Work Text:
Black opals & orris butter
A light tap at his office door pulls Alec’s attention from the report on his tablet, and eventually he tears his gaze away from the screen to acknowledge Andrew, waiting patiently in the open doorway. “Yes?”
“Shift change,” Andrew reminds him, half-hiding a smile as Alec blinks and reflexively looks over at the clock. He hadn’t even noticed the sun going down, but his office is darker now than he remembers, the lamps not yet lit and daylight fading through the stained glass. “I have a few things for your signature before I go off-duty.”
“Thanks, I’ll look at them tonight,” Alec answers absently, his focus already drifting back to the half-read report. He’s mostly immersed in it again when he registers that Andrew hasn’t left the room.
While Alec doesn’t ever stop being aware of everyone around him, they’ve worked closely together for long enough now that Andrew’s presence is largely background noise, the same as Izzy and Jace. It takes a minute or two for Alec to translate ‘still in the room’ to ‘needing something’, and another paragraph of reading for that thought to really coalesce enough for him to look up again. “Something else?”
Andrew clears his throat with an apologetic grimace. “You might want to read the first invoice before you sign it.”
Curiosity now snagged, Alec glances at the tidy stack of papers Andrew has left on the corner of his desk. He recognizes the letterhead immediately, and the precise scrawl of the handwriting beneath it.
The template and language are familiar; Alec has signed invoices like this a hundred times over. It’s the itemized list of fees that makes his breath catch.
“It’s for wards maintenance,” Andrew explains, as Alec continues to stare, stunned, at the invoice. “Magnus was here this morning.”
There’s a great deal unspoken in that statement, starting with the fact that Andrew needs to mention it at all. Magnus is typically diligent about presenting his bill to the person in charge of paying it, even when that person isn’t also married to him. That aside, Alec can’t remember the last time Magnus dropped by the Institute and didn’t swing by to see him, even just for a moment to say hello.
“Yeah, he’s pissed at me,” Alec confirms, still unable to look away from the invoice. He reads through it again, for at least the fourth time now, and adds, “Really, really pissed.”
“The Gemini Laws?” Andrew guesses.
It’s not much of a leap. The entire warlock community has been actively snubbing them since the laws were announced by the Clave a few days ago, and Magnus has made his views loudly, unequivocally known.
“I don’t think it’s a coincidence that he’s asked for two of everything,” Alec says dryly, turning the invoice toward Andrew to underscore the point.
“I haven’t done an assessment, but I don’t think this is equivalent to what we’ve been paying,” Andrew comments, carefully neutral. “The black opals alone…”
“Oh, he’s definitely gouging us,” Alec agrees, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying to massage away the growing headache. “We didn’t agree on a price in advance.”
“I think in this case we could argue that we had a right to expect a standard fee.” Andrew looks down at the list again. “We’ve never been asked for payment in orris butter.”
“Or...I don’t even know what this one is. Neelakurinji?”
Andrew coughs. “I had to look that up. It’s a flower.” Just as Alec is cautiously allowing some relief and hope to blossom in his chest, thinking something on this list might be easy to acquire, Andrew finishes, “It’s native to India, and blooms once every twelve years.”
Alec automatically checks the bottom of the invoice, where ‘payment due within thirty days of receipt’ is printed neatly in the usual place. Beneath it, he’s distantly alarmed to see the new addition of an interest rate schedule, which is just as astronomical as the list of fees.
“This is going to wipe out our defense budget for the entire year,” Alec says. “There’s no way we can get all of this together in a month.”
There’s a moment of silence, which Alec recognizes as Andrew working up to saying something he already knows Alec isn’t going to like. Alec gives him a minute, then looks up at him and raises an expectant eyebrow.
Andrew grimaces. “We could challenge it in court, on the grounds that this is clearly personal.”
“Unfortunately,” Alec replies, “it isn’t. We agreed when we married that we’d keep our work and home lives separate. He’s pissed off at me because I’ve agreed to uphold the terms of the new laws in New York, not because I got ichor on the living room rug. It’s an entirely appropriate way of expressing his…” Alec searches for a word, and can’t find anything remotely strong enough. “...disapproval.”
Andrew looks pointedly at the list and back at Alec. “If I may ask, how’s that personal and professional separation working out for you?”
