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Magnus wakes up alone. Magnus wakes up alone and empty and the panic is split second intense and visceral. He gropes once at the still warm sheets beside him, at the place where Alec was, a short time enough ago to leave his warmth still there. Magnus breathes, a ragged exhalation he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and flops back onto the bed. Alec is gone, but he’s not gone.
For a second, Magnus listens for him. He doesn’t hear anything, but he knows Alec is there, has to be, because one of his boots is still half propped against the wall by the door. For a moment, Magnus lays on the bed and prods at the emptiness inside him, at the place where his magic used to be, like someone would a healing bruise, like the pain of it once again confirms its existence. Or in his case, he supposes, its absence.
With a sigh, Magnus pushes himself up. With a half beat of hesitation, he shakes off the lingering tingles of adrenaline, the lingering ache, and he moves. The pants he puts on are made of silk, and he puts them on slowly, his robe is slung over a chair, but he bypasses it, instead picks up Alec’s dark gray t-shirt and puts that on instead. It’s soft and a little snug across the shoulders and arms, it smells like Alec.
The faint scent of coffee hits Magnus first as he pushes open the bedroom door, the faint clatter of cookware next, and Magnus follows the sound to Alec. Alec stands at the counter, chopping strawberries, and he doesn’t immediately notice Magnus. His gaze is set on his task, his expression distant. He is shirtless, his dark hair mussed and falling over his forehead, his black sweatpants riding low on his hips, and he is the most gorgeous thing Magnus has ever seen. Magnus watches his right hand wield the paring knife deftly, tries not to think about how that arm had flopped uselessly, unnaturally, against Alec’s side.
Alec startles a little when he notices Magnus there, breathes a laugh, “Hey,” he says, his voice rounded and soft. “How’d you sleep?”
Magnus tears his gaze away from Alec’s arm, “I slept fine,” he answers because it’s not completely a lie. “Until I didn’t.” He comes around the island and leans on Alec’s back, letting his hands settle on his middle, his cheek rest on his shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” Alec sighs, “I know you asked me to wake you if I got up before you…I just… You need to sleep, Magnus.”
Magnus turns his head and rests his lips against the bare skin of Alec’s shoulder, “Don’t apologize, Alexander,” he murmurs. His fingers trail along Alec’s right forearm.
Alec lets out another sigh, “It’s fine, Magnus,” he says. He turns in the cage of Magnus’ arms and flexes his hand, twisting his wrist and his elbow so Magnus can see the natural strength of the movement. “I’m fine. Better than fine actually.”
“Cat is gifted,” Magnus says with a grimace that tries to be a smile.
“So are you,” Alec replies, his hands, big and warm, cupping Magnus’ face.
It’s supposed to force Magnus to look at him, but Magnus keeps his gaze fixed stubbornly on Alec’s shoulder. “I couldn’t save you.”
“Magnus, you did save me,” Alec says, his tone firm. “You saved all of us.”
Magnus gives a little derisive snort and tries to pull his face away from Alec’s grip. Alec doesn’t let him. Yes, he stopped Jace from driving that arrow through Alec’s chest, but he didn’t stop him from starting the process. He was too late to stop Alec from nearly dying. And Clary— Magnus forces himself not to think about that.
“Magnus,” Alec breathes, “Look at me.” When Magnus can’t immediately do it, Alec ducks his head to force their gazes to meet, “Beautiful, look at me.”
Magnus does then, his gaze snapping to Alec’s because when he calls him that his chest tightens and his throat closes up a little and he can’t not find Alec’s gaze then.
“You saved me,” Alec says firmly, “You always save me.” His tone is resolute, calm and soft, and achingly genuine. “Magic or no magic.”
Magnus looks at the warmth and affection in Alec’s gaze and kisses him, once, slow and soft. Alec leans into it with his whole body, his lips parting with a sigh against Magnus’ mouth. Magnus splays one hand on Alec’s waist, the other slipping into his dark hair, and Alec curls both arms around his shoulders, wrapping him in the warmth of his embrace. Alec tastes like black coffee and strawberries and warmth and Magnus loses himself in the simple act, the softness of it, the way Alec catches his lower lip between his own for the briefest moment before he leans back.
