his neck; the red skin pulls taut and he winces, biting the inside of his cheek as he waves his hand above his head. Alec hears the shower turn on in the ensuite. 

“No amount of alcohol will be enough for me to willingly face Idris,” says Magnus, easing himself up against the headboard of the bed. He rolls his shoulders carefully, kneading out the stiffness with his fingertips, and then shrugs out of the robe still tangled around his arms, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. A large purple bruise stains his shoulder blade, snaking down his spine and shadowing each of his vertebrae from the nape of his neck to the small of his back. In places, his skin is broken, sliced by thin red lines that have dried and scabbed over, and Alec extends his hand to touch.

Magnus stills, glancing back over his shoulder, but he says nothing. Alec looks up at him earnestly. 

“I’ll rendezvous with the others first,” he says quietly, running his thumb down the raised ridge of a scar, fascinated by the way Magnus shivers.  

“Delightful,” Magnus mutters, “Idris and Arkangel on the same day? Lucky me.”

Alec rolls his eyes and his hand falls back to the mattress. “You don’t have to come with me,” he says, “I can call you once I know what’s going on, and then we can -”

“You say that like you expect me to believe it,” Magnus says. “I’m going with you.” The sheets fall away from him as he stands, grey light falling in shards across his back. His older scars change from white to silver. 

“Someone has to be there to represent the supers who aren’t ex-Corporate,” he continues. “I care about change and I want to see it happen. I want to see you lead it, Alexander.”

Sentinel’s not a leader , Alec could argue, would’ve argued, once upon a time. He’s a soldier. He’s done nothing to prove his worth like that.

Alec doesn’t say any of it. He doesn’t believe it anymore. 

So, instead, he mumbles, “thank you,” and it makes Magnus’ expression turn soft.

“You don’t need to thank me.”

“But I want to,” says Alec, “It means a lot. You being there. It’s always meant a lot, actually, even if you didn’t really know what you were there for. It made a difference.”

Magnus ducks his head, fighting against a smile. “Well then,” he says quietly, “How about a shower first, before those mimosas. The longer I can keep you to myself and stretch out this inevitable meeting, the better.” He walks towards the ensuite, but stops to look back at Alec over his shoulder. “It’s a large shower,” he adds. “Just so you know.”

Alec trips over the sheets as he stumbles out of bed. Magnus laughs.

Alec has never heard him laugh like that before. 

Freddie Mercury’s voice drifts upwards from Magnus’ car stereo, soft and operatic in a way that blends with the fog that spills through New York’s early morning streets.

The stench of smoke is faint, but it fills the car. For a moment, Alec wonders how much of the fog is fog at all, his temple resting against the passenger window, listening to the rhythm of the rain. Down the river, Brooklyn Bridge is still smoking, a column of grey ash rising into the low-strung clouds; it’s a dirty colour, the sort Alec can taste on his tongue and feel on his skin. 

Absently, he grinds his thumb into his knuckles.  

The windscreen wipers fight a losing battle against the downpour - whitenoise against glass - but the city is silent; they pass a few taxis heading downtown, a patrol car, and a single fire engine, splashing through the puddles that line the gutters, but Alec has never known Manhattan so eerie. 

It almost feels as if the world has stopped. Like New York has slipped a second behind the passage of time, and Alec finds himself moving through that liminal space with a peculiar sort of otherness. Like a man awake when the rest of the world sleeps on; it feels like insomnia.  

A hesitant unease keeps people holed up inside their homes. News helicopters circle overhead like vultures, but there are no airplanes taking off from JFK in the distance. Alec can feel the tension in the air, the clamped mouths and the peeking-through-curtains feeling, and judging by the intensity of Magnus’ stare on the road, he can too.

The quiet lingers. Magnus says nothing and Alec doesn’t dare break it; the entire drive to Alec’s apartment is steeped in grey silence, and Alec watches the sun try and fail to pierce through the clouds. 

By the time they reach Alec’s apartment, it’s closer to midday than dawn; the rain has stopped but the air is wet and cold, and Alec shivers against that near-December feeling of ice forming on his lower lip. There’s caution tape across the single elevator in the lobby, so they’re forced to take the stairs, Alec balancing three boxes of files in his arms, the paper still stinking of stale ash, and Magnus with a duffel bag draped over his shoulder. Alec’s leg creaks and groans like it’s made of metal, his stitches stretching like uncoiled springs, and Magnus pulls a face, his mouth tightening into a thin line, but Alec shakes his head at him: I’m fine, it’s okay. Let’s not make a noise.

Alec fumbles for his keys, kicking aside the pile of unopened junk mail on his doormat, but as he holds open the door for Magnus, he hears the unmistakable track of a TV laugh track. 

Magnus tenses behind him, but Alec sighs, dropping the files to the floor and scrubbing his hand down his face. 

Sprawled across the ugly couch is Jace, his feet draped over the armrest, his boots kicked off and abandoned on the floor. He’s engrossed in the television - and it’s another rerun of Golden Girls , because of course it fucking is - and he has a box of cereal in his lap, which he’s eating by the handful. There are crumbs everywhere, crushed into the cushions, caught in the folds of Jace’s supersuit, but Jace doesn’t seem to notice. 

He’s still in his mask. He’s lost his gloves, but his suit is worn at the knees and poorly scrubbed of dried and flaking blood. There’s a gruesome bruise curling around his eye socket and a graze on his chin, but -

Well, he’s alive. He’s awake , and Alec’s sigh masks his relief, because the last time he saw his brother, he was unconscious and bleeding on the floor. 

But it doesn’t excuse breaking and entering into Alec’s apartment. Alec still has some boundaries.

He kicks the front door shut and Jace looks up from his Cap’n’Crunch-induced coma, a handful of cereal paused on the way to his mouth.

His eyes fall on Magnus. He seems to blink in slow motion, looking at Magnus, and then at Alec, and then down at himself and his dust-covered supersuit. Then, he bolts upright and rips the mask from his face, flinging it across the room with a yelp. The contents of the cereal box go everywhere.

“Alec!” he exclaims, grabbing a pillow to cover himself and drawing his legs up onto the sofa like he’s just been caught lounging naked in Alec’s living room. He’s the worst picture of indifference Alec has ever seen in his life. “You’re back!”

“I definitely didn’t give you a spare key,” Alec says pointedly. He tosses his bow and quiver to the floor and stalks into the apartment: the window is on the latch and two pairs of wings are abandoned on the fire escape - one is Jace’s and the other is the prototype from Izzy’s lab. Alec sighs defeatedly. “Never mind. Where are the others?”

Jace’s eyes dart back and forth from Alec to Magnus. He fixes Alec with a panicked, insistent look. Alec deliberately ignores it.

“I’m here!” comes Clary’s voice from the kitchen as she pops up from behind the counters with a cheery smile and a spatula brandished in her hand. She, too, is still in her suit, but her mask hangs loose around her neck. Purple bruises cover her forehead, masking the dark line of stitches along her hairline, and grey circles of exhaustion are strung beneath her eyes, but there’s light in her again, and Alec is thankful to see it. “Sorry, Alec, Izzy said to just make ourselves at home, so I thought I’d cook breakfast, but you don’t have much in and Jace has already been helping himself, is that -”

She looks to Magnus and she freezes; her mouth falls open, but all that comes out is a prolonged uhhh . Alec can see her brain trying to restart behind her eyes.

“We’ve already eaten,” Alec deadpans. “If I’d known you guys would be breaking and entering, I would’ve stocked the fridge.” He watches as Clary glances at the spatula in her hand, as if she wants to throw it. In case she does, Alec steps around the couch to place Jace in the firing line.

Jace whips around to face him. Cereal crunches under Alec’s boots.

“ Alec ,” Jace grits through his teeth, “Alec, what the Hell, man, we’re still in our -”

“Alec, is that you?” 

Isabelle emerges from the bathroom, head-to-toe in leather and Kevlar. Her usual heels have been swapped for a pair of combat boots; her hair is scraped up into a high ponytail that swings as she walks. There’s a handgun strapped to either thigh and a whip coiled on her hip, but her mouth is painted red with a fresh coat of lipstick and her eyes light up when they land on Alec, and then on Magnus.

“Magnus,” she grins, and she walks straight to him, gripping him by the forearms. 

Beside Alec, Jace makes a sound somewhat like a computer dial-up tone. He might be broken. Alec has to bite his tongue. 

“It’s good to see you,” Izzy continues. “You’ve cleaned up well.”

“As have you,” Magnus replies. He looks Izzy up and down and she preens. “I believe a thank you is in order. Your timely arrival may just have saved our lives the other night.”

“Well, Izzy says gleefully, “If you want the job done right, sometimes you just have to do it yourself.” 

Alec huffs, swiping Jace’s legs from the couch. Jace squawks indignantly, only barely saving himself from being sat upon, but it’s the leather that squeaks as Alec slumps back into the cushions. He pulls a fistful of cereal from under his ass, which he flicks at Jace, before palming at his wounded thigh.

Izzy looks over her shoulder at him, still holding onto Magnus.

“Your leg?” she asks, eyebrows pinching together in concern.

“It’s fine,” Alec grumbles. He stretches out, craning his neck back against the spine of the sofa until it cricks, but it only makes his shoulder twinge. With his head tilted back, Alec notices that Clary still hasn’t moved from the kitchen. Her eyes flick frantically between Jace and Magnus. “What about you?”

“Nothing but a few cuts and bruises,” Izzy says brightly, “Clary’s got a few fractured ribs but we bandaged her up, and Jace slept off his concussion and his wounded ego, so we’re all fit and raring to go.”

“Have you been here all night?” Magnus asks, gently freeing himself from Izzy’s hands, passing his palm across her back to steer her towards Alec. 

“A few hours,” Izzy says. “Headquarters is a war zone at the moment, but we managed to leave without much trouble.” She glances at Alec. “Aline was just about ready to raze the place to the ground and you know what she’s like. Mom and dad weren’t about to cross her because they’d get, well, zapped , so they let her and Helen go back out into the field to pull more people from the rubble at Grand Central.”

Alec frowns at that, but before he can protest, Izzy continues.

“I know it’s not safe, but you try telling Aline that. She’s almost as stubborn as you,” she remarks. “But I managed to get hold of Luke and we’re going to move all my lab equipment to his and Veil’s hideout until I get a new safe house set up, so they’ll rendezvous with us there later. Raj and Lydia too, but we left them at headquarters to keep an eye on things. Turns out Raj can actually be useful, which is good to know.”

She leans over Alec, thumbing at the graze upon his cheek. Alec wrinkles his nose and tries to turn his head away, but Izzy scowls at him and pinches his chin, before reaching into her utility belt for a small silver tin. She drops it into Alec’s hands.

It’s a box of brightly-coloured band-aids. Alec gives her a dirty look that she counters with raised eyebrows and a glare far too similar to one their mother wears when she expects them all to do her bidding. It says, try to argue with me, I dare you .

“And Alec’s coms were off, so I figured the best way to intercept him would be here,” Izzy continues. She glances sideways at Magnus and her smile turns mischievous. “Besides, I wasn’t sure what you’d make of a house call, Magnus.”

“Wait - wait, wait a minute, Iz,” says Jace then, throwing up both his hands. “I’m gonna - everyone needs to slow the fuck down. I’m clearly - I’m missing something here. Why are we all talking about this like there isn’t an elephant in the room?” He gestures flatly at Magnus. “This is - we’re just okay with - with - with this? We’re just telling everyone now? When the Hell did that happen?”