“Honestly? The only reason I’m not sleeping on the couch is because he’s not even coming to bed anymore.” Alec drops the invoice onto his desk to deal with later. “How are things with Lorenzo?”
“He’s not happy either, but I’m not the one responsible for implementing the laws in New York, so I’m not quite as much in the doghouse.” Andrew pauses then, and clearly decides not to say what they’re both already thinking: Andrew also isn’t the one who’d drafted and proposed the initial legislation that had led to the Gemini Laws in the first place.
“Yeah,” Alec sighs, and rubs his forehead.
Andrew gives him a moment to wallow in self-pity before he asks, “What are you going to do?”
It’s a good question. Alec would really like to eat dinner with his husband again eventually, which makes his answer an obvious one, however harrowing the prospect of confrontation.
“I’m going to talk to Magnus.”
—
Magnus has taken work in Tokyo this week, possibly solely to avoid being home with Alec. He’s already gone when Alec gets home late from the office, and isn’t back by the time Alec leaves again in the morning.
He also isn’t picking up his phone, which isn’t surprising, since Izzy’d confided that Magnus has changed Alec’s name in his contacts to ‘Cohabitating Shadowhunter.’ After hanging up on Magnus’ voicemail message for the third time, Alec sets his phone on his desk, spinning it slowly as he thinks. Then he gets up, grabs his jacket from the coat tree by the door, and tells Andrew he’s taking a meeting in Brooklyn.
He’s in luck; Magnus is seeing clients today, and loitering just outside the perimeter of the wards nets him a squirrelly warlock Alec doesn’t know; one who’s clearly jumpy and sizes up Alec with beady, suspicious eyes.
“If you let me take your appointment today and reschedule, I’ll cover the cost of your consultation,” Alec tells him.
Five minutes later, he’s knocking on his own front door, which Magnus opens looking distinctly unimpressed.
“I hope you aren’t here to ask for any favors, because I have a two o’clock appointment and limited patience,” Magnus says by way of greeting.
“I am your two o’clock,” Alec answers. “I want a meeting.”
“Funny, you don’t look like you’re here for external mucus gland lubricant,” Magnus says flatly, crossing his arms over his chest.
“I...wait, that’s what I’m paying for?” Alec asks, blinking, before he recovers in the face of Magnus’ quelling expression. “Look, I just want to talk.”
Magnus spins on his heel and walks away, but he leaves the door open behind him, so Alec trails after him. He thinks Magnus is headed for the drinks cart, but instead they find their way to the apothecary, which means that Magnus is determined to play this out now that Alec has set their terms.
“What can I do for you today?” Magnus doesn’t sound like he means a word of it, but Alec has faced down the Inquisitor on multiple occasions now, so he has some experience with hostile negotiations.
Alec takes a breath and dives right in. He’s had the entire walk over here to think about what he wants to say; if he’s honest, he’s been thinking about it every night this week, alone in an empty apartment.
“I’m sorry about the Gemini Laws. That’s not what I wanted when I made the proposal to the Clave, and I didn’t know what they’d do with it. I swear I didn’t know what they were planning until they made the announcement.”
“How could you not have known?” Magnus demands, uncrossing his arms and rocking forward onto the balls of his feet. “Did you really believe the Clave would see legislation designed to revoke demonic claims over warlock children and not decide they should be the ones to gain custody? What did you think would happen?”
“I thought they’d be protected,” Alec says, too loudly. “You’re the one who told me about demonic ranks, how the agent of a demon with dominion over another has rights outside of those realms. There’s no way for the Institute to enforce an adoption claim, legally. If anyone ever tried to take Madzie again…”
He only realizes how badly he’s misstepped when the room goes glacially cold, and his throat tightens against the sudden chill. “Oh, don’t you dare make this about Madzie,” Magnus warns, cat-eyes glowing gold in warning. “Not when you’ve made it possible for the Clave to put her under their ‘care’.”
“I’m not,” Alec swears, teeth clenched so they won’t chatter. “But Magnus, they already could. So could a demon, or another warlock with the right parentage. I can’t protect…” He swerves away from using Madzie’s name again when Magnus’ eyes flash. It’s time to take a different tack.