There’s a tiny, happy smile on Alec’s lips when he settles back and for a moment, the phantom ache of Magnus’ magic is less than it was when he woke alone and panicked. Magnus strokes his fingers along the warm skin of Alec’s sides, and Alec settles his hands on Magnus’ arms. He frowns slightly, plucks at Magnus’ sleeve and then chuckles, warm and low.
“You’re gonna stretch out the sleeves,” he says, though his tone is more teasing than put out.
Magnus shrugs, decides to be honest. “It smells like you. I needed the comfort.”
Alec smiles again, slightly bigger, definitely happy, “Keep it,” he says.
Magnus arches a brow, “You are going to need it back eventually. As much as I’d prefer you keep to a strict, shirts optional policy, people might talk.”
A short laugh leaves Alec, “Shirts optional policy?”
“I said what I said,” Magnus replies, unable to keep from grinning.
Alec glances away for a second and he sighs. “Well, I’m supposed to be taking some time, recovering,” he wrinkles his nose a little at the word, “So I thought I’d maybe stay… here for a few days. That’s if you want me to… I mean, I don’t have to…”
“You should stay,” Magnus says before Alec can keep up his halting explanation, talking himself out of it, before Alec can think for a second that he’s not welcome. “You should definitely stay.”
Alec nods, strokes his hands down Magnus’ arms. “Okay. I’ll stay.” He blows out a small sigh, “Are you hungry?”
“Starving,” Magnus replies lightly, releasing Alec so he can survey the counter. Alec has assembled all the usual breakfast components, milk, eggs, butter, and so on, but Magnus can’t quite guess what he’s making. “What are we having?”
“I thought I’d try making crepes,” he says with forced nonchalance.
Magnus smiles, “My favorite,” he says, his voice warm. “That’s ambitious. Might we be eating out this morning?”
Alec scowls at him without heat. “Rude. I can do it. I have instructions.”
Magnus nods, forcing himself not to smile, “Really?”
“Yeah,” Alec turns the tablet that’s propped on the counter and frozen mid-sentence on the screen is a trendy looking woman with a bandana, big framed glasses, and tattooed knuckles. “Simon showed me this. I figure if I can see it, it’ll be easier to follow.” Alec gives him a narrow look, “And you liked the French toast I made.”
“I did,” Magnus replies with studied innocence. “And I’m sure I will love these. Can I help?”
Alec nods, smiles then. “Yeah, wanna finish chopping those for me?”
Magnus picks up the discarded paring knife, “Your wish, my command,” he says with a flourish, getting to work on the strawberries.
Alec turns his attention to the video. It plays lowly while he works, and Magnus watches him out of the corner of his eye. For a long moment, they don’t speak. Magnus lets the repetitive task calm his mind, lets Alec’s presence chase away the circling thoughts he tries so hard to ignore and it works, at least for a moment.
“We’ll get it back,” Alec says suddenly, all in one breath, like he couldn’t stop himself.
Magnus pauses, sighs and cups Alec’s face. “I know you mean that, my darling. But it’s impossible.”
Alec’s eyes are determined. “Since when have we ever given up because something was impossible?”
Magnus opens his mouth, closes it, tries to think of an argument and finds himself unable to come up with a valid one. He’d sacrifice his magic in a second, again, even knowing now the ache it would leave behind, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want it back.
Finally he says, “Let’s at least have breakfast first. And then we’ll talk about it.”
Alec looks like he wants to argue, but he accepts Magnus’ words after a beat where Magnus stares him down, one brow arched. Magnus loves Alec more than he can express, but it’s his magic and therefore it is his decision and Magnus won’t hesitate to remind Alec of that. Alec gives him a kiss that tastes slightly of apology and turns back to making a batter.
The crepes they make aren’t the prettiest Magnus has seen, but they taste fine and even if they had been horrible Magnus would have eaten them because Alec made them. Alec made them even though he’d never tried before, because they were Magnus’ favorite. Sitting there, at the table, with Alec looking so very pleased with the gushing Magnus did over their breakfast, Magnus allows himself to think they might just achieve the impossible, and even if they didn’t, living like this, with ugly crepes and Alec shirtless and beautiful, and soft, calm mornings, Magnus starts to think this was something he could do.