Work Text:
Alec tries to hold his smile back as he strides down the hallway of Magnus’ building. It’s been a long week of increased tensions with the Downworld, and Alec and Magnus have both been so busy in their respective positions that Alec hasn’t managed to see Magnus at all for the past three days, sleeping in his bedroom at the Institute, or slumped over in his office chair, instead of in Magnus’ luxurious bed. He’s exhausted, and he can tell from Magnus’ increasingly terse text messages that the warlock is as well.
Today, though, things had finally calmed down—enough to relax for the evening, at least—and he plans to sweep Magnus off his feet and ensure they both get a well-deserved, if short, break. Alec knocks on the door, mostly out politeness and habit, but instead of Magnus’ cheery, sultry “come in,” he is greeted by the sound of glass shattering.
“Magnus?” The light feeling of relief that Alec had carried with him on his way over drops abruptly out of his stomach, and his heart takes off as he nudges the door open, pulling a dagger from his thigh holster just in case.
Magnus’ apartment is a mess. Potion ingredients spread over the tables, spilling out of their bottles. Books and ancient-looking loose papers with Magnus’ elegant script are everywhere. There are several empty glasses and mugs scattered around the room, including one which lays in pieces on the floor next to the buzzing, exhausted warlock.
Alec’s heart sinks at the sight of his boyfriend. Magnus’ red-rimmed eyes and sickly pallor make it clear he’s pushed himself past exhaustion. His hands are shaking as he pours a drop from a red flask into a swirling glass bowl. His hair lays almost entirely flat against his head, and his make-up is beginning to smudge.
What worries Alec most, though, is that Magnus does nothing to indicate that he’s heard either Alec entering or the mug that had shattered at his feet. Magnus was never this vulnerable, never this unaware, never this unable to defend himself. Alec sets his jaw against his own anger and concern and stashes his dagger, shutting the door behind him softly. He treads closer.
“Mags? Hey, you hear me?”
Once he moves into Magnus’ direct line of sight, the warlock startles and looks up, wide eyes blinking frantically. He doesn’t seem to recognize Alec for a few terrifying seconds, before his eyes focus on the shadowhunter’s face, his face breaking into a tired smile. “Alexander! I wasn’t expecting you…is it…?”
“Friday night, yeah,” Alec answers the unasked question. They had made this plan yesterday, which means that Magnus hasn’t been keeping a regular schedule since then, likely longer. “Time for our date, and time to rest. Looks like we both need it.” Alec keeps his voice light, and steps closer, hands gently coming up to grip Magnus’ forearms. The warlock’s hands are full of vials with flowery-smelling liquids.
Magnus blinks at him, then gives him a fond smile. “You are welcome to rest here, Alexander. I’m sure you’re exhausted after this week. But I’m afraid…I won’t be able to join you. Some unexpected work has come up and…” He sways—just slightly, but it’s enough for Alec.
He grips Magnus a little more tightly. “I don’t think you’re in any state to be doing work.” Magnus’ expression hardens. Fuck, wrong thing to say.
“Alexander, I beg your pardon, but I have performed far more complex magic in far worse situations.” Alec’s gut twists uncomfortably at that thought—Magnus alone, no one telling him to stop. “I assure you, I’ll be alright.” Magnus flashes Alec his over-the-top smile, tired eyes scrunched expertly to seem genuine.
Okay, new tactic, Alec thinks. “What are you working on? Is it something that needs to be done now? Or that another warlock couldn’t do?”
Magnus’ eyes flutter closed for a moment, his body sagging slightly into Alec’s supporting hands before he forces them back open. “One of the…one of the LA warlock’s few younglings has fallen very ill. Uncommon for warlocks. I’m…working with a conjunction of high warlocks across the country to find a solution, and I thought perhaps a twist on the Anchriantic potion…would…” Magnus stumbles to the side, eyes closing once again, and Alec quickly takes the potions out of his hands, placing them safely on the table. He knows these potions are probably hours, if not days, of work for Magnus, and he’s not about to let them go to waste.
As Alec turns back to him, Magnus half-collapses into his chest. “Woah! Mags.” His arms encircle the warlock as Magnus’ head lolls back, his eyes opening halfway, unfocused.
“I’m…terribly sorry, I’m feeling…dizzy,” Magnus manages, looking dazed, his face paling further.
“Okay.” Alec keeps his voice calm. “You’re okay. Let’s get you lying down, alright?” Magnus remains out-of-focus as he carries him to the couch, but once there the warlock blinks, hard, and squints at Alec.
“I can’t stop, Alexander, I…my potion was almost done. I am close. Elina’s life depends on this.”
Alec’s heart breaks a little at Magnus’ selflessness. “Magnus, she’s not your responsibility. You said other warlocks are working on this, right? Let them work. You can’t continue like this. We’ve had a hard-enough week as it is here in New York. Don’t take this on too.”
Magnus shakes his head, then closes his eyes as if he regrets it. “None of them will have thought of this…it’s based on a potion of my own creation.”