“If it were us,” Alec continues, aware that there’s a good chance Magnus might call down a lightning strike this time, and forging ahead anyway. “If it were our child, and I had no way of protecting them; if our family were torn apart because another demon had a more important mother or father than you do, Magnus, what am I supposed to do?”
Magnus stares silently at Alec for so long that he nearly gives in and says something else just to break the stalemate. Finally, thankfully, Magnus says, “This isn’t the way.”
“I know that.” Alec’s so grateful to have gotten through that he trips over himself in his rush to reply. “I don’t agree with the new laws, and I’ll do everything in my power to oppose and overthrow them, but I have to do it from the inside. I can’t go up against the Clave alone. I’ll never win. I have to change things within the system, one step at a time, and I swear to you that I’ll never stop trying. I’m going to fix this. But I have to do this my way, and that means fighting for amendments and appeals, not refusing outright to cooperate. If I do, they’ll just replace me with someone else.”
He takes a breath when Magnus remains silent, still listening, and says what he really came here to say. “And I can’t do it without you. Not because you’re the former High Warlock of Brooklyn, or the son of Asmodeus. I need you to tell me when I’m wrong, to give me context and history, to tell me when I shouldn’t give up because I’ve finally gotten it right. It doesn’t matter who else is on my side. I need you.”
Magnus taps an armor ring against his elbow, arms crossed again, as he weighs Alec’s plea. Finally, he says, “I’m very angry with you.”
Alec exhales shakily. “Yeah, I know. I got your invoice.”
Something shifts in Magnus’ expression, a flash of emotion Alec can’t identify before it’s gone and replaced with something slightly warmer. “Are you also here to lodge a complaint?”
“No.” Alec lets himself smile, just a little. “I deserved it. I don’t know how I’m going to get hold of firebird feathers, though.”
Magnus’ gaze thaws even more, the gleam of his eyes softening even without a glamour. “I’ll send you a source. Although I warn you, they’re not cheap, nor easy to come by.”
“I got that impression.” Alec pauses, hesitant to risk breaking their fragile truce. “About that invoice, though. I was going to suggest...an amendment.”
Magnus raises an eyebrow. The armor ring taps again, prompting. Now that they’re not in the middle of a confrontation, Alec is finding the combination of weaponized jewelry, cat-eyes, and Magnus’ arms crossed over his chest more than a little distracting.
“More of an addition,” Alec tries, failing to keep his eyes from flickering down to Magnus’ biceps and pecs. Also failing to hide it well, if the amused look on Magnus’ face is anything to go by. “A committee to determine exactly how the Gemini Laws are enforced in New York. For now,” Alec emphasizes. “I could share any information I have with...concerned citizens, and we could work together to prevent any cases where the law might be abused. You, Lorenzo, maybe Catarina, anyone else that might have an interest. My hands might be tied on the letter of the law, but that doesn’t mean we can’t work toward our own interpretation.”
“I see.” There are wheels turning behind Magnus’ eyes, and his tone is thoughtful. After a moment, he says, “I can write some letters now, if you’d like.”
“You could,” Alec admits reluctantly. “Or...I still have some time left on my consultation, right? We could talk about mucus venom, or whatever that was.”
He’s missed Magnus. They’ve only been fighting for a few days, but Magnus is the star he orbits, the gravitational pull that keeps Alec grounded and energized. Alec has been unmoored without him, and he doesn’t want to leave just yet.
Magnus looks even more amused. “If you’d like. You do have another forty-five minutes.”
He steps forward, and Alec stands very still, because there’s a sparking tension he recognizes now between them, and if Magnus touches him, it’s going to break.
Magnus raises one hand, considering, and trails the sharp clawed tip of the armor ring down Alec’s sternum. “Or we could do something else.”
Alec swallows. His voice sounds like it’s been dragged over gravel when he says, “We do have forty-five minutes.”
Magnus’ eyes gleam when they meet Alec’s. “My thoughts exactly.”
—
Throwing knives & battle axes
“You summoned?” Izzy sails into his office without waiting for his acknowledgement. She also bypasses the chair and perches directly on the corner of his desk, crossing her legs and beaming down at him. She’s in a specific sort of good mood; Simon must have been by earlier.
Alec raises his eyebrows and leans back in his chair. “I texted.”