Alec stares at him flatly, and Jace mouths, “ what? ”.  Then, Magnus steps forward and snaps his fingers loudly in the air.

The journey that Jace’s face goes through, as Magnus summons Jace’s mask from the floor and guides it through the air with a flick of his wrist, before dropping it into Jace’s lap, is something Alec will remember for the rest of his life.

In the kitchen, the spatula in Clary’s hand clatters to the floor. Alec rolls his eyes, but Izzy shoots him another look that says, like you can talk . 

“Oh!” Clary exclaims, pressing her hand to her mouth, “Oh my God! You’re Nightlock!” 

“So I’ve heard,” Magnus says, circling his finger in the air as he points at Clary and then at Jace. “Muse,” he announces, “And Arkangel, though your mask does little to hide it, I must say. And -” He points at Alec and smiles knowingly. “My dear Sentinel. And -?”

“As yet undecided,” Izzy says, when Magnus’ finger lands on her. “I’m usually in the chair.”

“Seems like a waste of your abilities, if you ask me,” says Magnus. Izzy beams at him.

Jace doesn’t share the sentiment.

“This is - this is way, way too much information for this fucking early in the morning,” he says, looking down at his mask, before tossing it aside and scrubbing his hands down his face. He drags his fingers over his jaw, eyes still firmly on Magnus, trying to solve a puzzle he cannot piece together.

“First Luke, now this. If there’s anyone else I know who’s secretly a super, Alec, please don’t tell me. I have a concussion, okay?”

Alec exchanges a look with Magnus. They’ll tell him about Simon later. 

Despite his bewilderment, Jace still has the balls to ask Magnus if he’ll help him clean up all the cereal he spilled across the floor, seeing as, in Jace’s words, Magnus is a wizard or something . Magnus laughs brightly and then tells Jace primly, certainly not .

Jace grumbles as he gets down on his hands and knees and starts digging under the couch for Cap’n’Crunch, but Alec can’t relish in it, because Izzy pulls him aside into the kitchen

“Alec,” she says simply, and her smile finishes the unsaid sentence as she wraps her arms around his chest and buries her head beneath his chin. Alec’s ribs pinch and he clenches his jaw as the ache radiates out across his stomach, but his hands find her back and he pats awkwardly at her shoulders.

“You were right,” he finds himself saying, “But if you hold that over me, I will have to kill you.”

“I’d like to see you try, big brother,” Izzy grins as she pulls back. “But you should know I’m always right. Always, always.” 

The way her dark eyes sparkle, she looks so genuinely happy that it touches something in Alec’s chest, a gold spark held against tinder until it catches, simmering outwards into the very tips of his fingers. He shakes his head despairingly and pulls her back into a tight hug. He doesn’t try to fight it.

He hears Magnus laugh again, low and scathing, followed by Clary chiding Jace for lifting up the couch whilst she’s on it. Then, Jace drops the couch on his fingers with a shout and, God, it all makes Alec feel so present.

Here is a moment, locked away from the rest of the world. Here is a moment where he feels warm from the inside out, where he’s no longer drenched in rain, where he’s no longer so fucking cold. The grey clouds beyond the window shield them from the city’s prying eyes. 

Here is Alec and the people who know him as exactly - and only - that. 

He feels his heart taking root in his chest. Izzy squeezes his hand and it’s like -

It’s like he feels it for the very first time, like he’s been numb and everything’s been blurry ‘til now, but fuck, he’s not numb anymore. The body he occupies is more a home than it is the weapon that Idris tried to make him into.

Well, fuck them , he thinks, surprising himself. Fuck them, they didn’t succeed. Not this time.   

Clary grabs a piece of cereal and flicks it at Jace but he catches it in his mouth with unrivalled ease and grins at her. Magnus shoots Alec a look from across the room that says, and you pulled me out of bed for this?

Here is a moment, on the brink of uncertainty, where Alec feels at peace.

“I managed to grab one of your spare suits, by the way. I hung it up in your room,” Izzy says then, looking up at him. When Alec raises his eyebrows, she adds, playfully, “What? I saw the state of you last night and I’m sure as Hell not letting you go out in my gear looking like that . I have a reputation to uphold. And, besides, I wasn’t sure how much of that suit would come back with you from Magnus’, if you know what I mean-”

“Isabelle,” Alec warns her. She grins at the colour that creeps up his neck and stains the tips of his ears, and moves to tease him, but then Jace calls out.

“Hey, Alec, Iz, looks like NBC is broadcasting the press conference from headquarters,” he says, reaching for the remote to turn up the volume on the TV. “That’s major. The whole country’s gonna see it, look.”

Alec follows Izzy over to the TV, falling into parade rest with his hands clenched behind his back. Beside him, Magnus folds his arms across his chest, and Jace joins Clary, perched on the edge of the couch, scowling as the news anchor says, “ We’re interrupting this broadcast to bring you breaking news, live from New York City. ”

The camera cuts to live footage from the front steps of Idris. The broken bottles and trampled placards have been swept away; any sign of Jace’s blood from the night before is long gone and long hidden. 

Standing tall and proud behind a podium is Maryse. Her hair is pulled back against her head and the colour of her slate-grey dress matches the colour of the building behind her, harsh and austere like stone. She is every bit as formidable as she needs to be, but even at a distance, Alec can see in her eyes that she didn’t sleep last night. 

On her right is Robert, forever her palid shadow, and on her left is Victor, mask-on and sling-free, though from the way he holds his arm to his chest, he must be gritting his teeth through the pain.

“Oh, this is not gonna be good,” Jace remarks. “Maryse doesn’t usually do this herself. I guess she really wants to throw us to the wolves, huh?”

Izzy shushes him as Maryse begins to address the crowd of reporters. 

“ Ladies and gentlemen of the media, thank you very much for your presence here this morning,” she says as she scans the crowds. “It is with great sorrow and sympathy that I address you today, while our beloved city is still grieving the loss of many civilian lives. Such heinous crimes as these are direct threats to the stability, the sustainable development, and the security of our great city, and it must be reiterated that public safety remains Idris’ top priority in these trying times. ”

She finds the camera and looks directly down the lens and it’s almost as if her eyes lock with Alec’s and she knows he’s there, halfway across the city and watching her now. He grips his own fingers tightly, squeezing until his knuckles hurt.  

“ We can announce that a team of specialist armed operatives from Idris successfully detained the group of radicals responsible for the terror attacks on the night of Saturday, November 21st. Multiple suspects were shot and killed at the scene, including Valentine and Johnathan Morgenstern, believed to be responsible for the series of recent homicides targeting undocumented supers, as well as the attacks at Grand Central, 1 Police Plaza, Brooklyn Bridge, and the Penhallow building on Saturday night. The successful neutralisation of the threat was the result of ongoing efforts by Idris to apprehend these two individuals where both NYPD investigations and political sanctions have failed. 

We can confirm that this was an isolated incident orchestrated by a small faction of political extremists, and such actions do not and must not represent the views of those amongst us with superhuman abilities. We strongly condemn this terrorist attack and are striving for unprecedented transparency in this incident. Because of this, Idris will continue to cooperate with the New York City Police Department and the government as they conduct their investigations into the attacks. 

I am also pleased to announce that we were able to dispatch Idris operatives to all four scenes on the night of November 21st, thanks to continued public funding and support of our enterprise. Our teams were able to assist emergency services in rescuing civilians, and even as I speak, we have operatives at Grand Central Station assisting the valiant efforts of the New York Fire Department in locating those still trapped underground. We will continue to provide support today, and over the next few weeks, as we begin our recovery. 

Idris is deeply committed to making sure that we are a platform for action to repair broken trust between the supers of this city and its people. I will not be taking any questions at this time as the President has asked for a personal briefing at the White House, and I will be flying out alongside Senator Jia Penhallow and Commissioner of the NYPD, Malachi Dieudonné immediately. Thank you very much for your attention. ”  

Jace slumps back onto the couch and exhales loudly. “Well, they’ve sure changed their tone since yesterday. Jesus fucking Chris, I can’t believe this. Lying through their fucking teeth.” 

Clary gestures angrily at the TV; her nose is scrunched and her face is furiously red. “Maryse tried to stop us investigating Valentine at every turn, and now she’s pretending like it was her plan all along,” she snaps. “She’s taking credit for what we did, for what Alec, Luke and Veil did! How is that fair -”

“It’s not fair, but it’s smart,” says Izzy, glancing sideways at Alec. “It’s the quickest way to save Idris’ reputation and not be caught in the crossfire of whatever Penhallow plans to do next. If Idris caught the bad guy, there’s no way they can be bad guys too.”

“And yet, Idris may just have done us an accidental favour,” Magnus remarks. He summons the remote from Jace’s hand and mutes the television, before turning towards Alec. “Penhallow was quick to blame these attacks on vigilantes, but what Idris has said contradicts that. They were very clear about Valentine’s involvement; they called him a radical, and extremist. They distanced him from themselves, but also from everyone else.” 

Izzy’s eyes go wide. “Do you think it was deliberate? Alec?”

Alec swallows thickly, but his mouth is dry. His eyes remain fixed on the TV screen as the camera follows Maryse as she retreats from the podium and the reporters all clamour with questions, thrusting out their dictaphones. The broadcast cuts back to the news anchors in the studio and the rolling banner across the bottom of the screen summarises Maryse’s speech.

‘Private security firm, Idris, apprehends suspects in New York City terrorist attacks following investigation; blame NYPD and government inaction for escalation of violence. Idris to brief the President at the White House. More to follow.’

“I don’t know,” Alec murmurs, finally looking away. “I don’t know if it’s deliberate. Aligning Idris with the vigilantes interests seems -”

“Like a risk?” Izzy guesses. “Like they’ve hedged their bets and decided to go with whatever improves their public approval rating the most?”

Alec shakes his head. “It seems strange,” he says. “There must be something we’re not-”

But maybe , he thinks, and he can picture his mother and the edge of fear that had appeared in her eyes when he walked out of that briefing room and didn’t look back. Maybe, she heard you. Maybe, this time, something you said made it through.

Alec waits for the numb and blurry feeling to descend upon him, but it doesn’t come. He waits for his skin to prickle and his stomach to twist into knots and for that indelible itch to beg him to sink his nails into himself and scratch, but -

Nothing. No whitenoise in his head, no downpour to drown out his thoughts. His heart beats a steady and unperturbed rhythm inside his chest. 

Then, a gentle touch to his arm. Alec looks down at the hand pressed against his forearm, the thumb rubbing circles into the crook of his elbow, and then he looks up, and finds Magnus staring back at him, a soft smile catching the corner of his mouth.

The air pressure shifts around them. Static electricity seeps into Alec’s skin, but rather than run rampant through him, it leaves him feeling resolved. 

Magnus squeezes Alec’s arm before turning back to the others. “Regardless, it gives us a chance,” he says plainly. “New York remains divided and we can use that to our advantage. Penhallow will struggle to push Herondale’s bill through the Senate if half the city believes that it was supers who stopped the attacks, when the police could not. Of course, she will still try, and we don’t know how far Valentine’s whispers have travelled, but now we have breathing room.” 

“Breathing room for what, exactly?” Jace frowns. “We have no idea what’s gonna happen next, but we sure as Hell know it’s gonna be messy. The Circle was a lynchpin in New York, we all know that. Everything’s gonna fall apart now. How do we prepare for that?” He gestures crudely to Alec and then to Magnus. “It’s not like this is something we can fix with a bow and arrow or the power to move shit with our minds. No offense.”

