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Michael had been murdered, Michael and his son. He didn't die by unknown causes, long after Robert had been exiled in Idris. No, he had been murdered in Fairchild Manor. Robert remembered seeing the smoke in the sky, he remembered the Shadowhunters saying that Valentine had killed himself.
He had been relieved.
But it hadn't been Valentine, it had been Michael. His Michael, his parabatai, burning. It hurt, it physically hurt but it didn't hurt as much as it should have.
Robert hadn't even known.
It had broken his heart enough when Jace had appeared on their doorstep, supposedly Michael's orphaned son. That had hurt too, but Robert thought- well, if there was someway to honor Michael, to try and make up for what he had done, then caring for his son was a good start. But Jace wasn't Michael's son, and Robert couldn't blame it on his exile for not knowing that his parabatai had died. He couldn't blame anyone but himself.
Robert should have felt his pain, should have felt the burning as if it were his own, should have felt the fear and desperation, but he had felt nothing. He had looked out at the sky that day, he had seen the smoke and thought little of it.
He should have been there, he should have known.
Robert threw back another glass of whiskey, glaring at the flickering flames in his fireplace. He hated being in Idris like this, alone- so alone. Maryse hated him, his children wouldn't speak to him and Michael was long gone (yet he was all he could think about).
He should have known.
It was his own fault that he didn't, it was his own fault that he and Michael stopped speaking, didn't even look at one another. That had hurt too. There was never a day that went by that he didn't regret how he had reacted to Michael confessing his love for him. He had loved him too hadn't he? Perhaps not in the same way, at least, that was what he told himself. It had been so many years, looking back on it, Robert wondered if perhaps he could have loved Michael the same way. His brother, his soulmate, his other half. What else was left for them but love?
He was a fool, he had pushed Michael away as far as he could go, just so that Robert wouldn't have to think about it, just so that Robert wouldn't have to turn his life upside down (he should have, it would have been worth it, anything with Michael was always worth it).
He didn't realise that in doing so, it stretched the bond between them, a little piece of it wearing away each day that passed until there was nothing left. Until the parabatai bond that was so very sacred, was all but gone.
Robert didn't feel Michael's death, didn't feel him leaving this world without him. He had felt nothing and perhaps that was what hurt most of all.
The exile wasn't what broke them, Valentine wasn't what broke them, it was all Robert.
He had regretted everything he said, but he had never apologised, never fought for their friendship, their relationship, their bond. Robert did what he always did and ran to Maryse. By time he had returned to their shared bedroom, Michael was gone. No note, no sign that he had ever been there.
Robert should have known that something between them had broken, he had felt it. He had felt it in his heart and the rune Michael had so lovingly drawn on him. It had burned. He always wondered if Michael had felt that too, he never said and Robert never asked.
He was good at that.
He just wished he could see him again, that was all Robert wanted. Just once more, just for a little while. He wished he could feel those arms wrap around him and those soft, hazel eyes look at him. He wished he could hear his laugh, his teasing tone. He wished they could go to Lake Lyn again, the stars and moon too bright, their heads spinning, but both of them happy and together.
Robert tried not to, but he still felt Michael's soft lips press against his, he still remembered what it felt like for their bodies to come together. He pretended he couldn't remember a thing, that all he could remember was bright lights and too cold water. Michael did too, and they never talked about it again. Not even when Michael confessed, did Lake Lyn come up. But it had happened, Robert remembered, Michael no doubt did too. It had happened, and maybe Robert was still in denial when he said he didn't love his parabatai the same way he had loved him.
Robert touched a hand to his cheek, he was crying.
Gods, he missed him so much.
He missed him and he hated that no one had even realised how he had died, how he and his son had died. It wasn't fair, but life rarely was.
If things had been different, if Robert hadn't been such a coward, would they have been happy? Would they still have been best friends? Would there have come a time that Robert could admit his feelings and they ran off together? Idiots that were in love.
No one would ever know.
All Robert could hope for was that Michael was in a better place, was happy. All Robert could hope for was that his children would never be as foolish as he once was, that they could love and be happy as they deserved (Alec was already proving how much a better man he was, and Robert was so proud).
It wouldn't lessen the hurt, it wouldn't make it go away. Robert knew that it never would. He would always miss Michael, always long for him, but that was the price he paid for what he had done. Robert deserved the hurt, he deserved a lot of things.
He sighed, deeply, closing his eyes.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, to the empty room, the flickering flames. "I'm so sorry."
Robert didn't see the figure hovering in the seat across from him (few could have, and those few were not with him in the room at that time). Robert didn't see the sad hazel eyes, the soft brown curls. He didn't see his mouth moving, or the words that were whispered.
'I forgive you, I'll always forgive you.'
He saw nothing, he heard nothing.
Maybe one day he would.