Of course it is, you brilliant warlock, Alec thinks bitterly. He is not jealous of Magnus’ skills, but he is resentful that they mean Magnus is forced into situations like this one. Why is always you who has to fix things, sacrifice things?
Still, Alec can be reasonable, even if he feels sick to his stomach at seeing Magnus so exhausted. “Okay,” he breathes carefully. “Can you give them your notes and send the potion over? Then they can continue working, and you can check in on them when you wake.” How long that will be is something that Alec will leave for later.
Magnus blinks wearily at Alec a few times, his brow furrowed. “That…that sounds like a possible solution.” He seems surprised that one could have been found so easily.
“See what we can think of when we sleep more often than once per week?” Alec says, mostly teasing. He tries to keep the worry out of his voice.
Magnus’ brows crinkle more. He looks truly bewildered now. “I slept…Tuesday.”
Since fucking Tuesday? Alec slept with Magnus that night, and he knows that was three or four hours of barely cohesive slumber. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. Magnus does not need to be lectured at right now. “What do you need? Paper and pen?” Alec’s voice comes out strained and terse, but his boyfriend is too out of it to notice.
Magnus gathers himself to sit up further on the couch. “Please. And bring those…two potions over.”
As soon as Magnus puts pen to paper, though, Alec realizes that his hands are shaking too badly to write properly. He elbows Magnus gently out of the way. “Here, just dictate it to me, I’ve got it.”
Magnus looks at him through hooded eyelids for a moment before nodding, closing his eyes, and leaning his head back. His voice is weak, but his words are elegant and unfaltering. “Dear Sirs, I present within a plausible solution to this strange case of illness. My solution is based on the properties already inherent in healing Anchriantic potions: namely, their potency alongside their specific magic imprint. Herein you will find the beginning of an Anchriantic potion with a small twist: the lotus flower has been smoked, rather than crushed. I believe this change will allow…”
Magnus went on several minutes; Alec understood very little of it. His chest felt heavy with the weight of Magnus’ talent—creating complex chemical solutions to a problem no other warlock could solve, while on the edge of exhaustive collapse? How was Alec not incredibly out of his league here? He did his best to focus on getting down the exact words that Magnus was saying, careful to replicate his meanings exactly.
By the end of the letter, Magnus’ head had dropped forward onto his chest and he was slurring his words badly. When he stopped speaking, Alec took the liberty of ending and signing the letter himself. He gathered the letter and the two potions. “Magnus? Hey, is there anything else we should send them?”
“Hmmm?” Magnus’ eyes are entirely unfocused now, and he’s clearly having trouble holding his head up.
Alec cups his cheek, lifting his head up and trying to make contact with the golden eyes. “Anything else we need to send to Elina?”
Magnus’ eyes drift closed. “…poshions…”
“I’ve got them. Is that all, Mags?”
“mm…book. ‘s the one’n Japanese…floral…”
Luckily, even with the vague description, Alec has little trouble locating the tome, lying open on the table. He gathers the items together, realizing with a sinking feeling that he has no way of getting them to LA without a portal, which Magnus was clearly in no shape to make. He hadn’t expected Magnus to spend so much energy on the letter, or to decline so rapidly. I could call Caterina…he muses.
Before Alec can consider the matter further, Magnus blinks his eyes back open, jaw clenched in determination, and raises a shaking hand to create a small portal. Alec quells his first instinct, which is to knock Magnus’ hand away and scream not to be an idiot, in favor of chucking the items into the portal as quickly as he can. There is no need for Magnus to waste energy for nothing.
As soon the items are through, the portal flickers out of existence. “You idiot,” Alec mutters as he turns back to Magnus, who is struggling to keep his eyes open long enough to meet Alec’s gaze.
“Alec…”
Magnus says his name like the beginning of an apology, and Alec feels his irritation crumble. He shakes his head, cutting off Magnus’ further attempts at speech, and pulls him up from the couch.
Magnus’ legs buckle nearly immediately, but Alec has already slung one of Magnus’ arms over his shoulders, his own arm around the warlock’s waist. Magnus is dead weight against him, his head lolling into Alec’s collarbone. Alec shifts his weight as best he can and walks them both excruciatingly slowly to the bedroom. He lays Magnus down in his ridiculous silk bedding with a sigh of relief.
Magnus’ eyes open again as Alec pulls the down comforter over him. “Alexander?” His voice is a hoarse whisper.
“Hey, hey,” Alec squeezes Magnus’ shoulder gently. “I’m right here. Don’t worry about anything, okay?”
Magnus’ brow furrows in confusion. “I was…” His hand reaches out to grip Alec’s arm weakly. “You shouldn’t be—”
“Magnus, everything is okay. It’s fixed—trust me, alright?” He runs his hand up and down Magnus’ arm reassuringly. “Go to sleep.” He keeps his voice just above a murmur, and Magnus’ eyes drift shut, but the hand on Alec’s arm squeezes again, once.
“Thank you,” Magnus breathes out, before he slowly goes limp in sleep, breath evening out.