“I have a few ideas about that,” says Magnus. He steps away and comes back with one of his boxes of files in his hands, which he places on the kitchen counter. He pulls out a few folders and flips them open, before looking up. 

And there’s something about him now - the way he stands with his palms spread on the counter top, or maybe just the immovable look in his eyes - that reminds Alec specifically of the way he has always looked behind his desk in his office, with articles and photographs and an undaunted vision strewn out before him, tied together in only a way he can see.

It’s the look of a man who knows what must be done. Alec is forever grateful for it.

“Oh?” says Izzy, following Alec as he crosses the room to Magnus’ side. “I’m all ears. Especially if there’s political subterfuge involved. Or espionage. I love espionage.” 

Magnus spins one of his folders to face her. Alec recognises the looping scrawl inside as that of Ragnor Fell.

“All this time, we’ve been trying to change the way the public sees supers and vigilantes from the ground up,” says Magnus, “Which is all well and good, and it works ... to an extent. Battling the slander in the press, dismantling Corporate institutions like Idris, yes, it’s noble. Yes, it was necessary. But we need to think bigger. We need to go above the Senate. We need to let them know that people with powers are a very real part of the world now and we will not be their scapegoats for prejudice and diatribe.”

“What do you have in mind?” Clary asks, twisting around to look at Magnus. Jace, too, has his arms folded on the back of the couch and is listening intently to what Magnus has to say.

Magnus clears his throat pointedly. “I had a friend,” he says, but then he hesitates, closing his eyes and exhaling through his nose. His fingers arch on the countertop. “Ragnor Fell. He was a Manhattan Assistant District Attorney. Prolific. Prosecuted a number of high-profile civil rights cases and discrimination lawsuits. He was - he was always very vocal about his support of superhuman rights.”

Magnus smiles to himself, shaking his head.

“He never passed up an opportunity to complain about it all, of course. He was grumpy and disagreeable at the best of times and he hated the attention but -” Magnus meets Alec’s unwavering stare and doesn’t look away. “Before Ragnor was murdered by the Circle, he had begun an investigation into Senator Herondale and her efforts to propose her registration bill to the Senate.” Magnus gestures sweepingly at the files spread across the countertop. “He left these to me in his last will and testament. It’s years, if not decades of research, everything from campaign records to indictment statistics on anti-super hate crimes to every single newspaper clippings mentioning Valentine Morgenstern from the last fifteen years. And for a long time, I thought he left me these so that I could catch the Circle. I think I was only half right. 

Izzy flicks through the folder in front of her, scanning each page with immutable focus. Rather than trying to read over her shoulder, Alec watches the flickering of her eyes from each word to the next, and he sees the moment when realisation dawns on her.

“This is the beginning of a class action lawsuit,” she says in awe, and then begins reading: “‘ Against the City of New York for systematic and unconstitutional discrimination and persecution of superpowered humans ’. Oh. This could go straight to the Supreme Court.”

“Yes,” says Magnus with a nod. “Exactly. But it would’ve been impossible to take to trial, not with the existence of Corporates as they were. Not with institutions like Idris rounding up vigilantes on the street at the behest of those with deep pockets. Any half-decent prosecutor would be able to point at Idris and argue its existance disproves any accusations of systemic discrimination, because how could a government discriminate against supers when it works so closely with them? All bullshit, of course, but you get the picture.”

“Well,” says Clary, piping up, “All that about Idris, that’s not true anymore.”

“Indeed, it’s not,” Magnus murmurs. He’s still looking at Alec, unmoved and unwavered, and the sharpness in his eyes is so intense, so disarmingly truthful, that it pierces Alec right through the chest, following the old path of a bullet. Alec lets it. Hell, he longs for it. He wants to be the man standing alone in the spotlight that Magnus casts.

“With Idris dissolving, Corporates and vigilantes can finally work together. New York may be split in its opinions, but its supers are not,” continues Magnus. “The vigilantes of this city respect Alec. They respect Sentinel. They know him, they’ve heard of his good deeds, and they know he doesn’t stand for Idris. He hasn’t for a while. The fact that both Wolfsbane and Nightlock have been seen to trust him means a lot. And if we say we’re going to push for an actual civil suit to protect vigilante rights, I think we might have more support than we expect. There are friends in high places who have yet to crawl out of the woodwork.”

“Yeah, okay, that all sounds well and good and a great ending to some feel-good John Hughes movie,” says Jace, “but how, exactly, are we gonna pull something like this out our asses? This city literally hates us, it doesn’t matter if we’ve got every super on side or not. We don’t have Idris’ legal department anymore. It’s us. Only us. I don’t know shit about preparing a lawsuit. Hell, me and Iz are technically unemployed now, what can we even do -”

Magnus scowls at him, drumming his fingers against the counter top. “It will take a lot of work,” he says sourly, “There’s only so much I’ve been able to prepare so far and there’s a long way to go. It’s an uphill battle, albeit one which I am perfectly familiar with, and I know firsthand how difficult it is to make people see that it’s not some faceless entity or someone else’s poor choices killing superheroes in the streets, but their neighbours, their colleagues, their friend. Their governments. All real people who have very real faces, but who can be held accountable. The press for its apathy, and the police for never prosecuting anyone, and the politicians for their willingness to let violence like this slide just because the victim was a super. It’s necessary. Ragnor had a number of contacts we could approach, of course …”

Magnus trails off, pressing his mouth into a tight line as he rubs his fingertips together anxiously. Izzy glares at Jace, and Jace throws both his hands up in a motion of surrender, but something solidifies in Alec’s chest, sliding into a space that has been left long vacant for a while now.

“It will take a lot of work,” says Alec, and even to his own ears he sounds resolved in a way that might once have terrified him, but now -

It feels right , now, to have all the eyes in the room on him, waiting on his next word. 

Alec takes a deep breath. It trembles just a bit.

 The corner of Magnus’ mouth turns upwards.

“It will take a lot of work, Alec says, standing tall and resting his hands on his hips. “Yeah, some people do hate us. Some people want us dead just because we’re different, but that’s nothing new. Not for me. Not for any of us. And maybe some of those same people are the ones who we’ve pulled from burning buildings before, or who Aline and Helen might be digging out of Grand Central right at this moment, but -” 

He looks at Magnus but sees Nightlock. He remembers a night and the drizzle and the city expanding out before them as some limitless, endless sheen of blue, and Nightlock’s words, much like these. 

It’s our duty.

“But we have powers, powers that mean we have a responsibility to help people. That’s not something we get to walk away from. Supers need our help and we can give it. For me, it’s as simple as that. And, the way I see it -”

He stops himself to take a look around the room. Jace and Clary stare back at him, bright-eyed and reckless, simmering to sit still, always ready to leap into the fray, to rally to whatever cause Alec might have for them. 

Magnus stops drumming his fingers on the counter, but there’s something about the way he stands that makes Alec wonder just how much is crackling beneath his skin, waiting to burst free; and then, when Alec doesn’t immediately continue, Izzy reaches out and squeezes Alec’s palm. She nods her head at him.

This is what we have to do.

“Magnus is right,” Alec says. “Maybe fighting crime, maybe doing what is right doesn’t always mean upholding the law. Maybe it means doing what is difficult, knowing that it’s going to suck, but you still have to do it -”

“Maybe,” Magnus interrupts, “if we have the chance to make a difference for everyone , we should seize it.”

There’s a beat of silence in which Alec can’t look away. Not that he wants to; the sky might be grey and tumultuous beyond the window, but even the flat light catches in Magnus’ eyes and makes them glint. He’s emboldened and he’s dangerous and there’s always been something about the way he looks on the cusp of an idea that makes Alec think he would swallow the city whole to see it through to the end.

It’s what Alec loves about him. In all the versions of himself, it’s the one thing that stays the most the same.

He knows the cost of being a hero. He does it anyway. 

“Well, when you put it like that,” Jace says with an easy shrug, before flopping back onto the couch. “Guess you can count me in. I’m always up for a good fight.”

Restless anticipation wriggles its way into Alec’s skin: it’s a familiar itch, crawling up his arms with unnatural slowness, made only worse having to wait for the cover of night to arrive. 

He stands at the window, arms folded across his chest, and Manhattan stretches out long and thin in front of him, wreathed in grey. The cold seeps in through the thin glass; he taps his fingers against his elbow to keep his blood circulating. A CNN helicopter circles over the bay and Alec watches it complete rotation after rotation, feeling it wind his insides up in much the same way.

It’s not fear. Not this time. Not completely.

It’s the impatience; the waiting; the way Clary points out that it’s stupid for all of them to go running off into the city in broad daylight when the entire NYPD will be looking for them, but Alec still wants to go. 

God, he wants to be out there. His shoulder feels bare without his quiver; he misses the squeak of leather as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. 

In his hand, he imagines a door handle, finally within reach, but he has to wait to open it. And behind him, another door, and another; infinite doors, and the urge to step through one and face what lies beyond is unignorable. 

But he can barely put weight on his leg and behind him, Magnus and Izzy are crowded around the kitchen counter, heads bowed and talking in low, hurried voices. 

The clouds glow faintly yellow where the sun, still hidden, remains too high in the sky. Sunset is a while away. Alec scratches at his palm with his nails. The itch doesn’t leave him be.  

He wonders if his mother would be proud of him, in some twisted way. If she would see him taking charge, at last, and nod her head in that slight way of hers that forgoes words but speaks volumes. 

The desire to be seen is a strange one. Alec has rarely lingered in it. Sentinel, less so. 

But here, now, he wants people looking at him. He wants to make a noise and attract attention and show people, no. No, we can’t keep going like this. There has to be change.

In the reflection in the window, Alec’s eyes fall on Magnus’ back.

There has to be change , he thinks again. But you’ve known that for so long already.

On the couch, Jace, with his head laid on Clary’s lap, announces that they should get food, “ seeing as we’re gonna be sat here on our asses all afternoon ”. He and Clary argue about takeout - it’s their usual shtick and it’ll eventually be Jace who compromises with a fond roll of his eyes - but Alec lets it wash over him, pulling in a deep steadying breath. He allows himself one more look out the window and retreats to the kitchen to gather takeout menus from the drawer. 

They eat around Alec’s television, cross-legged on the floor, and it takes Alec back to a time when they were a lot younger than they are now: him and Jace and Izzy, tired and sweaty after training, or rain-soaked and barely back from a mission, or even curled up on the foot of Izzy’s bed, Jace telling Izzy tall and ridiculous stories while Alec would try not to hear their parents arguing in the other room. 

Some things change. Others stay the same.

A fuzzy film murmurs in the background, the dialogue too soft to make out, bleeding into ambient noise that sounds more or less like the colour grey. 

Jace scarfs down an entire container of rice, shovelling it into his mouth like he hasn’t eaten in days (and probably, he hasn’t), and Izzy pulls a face and Clary rolls her eyes at him, and it all feels -

Not quite familiar, but suspended in this stillness that seems unreal. And Alec can’t shake the thought that they’re all perched on borrowed time, counting down the minutes until this moment is pulled out from beneath their feet like the rest.

Alec’s stomach growls but he leaves half a carton of dim-sum untouched on the floor. He watches Magnus push dumplings around his plate, a frown sewn into his brows, and Clary, strangely silent, begins fiddling with the ink in her gloves, rubbing her fingers together until they’re splotched with black. Jace’s eyes flash to the window as if he keeps catching lightning strikes that no-one else can see, but Alec watches him bristle each and every time, like he’s eager to strap on his wings and jump out in the storm.