“‘My office.’” Izzy draws out air quotes. “That’s a summons.”
Alec doesn’t disagree, because he’d rather spend his energy on arguing the point he’d called her up here about. He uses two fingers to rotate the invoice lying on his desk until it faces Izzy. “Magnus dropped off a bill for the series of pathology consults you requested.”
Izzy’s no fool; she plucks up the invoice and reads over it, clearly delighted. “Throwing knives, battle axes...a guisarme, nice.” When Alec doesn’t say anything, she looks up, her lips bright and curved. “I’ve always thought you should try a brandistock.”
“I know you have,” Alec says dryly. “You’ve also mentioned wanting new throwing knives and battle axes for the armory.”
“Then this is perfect!” Izzy exclaims, still playing along. “Our last few requisition orders haven’t come through. I’m sure Magnus would be willing to let us use some of his supply.”
“I’m sure he would too,” Alec agrees, with a significant look. “In fact, I’m pretty sure that was the plan all along. What is Magnus going to do with electrum-laced bolas?”
“All sorts of kinky things, I hope,” Izzy replies, leaning back on his desk to look him over. “Are you two still aggressively banging out your mutual frustration over the Gemini Laws?”
Alec doesn’t answer that. He doesn’t need to, anyway; Magnus hasn’t been healing the bite marks, and Izzy knows him well enough to interpret the way his eye twitches at the question. She cackles and reaches out to poke what definitely feels like a bruise just above his collarbone.
“This is for you,” Alec states firmly, steering them back to the topic at hand. “All of this is for you. Did you even need him for those consultations, or was that just an excuse?”
Izzy straightens abruptly, looking offended. “I wanted his expertise. Magnus said he was happy to help, and when I mentioned that we hadn’t been able to requisition everything we needed from Idris, he said he’d be happy to help with that, too.”
“We haven’t been able to fill the armory because we don’t have the money,” Alec says bluntly. “Everything on this list is beyond what we strictly need to have on-hand.”
“We don’t have the money because you blew the entire defense budget on reinforcing the wards,” Izzy reminds him. “I could have at least talked them into the throwing knives.”
“Do you know about a discount black opal store?” Alec demands, rolling his eyes. “Because I couldn’t find one.”
“And you paid Magnus then -” which is only half-true, it’s been six weeks and Alec is still negotiating the interest payments during those aggressive mutual frustration sessions, “- so you can pay him now. We get the weapons from Idris, he sells them back to us at a discount, everybody wins.”
“”We’re not using him,” Alec says, sharply enough to make Izzy startle. He tries to temper his tone and only halfway succeeds. “He’s been used enough. He’s already given away too much to help us. He gave you a priceless ruby necklace, and my…”
He cuts himself off before the end of that confession; he doesn’t need Izzy to know what he’d paid - or hadn’t - for Magnus’ aid on her behalf. She’s watching him with keen interest, aware that he’s hiding something from her, so he steamrolls on.
“That’s not the kind of Institute I want to run. Doing favors is one thing, but this…” He taps the invoice pointedly. “This is something else. He deserves better than to be used for what we can get from him.”
Izzy studies him shrewdly. He thinks he’s made his point, and possibly revealed a lot more than he’d meant to about his feelings where Magnus and the Clave are concerned, but he knows he’s safe with Izzy. She won’t mention this to anyone else, unless it’s to more subtly influence those who think they should be able to leverage the Institute’s connection to a powerful warlock.
“All right,” she agrees. “I’ll talk to Magnus.”
“Thank you,” Alec says with relief. He pushes the invoice to her across the desk.
Izzy looks it over again and purses her lips. “Can I at least have the brandistock? He’d just have given it to you anyway.”
“No,” he says automatically, and then, “Maybe.” He grimaces and shakes his head. “Price one out and send it to me, I’ll see what I can do.”
Izzy leans over for a hug that he’s pretty sure is for his benefit more than hers. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten there’s something of yours that Magnus owns. I’m going to find out what it is.”
“No, you’re not,” he replies, the corners of his mouth turning up in spite of himself.
“Don’t underestimate me and my powers of persuasion,” she admonishes, hopping off his desk and picking up the invoice to take with her.
“Never,” he answers seriously, and is rewarded with her sudden, blinding smile.
