Chapter Text
With a groan, Magnus shuts his book, drops it on the couch and rubs at his face. He’s bored. Incredibly, mind-numbingly bored. His health has slowly been improving. The pounding in his head is now a dull ache behind his eyes. He can breathe through his nose again and doesn’t even cough all that much anymore. Still, Alec refused his offer to let Magnus run errands with him. Instead, he has to sit and wait for Catarina’s shift to end. A check up, she said, to see if his medication’s working.
An excuse to make sure he is behaving, more like it. He scoffs.
A knock comes at the door. He rushes to open it. Black dots swim in his vision and he has to grasp the door frame until they fade.
Catarina greets him with a raised brow. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?” She drapes her coat over the rack and enters the loft. Her hair falls in neat, elegant braids down her shoulders. She looks as beautiful as ever.
He dismisses the scolding with a wave of his hand. “I can walk around my loft if I so please. Besides, with Alec around, this is the only time I get to stretch my legs.” He settles himself on the couch, tucking his feet under him. A cough tickles his throat. He stifles it in the crook of his elbow.
Catarina shakes her head. “You’re unbelievable.” She sits beside him and immediately starts casting a spell, her fingers drawing intricate figures in the air.
A bitter wave of envy washes over him. Watching her magic makes his heart ache. He yearns for that familiar rush of power, that tingling that used to travel from his head to his toes. Without it he feels… empty.
“All done.” She conjures up a small pill bottle. “Infection’s almost gone, but you should take these for a few more days. You’ll probably feel better by the end of the week.”
Magnus thumbs the lid, rolling the bottle back and forth in his hands. “Thank you.”
Silence settles over them. Catarina smooths out the wrinkles in her shirt, still dressed in her deep blue scrubs from work. “Magnus,” she says hesitantly, not quite meeting his eyes. “I want to apologize.”
He frowns. “For what, dear?”
She toys with the pendant around her neck. “This,” she gestures vaguely towards Magnus. “It’s my fault you’re like this.”
Now he is even more confused. He clasps her hand in his own. “Catarina, darling,” he says with a soft chuckle, “it’s not your fault I’m sick. How could it possibly be?”
Catarina shakes her head. “If I had never mentioned Asmodeus, you would still have your magic. I’m the one who gave you the idea.” She purses her lips, eyes still downcast.
Oh, Magnus thinks. He remembers their conversation all those weeks ago, when Lorenzo forbade the warlocks from lending Magnus their magic to save Jace. Catarina had suggested Asmodeus as an alternative power source.
With a deep sigh, he lets his shoulders fall. “Catarina,” he says softly, “you’re not responsible for my decisions. I know better than anyone else his help comes at a price.” For a moment, his mind wanders back to the oppressive heat of Edom’s realm. To the hordes of screeching demons in the sky. To his father’s eyes.
Catarina squeezes his hand. “I just wish I could help you,” she says.
“You are helping me,” Magnus says, forcing a smile. He pulls her in for a hug. “You are.”
***
Magnus stares at the wall, unfocused, absently playing with the edges of his book. Catarina left an hour ago and he still has not moved from the couch. Alec has yet to return. The loft is eerily quiet.
Cat’s visit affected him more than he thought it would. Her magic, her apology, the fact he had to sit by uselessly while others took care of him. Like he's some kind of- of- burden. He used to be one of the most powerful warlocks of New York. Now he's... pitiful.
Does Alec see him the same way? He can only look after Magnus for so long before it becomes tiring. The thought weighs heavy on his heart.
His phone dings. It’s from Alec, saying he’s on his way home. Magnus replies, then pushes himself off the couch with more effort than usual and makes his way to the kitchen. Time for his medicine.
He pours himself a glass of water with shaking hands. The lid won’t move. It stubbornly sticks to the bottle, barely budging as he attempts to twist it this way and that.
Really? he thinks bitterly to himself. Pathetic.
The hard, unforgiving white plastic cuts into his palm. He struggles another minute or so, growing more and more frustrated, until it gives with a sudden pop and the pills spill out onto the floor, tiny white dots bouncing across the tile.
It’s so stupid. So insignificant. Cleaning up would take maybe a minute, if that.
Yet he bursts into tears in an instant. “Fuck!” He slams his fist on the counter, shoulders trembling. His heart pounds in his ears. He tries to breathe, but he can’t, a nasty cough wracking his frame, leaving him gasping for air. He slides onto the floor as everything becomes too much all at once.
He hates this. Hates feeling so useless, so powerless, grasping at something that is no longer there. He hates being sick. He’s never sick. It’s gross and it hurts and why can’t he just breathe?
This can’t be it. This can’t be his life, his future. He’s become a hollow, empty shell of a person. Without his magic, he’s nothing.
A sudden weight rests on his shoulder. Alec kneels in front of him, face blurred by Magnus’ tears.
“It’s okay,” Alec whispers as he pulls him close. “It’s okay. I’m right here.”
He fists his hands in Alec’s shirt and loses himself in the rhythmic pounding of Alec’s heartbeat, sobs wracking his frame, throat raw and chest tight. Even when his tears have run dry, he still doesn’t let go.
***
Rain beats against the loft windows, now and then interrupted by a clap of heavy thunder that shakes the glass in its frame. The glow of the tv is the only light source in the room.
“How are you feeling?” Alec whispers, lips brushing against Magnus’ cheek. They are nestled on the couch, Magnus’ back against Alec’s chest.
He nestles deeper in Alec’s embrace. “Better.” Not by much, he’ll admit, but better. He traces mindless figures on Alec’s strong, rune-covered arms. His eyes sting and his headache has returned, but an old, golden age musical keeps him entertained. Though he has seen it plenty of times, it never fails to cheer him up.
They are quiet for a while. Alec’s warmth is a silent, reassuring comfort.
Magnus breaks that silence when his mind starts to wander again. “Would you still love me?” He doesn’t dare look up. “As a mundane?” He hates that he even feels the need to ask. But the thought just won’t leave him alone.
“What?” Alec shifts. He stares down at him, concern swimming in those beautiful, sky blue eyes of his. “Do you seriously think I wouldn’t?”
No. Magnus knows Alec would love him, even if he was old and grey and wrinkling. Realization hits him like a truck. Is he going to start aging?
His lip trembles. The tears return. “Sorry,” he forces a laugh, quick to wipe them away, “guess I’m not quite feeling like myself yet.” He turns his attention to the screen.
Alec softens. “Magnus…” His lips are silk against Magnus’ cheek. “It’s okay.”
His face crumples. “No, Alec, no, it’s not.” He sits up, pulling the blanket close. “It’s not okay.” He doesn’t mean to lash out, but he does it anyway. “None of this is okay.” With a rush, he stands and starts pacing.
Alec watches.
“I can’t live without my magic,” Magnus insists. “I can’t. I don’t know how to.” He is trembling again, panic creeping up in his throat.
“Hey.” With a gentle hand, Alec pulls Magnus back into his arms. “I know,” he whispers. “I know.” He combs his fingers through Magnus’ hair. “But this is temporary, okay? We always find a way. You know that.”
Magnus lets his shoulders fall.
"And your magic isn't the only beautiful thing about you." Alec's touch dances across his temple, down his cheek, his jaw. "It's not what makes you you. This is." His hand lands on Magnus' chest, just above his heart.
A slow, tired, yet incredibly fond smile finds its way to Magnus' lips. "Such a romantic," he murmurs as they lay back down.
And in the quiet of their loft, the storm raging on around them, he dares to hope. He’s lost faith in himself, but he still believes in Alec. He always will.
Maybe, just maybe, he will be alright.