Shortly before dusk, Izzy’s coms buzz with a call from Luke. She paces around the room as she talks to him, her words quick and fast and barely-whispered, but Alec catches the gist of her conversation: Raj and Lydia have finished moving her equipment to Luke’s hideout and are waiting for them there; Luke’s feeling rough but healing well and already back on his feet; and Veil is, as Alec could’ve guessed, pissed about sharing her space with a bunch of Corporates.

Ex-Corporates. Whatever. Alec doesn’t think the distinction matters much to her. 

“Alright,” says Izzy, tapping her coms and settling her hands on her hips. Behind her, the blues and purple of a creeping night have begun to settle, and the city glints with specks of neon that set her in silhouette against the window. An infinitely-midnight blue sticks to the edges of her leather jacket, shimmering with the rain that still streams from the gutters above and cascades down the glass. 

“Raj and Lydia are finished at HQ and it sounds like they’ve managed to grab pretty much everything but the kitchen sink,” she says, “Apparently mom and dad are pretending like nothing happened last night, but didn’t stop Lydia and Raj from leaving and Lydia doesn’t think they were followed either. She spoke to Underhill and he’s going to cover for us and make sure Victor doesn’t try and sell us out. Aline and Helen are going to catch up after dark. I’ve put Luke in touch with them.”

“Good,” says Jace, cracking his neck. The bruises on his face have begun to turn yellow and brown. “Is time to gear up? I swear to God, I’m this close to going crazy if I have to sit in front of this TV any longer.”

Clary hauls Jace to his feet and they go to retrieve Jace’s wings from the fire escape where the rain beats into the steel with a snare-like rhythm, tinny and echoing. Magnus gathers his suit and mask from the bag he dropped by the door and meets Alec’s eyes with an unreadable look. He tilts his head towards Alec’s bedroom and disappears through the door. 

Alec moves to follow him, but then Izzy steps into his path.

“Alec,” she says with a disarming smile.

“Isabelle,” he replies, flat, but his attention flicks towards his bedroom door. Izzy notices. “You, uh - said my spare suit was hung up in my room?”

She grins at him. “You’re really going to give me nothing?” 

“There’s nothing to say. We talked,” Alec shrugs, “It’s complicated, but - “ I see him. He sees me . “It’s going to work out.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Izzy beams, “I think he brings out the best in you.”

“You hardly know him.” 

“I know him plenty,” she retorts, flipping her ponytail over her shoulder. “I’ve been in your ear all this time, Alec. I’ve heard you talk about him, how you talk around him, whether that’s Magnus or Nightlock. You sound like you. And besides, I’ve seen the way you can’t take your eyes off him when he’s in the room. It’s like he’s magnetic.”

Alec shrugs again. “I guess he is.”

Izzy’s smile only broadens and she pinches his arm. “How did he react when he found out it was you?”

“He, uh. He already had a suspicion.”

“Of course he did,” Izzy says, looking back over her shoulder towards the door. Her expression is tender and Alec wonders if that’s how he looks when he’s looking at Magnus. “We’re lucky to have him, Alec. Not just because he went after Jace and Clary and probably saved their lives the other night, and not because he’s been working this Circle case for longer than all of us put together, and not because he’s stupidly powerful and we would be absolutely fucked if he wasn’t our friend -”

She reaches into her utility belt to grab something - a small slip of black leather - which she holds out to the space between them. It’s a mask, a new mask, clean and undamaged and Sentinel and Alec .

“We’re lucky to have him because he met you . Sometimes I don’t even get to see that.”

Carefully, Alec takes the mask from her hands. “I should go get changed.” 

“There’s a fully stocked quiver and a new bow on your bed,” Izzy replies. She pulls a second mask from her belt, identical to Alec’s in each and every way, and presses it over the bridge of her nose. Her dark eyes catch the light of the city through the windows, both beautiful and deadly, as she always has been, for as long as Alec can remember.

It makes Alec smile. He reaches up and taps on her mask, square between her eyebrows.

“You’re going to need a name,” he says. 

“I have a few ideas in mind,” she replies with a grin.

As Alec steps into his room, slipping silently through the door, he spots, first, the bow and full quiver resting against his headboard. His bed is in disarray, the sheets crumpled and the pillows scattered, one fallen to the floor; it strikes him that the last time he was here was days ago and he must’ve left in a hurry. 

Then, his eyes fall on Magnus: he’s already half-dressed, but the top half of his supersuit hangs around his waist, the sleeves dangling against his thighs. A thin undershirt covers the bruise Alec knows snakes up his spine, and in his hands, already gloved, he holds out his coat, shaking it free of wrinkles. 

On his lips, a hum. Alec doesn’t recognise it, but it’s both tuneless and soft and, somehow, the intimacy makes Alec’s skin tingle. He casts his eyes deliberately to the floor and nudges the door closed with his hip. Maybe he should’ve knocked -

Magnus doesn’t react. He must know Alec is there, but he finishes laying his coat out on the bed and then summons his mask, placing that on the sheets beside it. Then, he steps back, crossing his arms over his chest, and runs his thumb along his lower lip in thought. 

Alec watches him all the while.

The lines are blurred. Here is Magnus, one foot in Nightlock and one out, half-disguised and stood in some commonplace between the two parts of himself. A transition state, a coming and a going. It feels vulnerable. Like a second that stretches on too long and needs to pass and Alec shouldn’t be here, staring, but he is.

He can no longer divide Magnus from Nightlock, nor or Nightlock from Magnus, but it doesn’t take him by surprise.

Instead, a moment of recognition; a soft and fanfareless realisation of something that has been inside him for a long time now, arriving instead like the rain, which hesitates in the air long before falling.

Magnus glances up and finds Alec’s eyes already upon him and, for a second, there is only silence, expansive and fortuitous.

“Hey,” Alec says, and he finds his voice is rough. “Can I come in?”

Magnus raises an eyebrow. His eyes are dark, but his mouth curves upwards, and his focus flicks down and then rises slowly up the length of Alec’s body. 

“Looks like you’re already here,” he says simply, and then he turns back to his suit, sliding his arms into the sleeves and pulling the leather up over his strong shoulders. 

Alec follows the muscles shifting in Magnus’ back, and then he blinks, warmth rising up the back of his neck. He shakes his head and crosses the room to the closet and pulls out the clean suit Izzy promised would be there too.

He runs his fingers over the stiff leather and the uncracked Kevlar, listening to the rustle of Magnus behind him, and quietly begins unbuttoning the shirt Magnus lent him, letting it drift to the floor. He steps out of his jeans and into his suit with flushed efficiency, buckling his belt and yanking the zip up the front of his chest and clicking the clasps into place. 

And then, with his gauntlets and his chest guard and his mask cradled in his arms, he turns to Magnus and he lets himself be seen as Magnus does: a person on a bridge halfway between two clear countries - an intermittency, a transience - and yet still whole.  

Somehow, it feels more, now, like peeling back his skin and showing someone else what his insides look like than it did last night on Magnus’ balcony, or this morning in his bed. This, here, is different. This is where his tendons lie and his muscles flex, where a knife could be jammed to cause the most amount of damage to the fragile balance he has found between the two parts of himself.

And yet, it no longer feels like he’s been unmade.

He stands stock still and watches Magnus; he watches the way Magnus’ jaw works and his throat moves as he swallows; he watches the way a glaze passes across his eyes before he shakes free of it and meets Alec’s stare wordlessly. Like he knows. Like he already knows all the things tumbling around inside Alec’s head with just one look and he accepts it and he welcomes it, and it’s enough for Alec to draw in a short sharp breath.

Magnus curls his fingers in the air and Alec’s mask rises from his arms; it shifts and moves in the space in front of him as Magnus turns it over and distorts the leather with an invisible touch. It slips across Alec’s eyes with ease; the leather fits snugly against the curves of his face as if it were a second skin.

Then, with another twist of his hand, Magnus summons his own mask and he brings it to his face and, rather than skin, it’s more like shadow, though it’s a darkness Alec can see right through.

Nightlock, but Magnus. Alec’s breath catches, but he finds he doesn’t have a name for it, the feeling that suddenly fills his chest. Not everything needs to have a name , he supposes. 

Magnus shrugs into his coat, brushing lint from his lapels and straightening his cuffs. Alec has never seen it under light before - not light that isn’t made of phosphorus or argon - and it’s colour is deep, deep red, halfway between burgundy and blood.

It fits. Everything fits.

And then Magnus steps close to him, taking Alec’s gauntlets from his hands, an eyebrow raised.

Let me , he says, but it’s left silent.

He takes Alec by the wrist as he slides one leather gauntlet onto Alec’s arm, and then the other, the trail of his fingertips fastening all the buckles and causing Alec’s breath to stutter. But as he lashes Alec’s chest plate around his shoulders, one hand pressed to Alec’s sternum to hold him still, the air is pushed from Alec’s throat and he has to speak.

“Magnus -”

“Yes?

“Are you scared?”

“Am I scared?” Magnus repeats, not looking up as he focuses on the lacing of Alec’s armour. Alec shifts his weight from foot to foot, and then Magnus adds,

“Would it make you feel better if I told you that I was terrified?”

“I dunno,” Alec says, “Maybe.”

“Are you ?”

“Yeah.”

Magnus’ eyes flick up. “What of?”

Even through his armour, Alec can feel the weight of Magnus’ hands against his chest, Magnus’ palms flush against Kevlar but the static creeping through. .

“Failure, mostly,” he admits, “All that stuff that we said out there … I believe in it, I do, but I guess I’ve learned that that isn’t always enough. It’s like Jace said. This is big, bigger than us. We don’t know how Idris is going to react. We don’t know what Penhallow will do.”

“No, we don’t.”

“It feels like … it feels like we’re in the dark. Actual dark. Not like -” Alec waves his hand towards the window and the encroaching twilight. “Not like out there. Even when it’s the middle of the night, you can still always see what’s right in front of you, but this …” Alec hesitates, gritting his teeth. “I know what we need to do and I want to do it, but I don’t know if it’ll work out and, sometimes, I don’t know how not to let that get the best of me.”

Magnus’ hands sweep upwards and he presses his thumbs to the divot at the base of Alec’s throat. He pushes down with just enough pressure for Alec to feel it, both tender and forceful, a weight enough to ground him and remind him of his breathing and how it’s catching.

“So let it get the best of you,” says Magnus. He leans forward; the smell of him fills Alec’s nose: sandalwood and leather and that taste of ozone that both precedes and follows rain.

He pushes into Alec’s space, his hands crushed between them. His eyes look darker behind his mask, more dangerous, more purposeful, and it makes heat ignite in Alec’s gut. 

“I have seen the best of you ,” Magnus whispers, twisting the words and rearranging them against Alec’s ear. “It’s extraordinary. Everything else pales in comparison.”

Alec huffs, but he brings his hands up to cup Magnus by the elbows. His shoulders graze the closet door, the handle nudging him in the small of his back, and he can feel Magnus pushing him to take that last step backwards. He holds his ground as long as he can, but the clench of his stomach and the tightening in his chest are both enough to squeeze a confession from his lips.

“There’s this thing that you do,” Alec mumbles, “This power you have that makes you look indestructible.”

“You know that’s not true.”

“I do, but-” replies Alec, “But, even then … there are times when I’m not so sure.”

That night, in the alleyway, when you saved me from Johnathan Morgenstern and stopped fire with your bare hands , he thinks. In the warehouse, when you threw Valentine against the ceiling like he was nothing and could’ve razed the city to the ground. In the kitchen just now, when we were scrabbling for a plan and you laid one out in front of all of us, because you’ve been readying it all along.

And right here, in this moment .