—
Dolce & Gabbana
“Sir,” Andrew says, which is...weirdly formal, given that Alec is sitting alone in his office.
“Underhill?” Alec echoes in the same tone of voice. He hopes he’s not about to be blindsided by a transfer request; if Andrew leaves, he honestly doesn’t know how he could run this place on his own.
Andrew shifts his weight and doesn’t move out of the doorway, which takes Alec’s alarm level up a few notches. He looks awkward and uncomfortable, like a man who really doesn’t want to have the conversation he’s set himself up for.
Alec’s next thought, which really should have been his first, is that one of his siblings must have done something he really doesn’t want to know about, and he’s going to have to find out anyway and then do something about it.
“What is it?” Alec prompts, more fatalistic than he’d intended.
“The high-security prisoner transfer.” Andrew finally moves forward into the office, and Alec sits up straight. He’d been there for their half of the transfer, and everything had seemed to go smoothly. It hadn’t been an altogether pleasant experience, with several Clave officials breathing down their neck and four dangerous vampires outside of a holding cell, but his people had acquitted themselves well.
“Is there a problem?” His tone is suddenly sharper, preparing for a situation report. It feels not unlike bracing himself for news about his siblings.
“No, sir.” Andrew is quick to reassure him. “The team has returned safely, no surprises. I didn’t want to interrupt your meeting with the clan leader, so I took care of the paperwork.”
Alec is genuinely lost in the conversation at this point. It’s fairly standard procedure for them; Andrew checks and prepares most of the forms that require Alec’s signature, and filters out anything he doesn’t need to deal with personally. There’s no reason for Andrew to look like he’s been caught out at something.
When Andrew hesitates again, Alec prompts, “And…?”
Andrew clears his throat and steps forward like he’s marching to a firing squad. “I don’t think Magnus realizes you’re not the only one to read his invoices.”
Alec’s eyebrows get confused somewhere between rising to his hairline and furrowing in concern. Andrew offers the papers in his hands, and Alec tries not to dread whatever private correspondence he assumes has been scrawled in the margins.
He’s surprised out of his immediate worry by a new concern. “Is this three pages long?” he demands, disbelieving. It had been a straightforward prisoner transfer, one portal to Idris and one to return; Magnus had originally offered to do it for free, knowing how nervous Alec was about putting this particular group away.
“Yes, sir.” There’s an odd note in Underhill’s voice now, something strangely like repressed laughter. “I stopped reading on page two.”
Alec flips through all three pages just to confirm that they are entirely covered in legal contract language. There are clauses and sub-clauses; this isn’t a love letter covertly slipped into the same envelope as a schedule of fees, or a damning reference to something they’ve done to knowingly skirt the law in order to protect the downworld.
When he goes back to the beginning and starts to actually read it, he understands with slow-dawning horror why Underhill had looked both guilty and amused when he’d handed it over.
It is a request for payment, of sorts, for services rendered, outlined in meticulous detail. It’s also one that, if taken seriously, might actually get Alec arrested for solicitation.
“Half of this page is about designer-label wardrobe,” Alec says when he thinks his voice will hold steady. He’s determinedly ignoring the way his face is on fire. “Is this even about me, or did he just have an inspiring trip to fashion week?”
Andrew gives an abortive, choking cough. “Skip down to paragraph 4C. It’s definitely about you.”
Alec reflexively skims until he hits paragraph 4C. It’s on page two.
“Oh,” he says after a short eternity, very pointedly not looking at Andrew. He might not be able to look at Andrew ever again, which will make work inconvenient, to say the least.
“At least he knows what he wants,” Andrew suggests, the humor more evident in his voice now, and Alec is so grateful to him for breaking the tension that he nearly goes boneless.
“I can’t approve this,” he says flatly, covering the papers with one hand. There’s no way he can sign and file this with the Clave. When he looks up at Andrew, whose mouth is twisted into an apologetic little grimace, the other shoe drops.
“I can’t reject this,” he realizes. It will have the exact same effect, except that he’ll have to write an accompanying statement to explain why he’s denied payment and requested that the invoice be re-submitted.
“Not officially, anyway,” Andrew agrees. His eyes are sparkling suspiciously.