“Alexander-”

“I love you.”

There’s no masking it. It falls from Alec’s lips like truth. It is truth.

(Alec is so much better at telling those now.) 

Magnus blinks; his fingers dig into Alec’s chest. Breathlessly, he whispers, “What?”

“For a while now,” Alec explains hastily, “As Magnus, as Nightlock, separate, together, I dunno, I don’t even know if it matters anymore. I’m still trying to figure it out and it’s confusing, but. But I want you to know. I couldn’t’ve done any of this without you. So, as long as you’re here, fighting this fight, then I’m here too. Magnus, I love you . ”

And then Magnus makes this noise - a sharp intake of breath that Alec only hears because his heart has stopped beating - but it’s the noise of a desperate man, a wounded man, a man who -

A man who knows how to piece himself together after the rest of the world has tried so insistently to pull him apart.

He presses himself against Alec, shoving him back against the closet door, strong fingers gripping the back of Alec’s neck, sinking into the knobs of his spine. He touches Alec in a place no-one but him has ever touched Alec before. He kisses Alec world-endingly.

And Hell, maybe the world might end, maybe that’s one of the futures that stretches out before them, one of the doors Alec could open, but as long as Magnus’ lips are on his, Alec doesn’t need to know why.

“Magnus -” he whispers, but he doesn’t get far. 

Electricity jumps and hisses and sparks at Alec’s throat, his jaw, his grazed and healing cheek, alight upon his nerves. He grips Magnus tight, digging his thumbs into the soft spots at Magnus’ elbows until he’s sure he stops the flow of blood.

Magnus’ mouth is hard and fast. His tongue, his teeth, his breath so hot and wet. Alec allows himself to be molded by it - for Magnus to take what he needs to take, and give what he wants to give - in the knowledge that he will still be the same person, the same Alec , when Magnus pulls back to give him room to breathe.

And when Magnus does pull back, it’s not far, his forehead falling against Alec’s, his mask against Alec’s, fraught breath shared in the blunt space between them. Magnus doesn’t open his eyes immediately, savouring the rise and fall of his chest, but when he does, it’s like he sees straight into Alec’s wildly-beating heart, and perhaps, he’s talking to it too.

“I love you too, Alexander,” he says. He runs his fingers up through Alec’s hair, catching in the knots. “More than I can fathom, and I can fathom a great many things. I’m a man who can move things with his mind after all. This … you … it’s beyond reason, but given the life we live and the choices we’ve made, I dare say it has to be.”

“I can live with that,” murmurs Alec, nudging his nose against Magnus’. He presses his lips softly to the corner of Magnus’ mouth and feels Magnus draw himself ever closer. “Besides, we’re a team. No matter what happens. No matter how ridiculous or difficult it gets, I’ve got your back. No matter what.”

“Partners in crime,” Magnus laughs under his breath. He rubs his thumb in a smooth circle behind Alec’s ear, a trickle of energy dancing in his fingertips. Alec feels it spread, a tiny glimmer of warmth like a ripple, glowing gold as it grows, unspooling down the side of his throat and disappearing within him. 

 “Look at you,” Magnus says, searching Alec’s eyes. His smile lifts. “ You vigilante .” 

For one short hour after sunset, the grey of the city gives way to a grainy, bleary-eyed pale blue. It’s stained with pink smoke and orange-like fire at the edges as the last dredges of unseen sun sink into the horizon, but soon enough the night swoops in behind and swallows up New York, and Alec knows that’s their signal.

Clary clamps her arms around Jace’s neck and they take off into the dark, a bullet of pure silver soaring up and up and up into the clouds. Alec watches them go, disappearing from view, and then turns to Isabelle as she finishes strapping her prototype wings to her back.  

They’re smaller, lighter than Jace’s - angular and knife-like where Jace’s are broad and imposing - and Alec wonders if Izzy’s been building them for herself all this time. As she stands on his fire escape and unfurls them, the titanium catches the light, a hundred pinpricks of white and yellow that scatter like stardust across her black leather suit. 

“You sure you know how to use those things?” Alec asks, because it’s his duty to do so. Izzy returns him a flat, unimpressed look.

“You really just asked me that? Me? Please, Alec,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I’m gonna beat you and Jace across the city by a mile. Just watch.”

Alec holds up his hands in surrender, hearing Magnus step out onto the fire escape behind him. His fingertips stray to the small of Alec’s back and linger. 

“You’ll certainly beat us,” Magnus says to Izzy, “We have to make a detour before we go to Luke’s. Wait for us there. We won’t be long.”

Izzy looks at Alec for confirmation and he nods. 

“We … we gotta go to Bellevue,” he says, “There’s someone there I need to see first. We’ll catch up. Promise.” 

Izzy narrows her eyes, but shrugs, pulling her goggles down over her mask. “Alright. But let me know if plans change.” She clambers up onto the railing and looks back at them over her shoulder. “Nightlock, Sentinel, I’ll see you later.”

She takes a step off the edge and plummets, down into the dark, only to shoot upwards a moment later, her wings pinned flat against her back like a bird. She banks between the skyscrapers and then, too, is gone. 

Magnus nudges Alec’s shoulder as he steps to Alec’s side, offering out his open palm. His gloves are worn, singed by fire but not burned-through. 

“Shall we, then?” he asks with a tilt of his chin towards the horizon. 

Alec doesn’t hesitate. Where you go, I go , he thinks. 

“Cat said this is the room,” Magnus says, lowering Alec onto a narrow ledge high up on the outer wall of Bellevue Hospital. The ground plunges away below them, a hundred foot drop swallowed up by the dark, but up here, the wind is cold and the river catches all the lights of Brooklyn and churns them up in waves. 

Up here, Alec can smell the sea. The rain. The way smoke becomes an afterthought.

“We shouldn’t stay long, but it’s probably best if I give you a moment alone,” Magnus adds, suspended in mid-air as his feet dangle beneath him and his coat billows behind him. He weaves his hand through the wind and begins to rise slowly. “Don’t get caught, Sentinel . I’ll be nearby.”

Alec turns back to the window. His reflection is little more than a black smear, illuminated from behind by the city, but the shape of his mask across his eyes stands out. He leans close and cups his hands against the glass, peering into the room.

Inside, it’s dark too, but not impenetrable. A blue glow emanates from monitors on the wall, illuminating the neat edge of a hospital bed, a hard plastic chair shoved into the corner, a vase of cheap pharmacy flowers on the bedside table that probably smell like powder. 

The steady beat of a heart lights up an EKG machine; the pulse is rhythmic, constant, and Alec watches each green cardiogram roam across the screen. 

In the bed is Simon. He’s not asleep.

Well, he’s sure as Hell trying to sleep, and Alec watches him toss and turn on the starchy hospital sheets, flipping his pillow over onto the cold side. He lies still for a minute, shoulders hunched and knees pulled up to his chest, but then he sits bolt upright, yanking his hospital gown over his head to scratch furiously at the bandages strapped around his middle.

Alec knows the feeling. Gauze bandaging itches like nothing else.

But Alec’s not about to sit on the windowsill and watch Simon flailing around half-naked in his boxers either, so he knocks softly on the glass. 

In hindsight, it’s an absolutely terrible mistake.

Simon startles himself off the bed with a yelp, clutching his hospital gown to his chest in a futile attempt to protect his modesty. His IV stand clatters to the floor and he scrabbles backwards on the bed, pinning himself against the headboard as his eyes fly around the room, and then land on Alec. 

Simon’s fear vanishes. He stabs his finger towards the window, mouthing the word, you! and then trips out of bed, his foot tangled in the sheets, and waddles over to the window. He scowls at Alec.

But there’s colour in his face. He’s on his feet. All his blood is inside his body and not spilling out across Alec’s hands as Alec tries desperately not to let him die on a rooftop so far away from home -

Alec’s whole body deflates in a rush of relief. One of the many knots in his stomach unravels and he raps his knuckles on the window again, nodding towards the latch. 

Simon puffs out his cheeks and narrows his eyes at Alec - there’s a vein in his forehead fit to burst - but he turns the lock and steps back.

Alec barely has one foot on the floor before Simon opens his mouth. 

“You have some freaking nerve, Alec!” 

Alec blinks. And then blinks again, his hand automatically gripping the strap of his quiver. “Uh - hey.”

“Hey? Hey?! ” Simon throws his hands up in the air and stalks back towards his bed, kicking the discarded sheets angrily. “God damnit, I thought you were dead ! You don’t just get to turn up here in the middle of the night without warning and say, hey !” 

He grabs his hospital gown and yanks it down over his head, but the hem gets caught in the waistband of his boxer shorts. He doesn’t seem to notice, spinning around to face Alec again, hands planted on his hips. 

“One second we’re on that roof together and the next I’m waking up on some couch with a needle in my arm and everyone I ask about you looks at me like I’ve grown two freaking heads! You know how many sedatives they gave me, thinking I was spouting some crazy mumbo jumbo? Hell, do you know what it’s like having to sit here by myself and stare at that tiny TV for hours, waiting to see your picture pop up in the corner and some news anchor tell me Sentinel’s been caught? Or killed ?” 

Simon sucks in a deep breath. 

“It’s a nightmare! A nightmare, Alec! I’ve been going out of my mind! Yeah, maybe shitty hospital food is making me a little crazy too, but the point still stands -”

The entire hospital can probably hear him, if not all of Midtown. Alec sighs heavily. “Simon-” 

“Uh-uh, no, nope!” says Simon. He plants himself on the edge of the bed but his jaw twitches as his stitches stretch. He winces, clamping his hand against his stomach, but carries on, “You don’t get to interrupt me. I’m pissed. Pissed! Also shot, in case you forgot about that - I’m an invalid! Perforated liver, ruptured spleen - I didn’t even know what a spleen was, but hey, turns out it’s fairly important and hurts like a bitch -”

“ Simon .”

Simon clamps his mouth shut and glares up at Alec. But his eyes betray him, flicking to and away from Alec’s tattered cheek. 

He grits his teeth and then, his voice much quieter, asks, “What happened? After, I mean. What happened with the Circle? You got them, right? I saw it on the news.”

Alec’s shoulders slump. “We got them,” he says. “Valentine is dead, the pyrokinetic too.”

“Good,” Simon says, “Good, I’m glad. I mean - I knew you’d get them, but - good.” He looks down at his IV on the floor, but before he can reach for it, Alec grabs it and stands it upright again. 

With a frown, Alec hangs the saline drip back on the hook and takes a deep breath.

“I’m sorry I left you. I’m sorry this -” He gestures at Simon’s bandages. “-happened to you. It wasn’t meant to happen but-”

He pauses.

“I’m glad you’re alright, Simon.”   

Simon waves his hand at Alec and shuffles back onto the bed, gathering up the sheets and drawing them over his lap. The covers look thin; he must be cold. It doesn’t seem to bother him.

“Me? I’m always alright,” Simon says, but he picks at the bedspread and looks away from Alec for a moment. “I mean, not everyone can get shot and laugh about it after, y’know? Me and you are in a club now. Well, not that you really laugh about it, I don’t actually know if that’s something you’re capable of -”

Alec scowls at him, but it makes Simon smile. 

“God, you’re one lucky bastard, Alec,” he says. Then, he glances down at himself and pokes at the bandages around his middle. “Me too, I guess. But I don’t think all this is gonna fit under my supersuit.”

“Very funny.”