Alec gives himself to the count of five to pull it together. “Will you have my schedule cleared for the rest of the afternoon?” he requests finally.
“Of course, sir,” Andrew replies, with gravitas that Alec doesn’t believe for a minute. He waits until Andrew is gone with the door closed behind him before he turns back to the invoice, nearly dropping it on the floor in his graceless haste to finish reading.
He’s very glad that Andrew stopped before page three.
—
“Alexander,” Magnus greets him warmly when he arrives at the loft. “What a pleasant surprise.”
“Is it?” Alec asks dryly. He holds up the invoice. “Because I kind of think you had an idea how this would go when you left this at the Institute for me.”
Magnus must have been working in his apothecary before Alec came through the wards; he’s in shirtsleeves and a waistcoat, and his fingertips are stained a deep violet. Seeing him in that in-between state, relaxed at home but still halfway-dressed from an appointment, never fails to kick over Alec’s libido. After reading through Magnus’ imaginative fantasy fee schedule, it hardly needs the encouragement.
“I might have hoped,” Magnus admits, his eyes crinkling at the corners with his smile. “I kept my afternoon open, but I didn’t expect you for another couple of hours. It’s difficult to convince you to take time off when you’re being dutiful.”
“I thought we’d talked about keeping our personal and professional lives separate,” Alec says, raising an eyebrow.
“And I told you I’d do this one as a personal favor,” Magnus returns smoothly. “Those prisoners were a danger to the entire downworld. I consider it neighborly cooperation.”
“Is that what this is?” Alec asks, tilting the contract. “A gesture of good faith?”
“It could be,” Magnus agrees, playing magnanimous.
“It’s not because I gave you a hard time about asking for something you really want, after Izzy talked you into invoicing us for adamas throwing stars?” Alec drawls.
“You can’t deny this time I asked for exactly what I wanted,” Magnus points out.
He has to see the heat in Alec’s gaze and know exactly where this is going to end. The reason Alec is still standing by the door is because he knows that if he gets any closer to Magnus, they’ll be in the bedroom before they finish this conversation.
“I meant something like that bizarre gold elephant-head cane the Institute’s had in a vault for a century with your name on it,” Alec says, resisting the temptation to yield to Magnus’ flirting.
“Please,” Magnus pretends to scoff. “As though I want that back. It clashes with everything.”
There’s more to that story than Magnus is telling him, but Alec refuses to be sidetracked. “I’d like to propose a counter-offer,” he suggests, and sees Magnus’ eyes light up with interest.
“I do love when you get competitive,” Magnus approves. “Are there other services on the table?”
“You write an invoice I can actually file with the Clave,” Alec says, “and I’ll go and change.”
Magnus’ eyes jump from Alec’s face to the bag held by his side, belatedly registering that it’s not his briefcase. It’s an oversized shopping bag with a designer logo embossed on the side, and there are several more tucked inside it. One of the visible gift bags has no logo at all, just a discreet ribbon tying the handles closed.
The room is suddenly charged with tension, the static crackle of magic thick in the air. It feels like summer heat right before a storm breaks, heavy and expectant.
“Change,” Magnus echoes. “May I ask, does that include…?”
“Accessories too,” Alec confirms. He’d had to ask Izzy for help, because there’s no way he was doing a browser search from his work tablet. She’d been giddy with laughter, but he’d sworn her to secrecy, so at least his embarrassment is limited to one sibling. For now, anyway, until Izzy forgets and spills the beans in front of Jace.
Magnus swallows. Alec hadn’t really expected to see him this affected; he’d almost thought Magnus had written the whole thing as a joke. Telling Izzy what he’d been looking for is suddenly completely worth it.
“Agreed?” Alec asks.
Magnus’ gaze meets his again, dark and intent. “How can I refuse?”
Alec smiles faintly. “You realize the trap you’ve set for yourself here.” He taps the pages of the contract against the shopping bag. “You’re going to have to put a dollar amount on exactly what you think this is worth.”
“Alexander,” Magnus tells him without breaking eye contact, “there is no amount of money in the world I would trade for you.”
Alec’s breath catches. He has to swallow before he can speak again. “Don’t break my budget,” he requests, trying to keep his tone light. It doesn’t really work, mainly because he and Magnus are undressing each other with their eyes at this point, and there’s very little pretense at anything else. “I still owe you interest payments on the Neelakurinji.”