“What? You said it yourself, you got the pyrokinetic. No risk of being burned alive anymore, I might actually be able to leave my apartment again. Only your standard run-of-the-mill anti-super lynching to worry about now. I’ll be fine. I’ve got a good guy training me.” He buffs Alec on the arm with a closed fist. “I’ll be up and at ‘em in no time. And you don’t get to say no to me because I’m -”

“An invalid. Yeah, I get it,” Alec says with a roll of his eyes. “But the answer is still no.”

Simon’s grin widens. “Wouldn’t have you any other way, man.” 

A soft tapping on the glass behind them makes Alec turn; Magnus, hovering outside the window, raises his hand in a wave and offers a smile. Simon perks up, leaning around Alec.

“Wow, I sure am popular tonight,” he says, but then his eyes narrow and he squints at the window, a hand held above his eyes. “Is that Nightlock? For a hot second, he kinda looked like ...”

“I gotta go,” Alec interrupts, “I’ll come back and see you when I can, but if you need to call me, you can ask Catarina -”

Simon ignores him, his attention fixed on Magnus. “The nurse said he was the one who told you to bring me here. She said she knew him, that he was there with us. On the roof. I remember.” He frowns, deep in thought, and then says to Alec, “His voice was -” 

Simon trails off. Alec wonders how that sentence ends.

“Can you tell him to come in for a sec?” Simon asks, wriggling upright against the headboard and patting down his messy hair. “I want to thank him too.”

Alec hesitates. “Are you going to be weird?”

“Me, weird? Never,” says Simon, but he leans around Alec again to squint at Magnus. He looks like he’s stuck on something, like he knows Nightlock is tripping the wire of familiarity but can’t put his finger on it. 

Alec sighs and beckons for Magnus to come in, watching him slip silently through the open window. “I think we understand never differently,” he mutters.

“Gentlemen,” Magnus says “Sorry for interrupting.” He offers a smile to Simon in greeting and touches Alec lightly on the arm. “You’re looking well, 8-Bit. Apologies that we can’t stay long; we’re needed elsewhere tonight. But I promise I’ll bring Sentinel back to you later.”  

Simon says nothing. For a moment, Alec wonders exactly how much morphine he’s doped on - because if the dazed look in his eyes is anything to go by, Simon’s a second away from passing out in front of them, and Alec wouldn’t blame him - 

But then, Simon’s stare flicks to Alec, and Alec recoils, mouthing a terse, what? that Magnus can’t hear.

Simon looks back at Magnus. Then to Alec, then to Magnus again, and slowly, his eyes widen. 

“Oh,” he says. “ Oh .” He points a finger at Magnus, opening and closing his mouth. “You’re - no . No way.”

Alec rolls his eyes. “He couldn’t shut up a minute ago and now he can’t form full sentences,” he mutters, but apprehension flickers up the length of his spine nevertheless. He turns away from the bed. “Simon, we’re leaving. You should get some sleep -”

Simon launches from the bed, lunging for Alec’s wrist. He almost topples to the floor. “Wait, shit, no, Alec , wait -” 

He freezes; they both do. Alec’s name rings out in the quiet, louder than the beep of the EKG machine and louder than Simon’s frantic breathing. 

Alec stares down at Simon’s hand and then slowly looks back up at Simon. 

Realisation and panic flash across Simon’s eyes and he reels back. “Shit, no, fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say - you’re just - fuck.” He points at Magnus again, dropping to a stage whisper. “He’s Magnus .”

There’s a beat of silence and Alec doesn’t move. Simon looks between them rapidly, more and more flustered with each passing second without anyone saying anything, but then Magnus sighs.

“Well,” he says. “He certainly figured it out quicker than you did, Alexander.” 

Simon blinks slowly, his mouth falling open. “Wha - I don’t -”

And then, as if struck by a sudden fork of lightning, he leaps back and slaps his hand against his chest like he’s clutching his pearls. Horrified, he gapes at Magnus. 

“You know?!” Simon squawks, then turns on Alec, “He knows? You both know? What the Hell, Alec?!”

“I’m sure you have a lot of questions-” Magnus begins.

“Hell no! I have exactly one question and it’s -” Simon stops suddenly, twisting to face Alec. His eyes are fierce and his nostrils flare and he searches Alec’s face for some sort of tell -

Alec has to look away - and not because the back of his neck is suddenly warm, or because he can feel Magnus pulling and tugging on kinetic energy in the air like a nervous tick - but because he realises the look in Simon’s eyes is familiar.

He looks, strangely, like Izzy. Like Jace, like Clary, like Magnus when he was bowed over Alec and holding Alec’s head still when Alec was bleeding out on his couch … 

Protective , Alec thinks. He looks protective. Like he’s ready to shove Magnus back out the window if Alec so much as gives a signal - 

Why is that? I’m the one who should be - 

Alec stops. He has another white-knuckle grip on the strap of his quiver, but he lets go, flexing his fingers, and allows his arm to fall to his side.

You don’t have to be a super to want to help people. Alec knows that.

He also knows that Simon’s been there with him every morning at the coffee machine, watching Alec pile sugar into his latte, his inane commentary a balm on Alec’s nerves. He’s ribbed Alec about the dark circles beneath his eyes at every opportunity and laughed at Alec every time he fumbled over a coy compliment from Magnus. He stood by Alec’s side in a parking lot when all Alec wanted to do was shoot arrows until his hands bled and not think about ruining everything he thought he had with Magnus. 

He fed Alec his grandmother’s pierogi when Alec was sat on his couch, attempting to repatch a barely-healed bullet wound with dollar-store bandaids and scotch tape. 

Huh , Alec thinks. 

His heart clenches; he has to swallow back the lump in his throat. A wave of reluctant and exasperated gratitude washes over him that he’ll never admit to in a million years. 

It doesn’t matter. Simon’s always been frustratingly intuitive, and this time, he even has the nerve to smile at Alec. 

“Y’know what? Nevermind,” he says, slumping back into his pillows. He shuffles down onto his back and tucks himself into the sheets, drawing them up to his chin. He beams at Alec, and then at Magnus. “Doesn’t really matter. I think I know the answer to what I was gonna ask anyway.”

ONE MONTH LATER

December arrives in New York with a battering of snow that turns to sleet before it hits the ground. The rain, thick and slushy, muffles the ever-present rumble that exists beneath the sidewalk and which could be mistaken for a heartbeat, but the cold - the cold is worse.

It makes Alec’s old aches creak and groan; his cheek stings where slow-healing scars are still tender, and his leg seizes, stiffness in his thigh and around his knee that won’t be kneaded out. He doesn’t know how a six-month-old bullet wound can feel so fucking fresh when the temperature drops below zero, but as he’s climbing the stairs out of the subway, he has to press a hand to his ribs and catch his breath at the top.

The wind rattles through him, miserable and grey and wet, rifling through his coat and threatening to tear his briefcase out of his hand. Alec scowls, sinking down into his scarf and turning up his collar, but he can already feel cold water seeping into his socks. He hunches his shoulders as he squelches through the slush and makes a bee-line for the kiosk on the corner of the block. The smell of coffee reels him in, stronger than the faint whiff of smoke and dirty snow in the air, but everyone ahead of him in the line wears the same withered expression. 

Alec tugs his coat tighter, willing the feeling to return to his fingers. He huffs, a white cloud of breath rising up in front of him, and then he notices the stack of newspapers propped against the kiosk shutters.

He reads the headline upside down: 

LUKE GARROWAY APPOINTED NEW NYPD COMMISSIONER AS DIEUDONNÉ RESIGNS AMIDST CIRCLE SCANDAL

 21st December 1992 | by Magnus Bane

Alec snatches himself a copy and tucks it under his arm, stepping up to the counter and ordering a black coffee with four sugars. The kiosk clerk grimaces, but offers Alec a half-smile when Alec tells him to keep the change from his ten-dollar bill. 

Snow splatters the lapels of Alec’s coat, ice melting into sludge-like rain, and it soaks his newspaper as he steps down into the street. A cab blasts its horn at him, but Alec dodges it with ease, dipping between the cars parked on the sidewalk. He scans the front-page article as the print begins to smear. 

MALACHI DIEUDONNÉ ANNOUNCED ON FRIDAY that he was stepping down as Commissioner of the New York City Police Department, a role he has occupied for the best part of two decades, following heightened media scrutiny of his relationship with disgraced former-Senator Imogen Herondale and her ties to the terrorist group, the Circle. Mr. Dieudonné has also faced increased criticism over his handling of the November 21st terror attacks, in which 342 civilians and 23 emergency service personnel lost their lives. Mr. Dieudonné was accused of misdirecting emergency resources and deliberately obstructing the capture and detention of known Circle affiliates. This follows last month’s announcement from private security firm Idris that they apprehended multiple suspects on the night of the attacks, following their own investigation; in a subsequent statement to the press, Idris were quick to highlight recent coverage in the New York Times regarding the continued failure of the NYPD to locate remaining Circle associates who have so far evaded capture. This includes the former-vigilante “Azazel” (legal name unknown at the time of print), and the CEO of Belcourt Holdings, Camille Belcourt, whose recent conviction on counts of fraud and human trafficking was overturned amidst rumours of jury tampering. 

In a much needed overhaul of the NYPD’s public image, Mr. Dieudonné’s replacement as Commissioner is both a familiar and welcome face, and promises significant changes to law enforcement within the city.

Born and raised in the Bronx, Luke Garroway is a New Yorker through and through. A 25-year veteran of the NYPD, he knows what it's like to lead a precinct and engage with his community on a personal level. Through his rise to the rank of Captain of Manhattan’s 99th precinct, he has helped shape policy tackling systemic discrimination and police bias, as well as developing strategies to improve relations between the public and vigilante communities. 

Following his official appointment to Commissioner of the NYPD on Friday, Chief Garroway has said that he will focus on pursuing the sort of modern police work that is required in an ever-evolving and super-powered world, saying that deepening police-community bonds and ending the scourge of anti-super violence has to remain a long-term goal.

A spokesperson for the NYPD said yesterday that the department would be reviewing its training on hate crimes, a move intended to repair trust with New York’s marginalised communities following the recent spate of homicides that devolved into a citywide symbol of class tension and prejudice against vigilantes.

Altering decade-old policy is not easy, and Chief Garroway announced in his first public statement that such transformation has been long-believed to be impossible.

“The relationship between the super community of New York and the police is finally beginning to heal after decades of being fractured,” Garroway said. “But the NYPD has a lot to atone for. I hope this is the first step in addressing the ongoing injustice that impedes upon the safety of our superpowered brothers and sisters.”

This move could not be more timely, as many see Garroway’s shift in policy as a direct objection to the recent superhuman registration bill announced by sitting New York Senator Jia Penhallow last week. This bill, building on legislation proposed by Penhallow’s predecessor, Imogen Herondale, aims to introduce state-wide documentation and surveillance of individuals found to have superpowers and other recognised mutations. 

The bill remains popular among right-wing voters, as well as among Republican and Democrat senators alike, but civil liberties activists are outspoken in their criticism of such legislation, which they say impedes upon the personal freedoms of all supers residing in and around New York City. 

When asked for his opinion on Sen. Penhallow’s proposed legislation, Chief Garroway said, “We cannot and will not rest until all New Yorkers feel safe. The NYPD remains tasked with defending the people of this great city from breeches of their constitutional rights, even if that comes from those we expect to protect such rights.”

The editors of the Daily Tribunal reached out to the office of Sen. Penhallow but were refused a comment.

If you have any information regarding Valentine Morgenstern, the Circle, or the issues raised in this article, please contact us on the tip line below.

The phone number is illegible; the rain has made the ink run, and by the time Alec steps into the lobby of the Tribunal , the newspaper has turned to pulp in his hand. He tosses it into the first trash can he finds and spends the elevator ride up to Magnus’ office picking clumps of wet paper from his gloves. Meltwater drips down the back of his neck, icy-cold where it’s trapped between his skin and shirt collar, and as he traipses through the identical maze of corridors, he leaves behind him a trail of wet footprints.  

But there’s light streaming out from beneath Magnus’ door, a thin beam of fluorescent yellow that would be sharp to the touch. It carries with it the faint murmur of voices from the other side, and Alec hesitates a moment before knocking. 

“It’s me,” he calls, opening the door just enough to poke his head through. “You’re not gonna bite my head off if I interrupt this time, are you?”

From the other side of Magnus’ desk, Izzy looks up at him, her finger pressed into a piece of paper to mark her place. She glares at Alec.

“That depends,” she says darkly, “Last time you didn’t bring us coffee.”

Alec shuts the door quietly behind him and glances down at the styrofoam cup in his hand.

“Sorry,” he says. “This one’s mine.”

Izzy rolls her eyes and mutters something crass under her breath. At her side, leant casually against the corner of his desk, Magnus laughs. 

“I learned long ago not to accept coffee from your brother,” he says, “Unless you want to get cavities, of course. We dodged a bullet.”

Izzy sniggers and Alec can’t help but smile, albeit with a shake of his head.

“So at what point did she kick you out of your own chair?” he asks, tipping his chin at Izzy.

“It’s a sacrifice I’m more than willing to make,” Magnus says. “Your sister has quite a gift. She’s been very helpful this morning, as always.”

Izzy raises her eyebrows at Alec, shooting him a dry look that says, yeah, exactly . Alec wants to retort, to squint at her as if they’re children again, but he eyes the teetering pile of law textbooks on the desk and the boxes of files spewed across the floor, and he decides it’s a fight not worth starting. 

Besides, it’s not as if he doesn’t already know. Izzy is brilliant. Magnus isn’t wrong.

Alec shrugs out of his wet coat, flinging it over the back of the chair he has spent so many long nights in. Then he peels off his gloves, wrinkling his nose as the leather sticks to his skin. 

When he looks up again, both Izzy and Magnus have returned to their reading. He feels a little like a third wheel, so he clears his throat. 

“Any updates on the case?” he asks. 

Izzy grabs a pen from Magnus’ pen pot and scribbles a few notes on the paper in front of her. “It’s coming along, but there’s a lot to get through,” she says, “I know I’m good, but getting up to speed on every major civil rights lawsuit in American history in the space of a few weeks is tough, even for me.” 

“Not gonna run out of space inside your head?” Alec teases.

Izzy smiles at him wickedly. “Not a chance.” 

“We should’ve given Ragnor’s files to Isabelle to begin with,” says Magnus. He swipes the paper from under Izzy’s hands and tucks it into a binder, before stepping around his desk and in front of Alec. He taps Alec playfully on the arm with the folder. “She didn’t miss a single detail. It’s all very impressive. Comparatively, I feel rather useless.”

Alec smiles softly at him, but it’s Izzy who interrupts. “Don’t listen to him, Alec, he just wants your sympathy. Magnus was here way before me this morning and already on the phone when I got here.”

“I’ve been reaching out to a few of Ragnor’s contacts,” Magnus admits, “If we want to get this class action off the ground, we’re going to need an audience with the right judge. We also need to gather more plaintiffs. Ragnor and Dorothea won’t be enough.”  

“We’ll get there. We have to,” Alec replies. “But it doesn’t mean you should forget to sleep either. And yeah, I know, that’s rich coming from me. You don’t need to say it.”

Magnus bites back his laugh, pulling his lower lip between his teeth as he studies Alec. “I’ll sleep tonight. I trust the city will be in very capable hands in my stead.” 

“Yeah, I dunno if you can call Jace capable,” Alec grins, but warmth rises in his face, colouring his already wind-chapped cheeks. He takes a slow step closer to Magnus, brushing his knuckles against the sleeve of Magnus’ shirt, and wets his lips as Magnus tilts his chin up. “Sentinel, maybe, but -”

“But?”

“He’s no Nightlock.”

Magnus huffs on a laugh, shaking his head. His smile turns crooked and his eyes flick away, but return to Alec quickly.

Alec takes another step closer, pulling the file from Magnus’ hands and placing it on the desk beside them. 

“I saw your headline this morning,” he says, voice pitched low, “It was good.”

Magnus quirks an eyebrow. “Oh, only ‘good’? Well, I’ll have to try better next time, then, won’t I?”

“Great. It was great.” Alec pinches the fabric of Magnus’ shirt between his fingers and tugs. He drops his voice. “It was really, really great.”

“Now that sounds like flattery. How can I be sure you’re being sincere?”

“I’m always sincere -”

Izzy slaps a file down on the desk and stands up, the chair screeching on the floor. “Well,” she announces loudly, “There’s nothing I can do here that I can’t do at Luke’s, so I’m gonna get going, give you guys some space. Magnus, give me a call if anything comes up. Alec, I’ll talk to you on patrol later. And … don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” 

She grabs her coat and stuffs a stack of files into her handbag, breezing out of the office like a gale of wind. Alec blinks, a goodbye paused on the tip of his tongue, but then Magnus’ shoulders begin to shake and he rocks forward, knocking his forehead against Alec’s shoulder, and he laughs. 

He laughs, and Alec can feel the way it moves him, the way it bleeds into Alec where they touch, and he brings both his hands up to hold Magnus in place, unwilling to let him step away. 

“Sorry,” Alec says, unable to hide the sound of his grin, “I think she gets it from Jace, but maybe he gets it from her. They’re both kinda as bad as each other.”

“It’s no matter,” Magnus replies. He twists his fingers and the door clicks shut again, and then he looks up. The laughter lingers in his eyes.  “What time does your shift start?”

“I got a few minutes.”

“Perfect.” 

Magnus flattens his hand against Alec’s chest and shoves him backwards. The backs of Alec’s thighs hit the desk and he opens his mouth to say - to say something , but Hell, he’s not really sure, because Magnus presses up against him and captures Alec’s mouth in an urgent kiss, and Alec’s eyes flutter closed. He braces himself with one hand on the desk but he knocks Magnus’ pen pot to the floor and his palm skids through loose paper.

“At work?” Alec exhales. “Really?”

“When are we not at work,” Magnus murmurs against Alec’s mouth with a graze of teeth. “Besides, sometimes I like kissing you without the mask on.”

Magnus grabs the back of Alec’s thigh and hoists him up onto the desk, stepping into the open bracket of Alec’s knees. With his other hand, he winds Alec’s tie around his fist and pulls, and when Alec sucks in air against the sudden pressure on his neck, Magnus slips his tongue into Alec’s mouth.

Alec groans. He can’t help himself. But rather than deepen the kiss, he sweetens it, cupping Magnus’ face with both his hands and tracing his thumbs over the soft slip of skin below Magnus’ eyes, the pieces of him always visible beneath Nightlock’s mask. He slows the press of Magnus’ mouth against his, nipping Magnus’ lower lip, gathering up the breathless gasp that escapes Magnus’ mouth and holding it dearly to his chest. 

Magnus abandons Alec’s tie, his hands sliding down Alec’s ribs, feeling across old scars beneath Alec’s shirt, mapping out the shape of him to memory. The warmth of his fingers is grounding, rather than insistent, and it makes Alec sigh into the next tender kiss. 

When they break apart, Magnus tilts his forehead against Alec’s. He exhales deeply, warm against Alec’s mouth. His eyes are closed as he whispers, “Not to talk about work again, but -”

“You’re still worried?”

“Yes. I wasn’t lying when I said we’ll need more plaintiffs.” His hands knead at Alec’s chest, fingers pushing into muscle with too much bite. “Ragnor and Dot’s murders can all too easily attributed to the action of an extremist and not the systemic prejudice of an entire city. We’re going to need more than just their stories if we’re going to be able to make a case. Other supers would need to give testimony.”

“I would,” Alec says, “I would, as Sentinel. I’ll do it.”  

Magnus smiles tightly, flattening his palm over Alec’s heart. “I know you would. And it means a lot. The words of an ex-Corporate will carry weight, but - well. I’ve been thinking. And, perhaps, it’s time to stop running. Perhaps it’s Nightlock who needs to speak up now.”

He trails off, distracted by a kiss to the corner of Alec’s mouth, and then by a kiss to Alec’s jaw. He noses at the rough brush of stubble on Alec’s cheek, and then his hand slides up into Alec’s hair and he holds Alec against him, his breath soft against Alec’s ear. He says nothing, but the silence lies heavy. 

Alec shifts forward, drawing Magnus into his arms. He rubs his hands across Magnus’ shoulders, stroking down into the small of his back, pressing his fingertips into the hard muscle. 

“What is it?” he murmurs. “You can tell me, Magnus.”

“Nothing,” Magnus says, but then he sags. “Just - hm. This lawsuit is going to bring the newspaper a lot of attention. It’s going to bring everyone a lot of attention. Nightlock, Sentinel, all of you-”

“All of us ,” Alec corrects, “And we knew that. We knew that would happen. It’s nothing that none of us aren’t prepared to face.”

Magnus pulls back to look at Alec, but his fingers continue to card through Alec’s hair, running smooth circles against Alec’s scalp. Alec leans into the touch and it makes Magnus let out a sigh.

“We have a duty to tell our story, I know,” he says, and maybe he’s reassuring himself more than Alec. Maybe he’s recalling similar things that Nightlock once said to Sentinel on a far away and distant night. “And more than that, a duty to tell the stories of those who struggle to be heard, but -”

“But?”

“But there are a lot of dangerous people out there, people who thrive on the way New York treads its supers into the mud. People worse than Valentine Morgenstern. With more power than a Senator who spends half the year away in D.C. Nightlock has -Nightlock has a dark past and this is going to stir up the riverbed, and I’m … afraid . Of putting him in the spotlight. He’s never liked being caught.”

“I get it,” Alec whispers. “Whoever they are, wherever they are, whatever happens, I’m not going anywhere. You, Nightlock - you’re not alone.”

“I know that, but -”

“Sometimes it needs saying anyway,” Alec shrugs. “You’re the bravest person I know, Magnus. But I also know … I also know what saving people means to you. It’s what you do. Who you are. And I know you’d risk everything to help just one person, even if being seen doing it terrifies you.”

You did it for me. Time and time again without me even realising it. Picked me up and pulled bullets out of me and told me I wasn’t alone when I felt like I was drowning in it. 

Reminded me who I was and how to be him again.

Alec cups Magnus’ cheek and urges Magnus to look at him again. 

“The night we met,” he says, and he means: the night we really met . As Nightlock and Sentinel. “When I was sat on that rooftop waiting for Jace and you just … stepped down from out of the sky like something Biblical. Why’d you do that?”

“Curiosity, I believe I said.”

Alec shakes his head. “Magnus -”

Magnus smiles ruefully. “Fine. Not curiosity, then,” he says, “You sat there for hours and didn’t move once. No-one came for you. You didn’t say a word to anyone, just staring out across the city like you were lost in it. You looked …” 

“I looked-?”

“Lonely, Alexander,” Magnus sighs. “The loneliest person in the whole of New York, besides me, and I had to do something about it. I don’t know why. I could tell you were a Corporate from a distance; you wore it like a God-damn neon sign around your neck. It was dangerous and you were dangerous and I knew that. And yet, I still had to say hello. I don’t know why.”