“I’m sure we can work something out,” Magnus replies, in what’s very nearly a purr. He starts to prowl forward, and Alec holds the invoice out between them like a paper shield.
“New invoice,” he reminds them both, fighting through the electric prickle of magic and the fixed intensity of Magnus’ gaze. “Signed and submitted.”
“You drive a hard bargain,” Magnus murmurs, but he pauses in his approach.
“I’ll make it worth your while,” Alec promises, his throat dry.
“I’m sure you will.” Magnus reaches out to take the contract from him. Their hands don’t brush, but a spark of magic-static sends a shock through Alec’s fingers.
He has to force himself to step away, turning toward the bedroom before he loses his conviction and drags Magnus back against the front door. They have a plan here. It’s been explicitly written out over three pages of sub-clauses.
Once he’s out of sight, Alec sets down the shopping bag to peel his shirt off, then tosses it behind him through the open bedroom door.
The noise Magnus makes when it hits the floor sounds gratifyingly motivated.
—
Chrysoberyl & gold
Jace is in Alec’s office when he returns from the latest post-diplomatic incident cleanup. He’s coming off the effects of a stamina rune and whatever Izzy has started giving him instead of coffee on days like this, which is his only excuse for why it takes so long to process what Jace is doing.
“Hey,” Alec says, still not entirely convinced he isn’t hallucinating. “Are you...stabbing my mail?”
Jace looks up at him briefly, then back down at the desk. “I think Magnus has done something to it.”
He has the tip of a dagger under the crisp fold of paper, which is resisting his attempts to pry it loose. Alec blinks at it, then registers the letterhead visible above the crease.
“Oh,” he says stupidly, going warm under the collar. “Yeah. It’s a...security measure.”
Jace looks up again and arches an eyebrow. “Isn’t this just an invoice?”
“Can’t be too careful,” Alec replies, hoping it sounds casual but fairly sure he’s gone wide of the mark. “Another invoice? Didn’t we just pay one last month?”
“I know,” Jace agrees, with mocking solemnity. “The way this Institute’s leadership has been including downworlders in shadow world affairs and paying them for their work is just terrible.”
Alec rolls his eyes and resists the impulse to throw something at Jace’s head. He’s just tired enough that he might miss. “Did you want something?”
“Izzy said the stimulant she slipped you would be wearing off soon, and Magnus says you haven’t been home since yesterday, so I’m supposed to make sure you leave the office. Have you eaten? We can pick something up if you want dinner.”
“That sounds good.” He hasn’t seen enough of Jace lately; he’s been on an elliptical loop between worry over Jace’s well-being and determination to give him time and space, and they’re currently at the farthest point of that orbit. “Let me just...check whatever Magnus left. I’ll catch up.”
He trusts Magnus’ magical security - it’s kept Jace out, after all - but he still thinks he ought to read whatever’s in there before he gets home tonight. Even if he doesn’t need to know, he still really wants to.
“No way.” Jace sheathes the dagger and sprawls back into Alec’s chair. “If I leave you alone, you won’t come up for another hour. Just read it and then we can go. How do you get it open?”
Alec makes a noncommittal noise, but Jace is watching and he can’t evade without looking suspicious. He takes the tiny glass bottle from his desk drawer - he’ll find another hiding place for it later - and carefully unstoppers it, squeezing a drop onto each corner of the page.
When he blows on it, the paper flutters and comes loose from the desk, creases unfolding at the nudge of his fingers. He picks it up to read and schools his face into blank disinterest, clamping down on his side of the parabatai bond in case Magnus has made this invoice as creative as the last one.
It turns out he didn’t need to worry. Or rather, he still does, but for an entirely different reason.
Alec groans and drops the invoice back onto his desk. Jace leans forward to sweep it up before Alec can smack his hand away, and reads it with raised eyebrows. “What’s so high-security about this? What is this, anyway?”
“The Cat’s Eye Dragon. Chrysoberyl in gold. Enchanted by a warlock centuries ago to break any known curse at the time. It’s so magically-charged even now that it’s basically a giant power-sink.” Before Jace can comment on why Alec knows all of this, he finishes, “Magnus has wanted it for decades, ever since it turned up again.”