“I know why,” Alec murmurs. He wraps his hand around the back of Magnus’ neck and guides him forward. He blows against Magnus’ lips and Magnus’ eyes drift closed. “I told you. You save people.” 

Magnus curls his fingers in the front of Alec’s shirt and holds him tight. “Perhaps I do,” he says. “Perhaps I do. I don’t think that’s so bad.”

It’s late and New York pulsates with an electric beat, vibrating off the concrete and humming in the glass of black highrises. The streets are leaking blood-red neon and sultry pinks, violent and come-hither; the wind howls, scooping up the blast of car horns and the rattle of the underground beneath concrete, snared by distant rolling thunder. The rowdy hum of the city is swallowed whole and carried upwards, higher and higher and higher until it’s spewed out into the stratosphere and falls back to Earth as drizzle.

Sentinel stands on a rooftop; it could be any rooftop. After a while, they all begin to look the same, especially when Alec’s waiting for someone to arrive.

Wistfully, he turns to the sky and savours the feeling of light rain cold upon his face. Water gathers along the lines of his mask, then slips away. 

“ How’s it looking tonight? ” Izzy asks in his ear.

“Quiet,” replies Alec, “And cold.”

“ You’ll warm up when you get moving ,” Izzy assures him. He can hear her tapping away at a keyboard on her end, her nails clicking loudly. “ The others are en route, they’ll be with you soon … though Arkangel’s being a pain in my ass tonight, so fair warning. If he asks to take a detour out over JFK, tell him no, ‘cus he keeps trying to race jumbo jets during takeoff and airport security have already tried to shoot him down twice for trespassing in their airspace.”

“That’s a tall order,” Alec says. “I’ll do my best. Anything else?”

Izzy hums. “ No, not really. Airwaves are quiet tonight. A few domestic disputes on the police scanner, but nothing exciting. That last lead on Azazel’s already gone cold, but it won’t hurt for you and Nightlock to go check it out. We have time. The others will cover your patrol.”   

“I bet Veil’s pleased with that.”

He hears Izzy scoff. “ No more pleased than she is about me taking over the entire hideout. Seriously, Alec, all I did was move a couple of her textbooks from the desk to make room for my welding torch and she glared at me for at least an hour. But then Jace turned up, and I guess she hates him more- ” 

“She’ll warm up to you guys,” Alec says, “Just give her time.”

“ Easy for you to say when you’re thick as thieves. I see the way you two sit at the back of the room during briefing and whisper to each other like a pair of judgy school girls. ”  

Alec rolls his eyes, turning his attention back to the sprawling city. The rain whispers through the fletchling of his arrows, rolling darkly down his leathers. Times Square thrives in the distance, its white electric glow like a searchlight amongst the clouds, and it’s that same light that refracts across Alec’s suit and turns that blackness both silver and indigo. 

“We can’t stay in the hideout forever,” he murmurs, “It’s not big enough for all of us, let alone all your … junk -”

“ Hey! It’s not junk. ”

“- and the more people are coming and going, the more obvious it becomes and the easier it will be for someone to find us. Especially if our numbers keep growing.” 

“ Well, if you spot anywhere nice-looking while you’re out-and-about, please let me know before Veil decides she’s had enough of me and Jace. It’s a ticking-clock, Alec. ” 

Alec laughs to himself, sweeping his hand through his wet hair. Great curtains of rain are rolling in across the bay; from up high, Alec can see how the water churns, light swept up by waves crashing against the riverfront. Deep purple storm clouds sweep over the roof of the city, consuming skyscrapers and radio towers alike; the spire on the top of the Empire State disappears into the dark, but its flashing red beacon pierces the gloom. 

Each flash matches the slow beat of Alec’s heart. He focuses on it - that singular point of light like a tether - and finds himself near hypnotized. Far below, police sirens wail, the screech of tires on tarmac like a disbodied cry. Static hums and neon drones, the bright light of a billboard illuminating the side of the skyscraper across the block. Penhallow’s likeness is projected ten-feet tall, her arms folded across her chest; the bold red text on the billboard reads: IN 1992, VIGILANTE CRIME COST NEW YORK $8 BILLION IN TAX-PAYER MONEY. TOGETHER WE MUST SAVE OUR CITY. CALL 1-800-FOR-PENHALLOW TO MAKE A DONATION NOW. 

The lights flicker and the billboard vanishes into momentary shadow. And Alec doesn’t wait for it to reappear; he turns away, once more searching the horizon for any sign of movement. All around him, the city rumbles, nerves frayed and anger restless, nailing together its own gallows - but if they want to hang Sentinel, they’ll have to catch him first . 

A crackle in the air licks the underside of Alec’s jaw; a prelude to thunder, but too close, too personal for real lighting to follow. He feels it in his ears, the pressure shifting; an interruption between shadow and failing light. 

Behind him, the rustle of a coat; a man stepping down onto a rooftop. The corner of Alec’s mouth lifts ever so slightly.

“You know,” comes Magnus’ familiar voice, “we really shouldn’t make a habit of meeting like this.”

“You’re the one who keeps sneaking up on me on rooftops,” Alec remarks, and then adds, “You’re late, by the way.”

“Oh, I’m sure you can cut me some slack,” Magnus grins, appearing at Alec’s side. His mask, dry and devoid of rain, absorbs the colours of the night, and as Alec looks up, he watches the drizzle bounce off an invisible roof above their heads. “I’ll have you know that I’m blowing off a very pleasant dinner with a very special someone for this.”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

Magnus hums, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. Alec watches him from the corner of his eye.

“Well, that is a tempting offer. I suppose we can always have dinner together tomorrow instead; it’s nothing that won’t keep. I’m not one to pass up the opportunity for your company, Sentinel.”

“Yeah?” Alec probes. “What would your someone have to say about that?”

The light dances in Magnus’ eyes. “He’d understand. He knows I have a soft spot for handsome men with leather masks and hero complexes.” 

Alec huffs, but his smile grows as Magnus slinks in front of him.  

“So, what’s the plan for tonight?” Magnus asks. He twirls his finger in the air as if casting a spell and tilts Alec’s chin up without touching him. “Rogue vigilantes to find? Renegade Circle members to catch? Perhaps a cat to be rescued from a tree -”

He presses his fingertips to the edge of Alec’s jaw, words whispered against Alec’s lips before he kisses him lightly. “Or maybe something else in mind?”

“ We interrupting something, Nightlock? ” comes Luke’s deep voice across the coms. “ You want us to go away and come back again when you’re done? ”

Magnus laughs brightly and leans away from Alec, pressing his finger to his com bud. “It’s cold tonight, Wolfsbane. Forgive me for trying to keep warm.”

Luke chuckles across the airwaves. “ Listen, man, I’m the last person who’s gonna begrudge you anything. Trust me. ”

“ Wolfsbane, are you and Veil okay to take patrol in Harlem tonight? ” Izzy interrupts then. “ I’m sending Sentinel and Nightlock over the river on a lead. ”

“ We’re already in the Upper East; you just tell us where you need us and we’ll head over ,” Luke replies. “ How’s the new recruit? ”

“I sent him to get us pizza, but - oh, he’s back. Hang on .” There’s a clatter on Izzy’s end of the line as she places her headset down on the desk. Voices are muffled and then there’s a click. 

“ Hello, sorry, I’m here but mouth full of pizza, hang on a sec! ” comes Simon’s voice, loud and unbearingly enthusiastic across the coms. “ Y’know, Luke, whatever deal you guys have with that pizza place needs to be, like, a city-wide thing. Twenty percent off if you happen to moonlight as a super. It’s great. I wonder if my local Chinese place would do it if I asked? I feel like I give them good business. Over. “

“You don’t need to say over ,” says Alec. “It’s not that sort of radio.”

“Roger that!” Simon says. The sound of him munching in Alec’s ear makes Alec frown; he can practically smell the pepperoni. “Still gotta get to grips with this man-in-the-chair stuff, y’know? Honestly, I think I’d be better out there with you guys. My doc did give me a note-”

“And I’m sure you told your doctor exactly what you would be doing with your new-found freedom when he was writing you said note, hm?” Magnus asks.

“ Well - no, not exactly, but - ”

“Simon, you got out of hospital a week ago,” Alec says. “You’re pushing your luck.”

Simon huffs. “See how mean he is to me? And this is how he treats his friends!” 

“ Yeah, but you kinda deserve it ,” Jace interrupts with a crackle. The sound of wind whistling across steel floods the coms. “ Also, Sentinel, we’re here. Which roof are you guys on? I’ll come land. ”  

Alec looks up, waving his hand at the gleam of silver that appears and disappears amidst the clouds. An engine whirs and the wind circles around Alec’s legs, whipping up through Magnus’ coat and rifling through his hair.

Jace descends from the cloud, his silver wings outstretched and shiny with rain. Clary unloops her arms from around his neck and steps down onto the roof edge, her smile sunny, though her hair is already wet and plastered to her neck.

“Sorry we’re late,” she says cheerfully, “Got caught up in a car chase on Manhattan Bridge. You know how it is.”

“I didn’t hear anything about that on dispatch,” Magnus remarks. He smiles slyly at her. “Must’ve only just happened, hm?”

Clary blushes. “Yeah. Must’ve.” 

Alec rolls his eyes. “Okay, now that we’ve got everyone, let’s check coms and get going,” he says sternly, swatting Jace away as he shakes his wings and splatters rainwater across Alec’s face. “Iz, Simon, you good?”

“ All systems go! ” Simon replies. “ I think. Honestly, I don’t know. I’m seeing a lot of flashing lights right now. ”

“ Suit trackers online ,” Izzy interrupts, “ Police dispatch is at the usual frequency, make sure you’re all tuned in. We’re on 470 mHz tonight. Don’t forget. ”

“Good,” says Alec, “Wolfsbane, Veil?”

“ We’re both good ,” replies Veil. “ But I’m losing feeling in my fingers and if they drop off, that’s on you. ”

“You can hold me to it.” Alec looks to Jace and Clary. “Ready?”

Jace flexes his wings again, rolling his shoulders as he admires the shifting steel. “Yeah, feeling good,” he says. “Wind’s from the north tonight. Flying’s smooth and the fog should give us good cover. Should be an easy one, providing it doesn’t snow.” 

Alec nods and then his attention flicks to Magnus, to the soft and silent shadow he casts against Alec’s side, a space filled by human warmth now that the rest of the night is bitingly cold. Alec’s fingers twitch; the wind picks up Magnu’s coat again. Alec could so easily grab the edge of it. 

“Nightlock?”

Magnus smiles at him crookedly. “I suppose there’s no rest for the wicked,” he says, “Or for the good.”

Around him, the air seems to shimmer, kinetic energy clinging to his hands, to his coat, to the strong line of his neck, to his mask. 

“And you, Sentinel?” he asks. “Are you ready?”

Alec exhales deeply, standing up tall. He closes his eyes but sees New York behind his eyelids, laid out in perfect blue synchronicity: vantage points and scalable buildings, CCTV cameras and dark spots deep enough to hide in. Every corner, every turn, every fire escape where he’s spilled blood and hauled himself back to his feet with the railings. 

He presses his fingers to his mask; it doesn’t budge. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good,” he says. “Let’s go.” 

“but we are the crossroads

and this is the map of my heart, the landscape

after cruelty which is, of course,

a tenderness, which is a room, a lover saying Hold me

tight, it’s getting cold .

[...]

which brings us back

to the hero’s shoulders and the gentleness that comes,

not from the absence of violence, but despite

the abundance of it.”

-- Richard Siken, “Snow and Dirty Rain”, Crush