“Shadowhunters have it? Can we even get it for him? It has to be worth a fortune, right?” Jace flicks his finger against the paper. “Is it here at the Institute?”
“No. It’s in a tomb. A locked, cursed tomb, only accessible through an underwater cavern. That’s why Magnus still wants it. Apparently the tomb is warded against anyone with demonic blood. No one’s disturbed it since the location was found.”
“But we could get it? Angel blood wouldn’t set off any traps?” Jace seems to be taking this at face value, and - typical of Jace - assumes they should go haring off after buried treasure just because they can.
“There’s more than just the wards. It’s layered in protections. This tomb is like a magical fortress.” Alec has heard about it more than once, when Magnus is enjoying a few glasses of something and in a storytelling mood. “There’s no guarantee we could get in, and even if we did, that’s not saying we could get back out again.”
“Worth a shot. We’ve been up against worse odds than this. And you said Magnus wants it, right?” Jace leans forward and drops the invoice back onto the desk. Alec gives it a wary look.
“I can’t just…”
Wait.
Alec rewinds the conversation, replaying the words in the context of what he can feel through their bond. Jace is...eager. Satisfied. Anticipatory. Not surprised.
Alec crosses his arms and looks down at Jace. “You’re in on this.”
Jace is a better liar than Alec by far, but his innocent expression and tone can’t erase the flicker of emotions beneath them. “What?”
“You and Magnus. You want me to go collect this dragon out of a cursed tomb. Which is vastly overpaying, by the way. Why?” Alec narrows his eyes, fixing Jace with a look honed over decades of being an older brother and finally perfected on Max, and waits for Jace to give in.
Jace holds out for a few more seconds before he caves. “This would be good for you. You’re stuck at the Institute doing paperwork and sitting through meetings with the Clave. You haven’t been out in the field in weeks. It’s been months since you went on a normal mission. You’re bored.”
“We were just talking about how busy I am,” Alec points out. “I’m not bored.”
“Yes you are, and keeping busy isn’t the same. Come on, Alec. I know you. So does Magnus. You can’t do anything about this Gemini thing, so you’re beating yourself against brick walls on anything else you can find just to keep from going stir-crazy. You could use a little adventure. This is perfect. You and me, on our own mission.”
“Unsanctioned grave robbing,” Alec drawls.
“Recovery of stolen goods. There’s legends about this thing, right? Magnus told me all about it.” Jace looks expectant when he finishes. His confidence hasn’t wavered in the slightest. He does know Alec, damn him, and he knows how badly Alec is wavering. How much he wants to let Jace convince him.
“I can’t believe you two,” Alec grumbles, even though he absolutely can. Jace and Magnus together are an unstoppable force, second only to Izzy when she’s particularly determined.
Jace’s face splits into a grin. “Magnus said he owes you one. Then he said I didn’t want to know any more than that, which is a line I respect. Even if I can guess it has something to do with that shopping trip Izzy mentioned last month.”
Alec gives him a flat, unimpressed stare. It would be more effective if he weren’t about to slide onto the rug and fall asleep. He’s been standing still for too long, and the artificial energy has definitely worn off.
“You can tell me on the way to this tomb.” Jace stands up and claps him on the arm. When Alec sways on his feet, he turns the gesture smoothly into a grip that he uses to steer Alec toward the door. “After you sleep for about ten hours.”
“I haven’t agreed yet,” Alec lies, so transparently that Jace doesn’t even bother to call him on it.
Privately, he has to admit that he’s really looking forward to it.
—
Silphium resin & striped tomatoes
“Magnus?” Alec’s voice rings through what sounds like an empty apartment, but Magnus might be upstairs or out on the balcony. Alec sheds the weapons he carries mostly out of habit now, racking them in the front hall, and goes in search of his husband.
He finds Magnus on the terrace, soaking up the last rays of the late afternoon sun. He has a book open on his lap; something that looks ancient, the pages covered in inked diagrams, and completely incomprehensible to Alec at a glance. There’s a mug cradled in his hands, steaming gently. When Alec leans over to kiss him hello, he breathes in sandalwood and spice tea, one of Magnus’ special blends.
“And I thought this was a perfect way to spend an evening before,” Magnus says when Alec straightens, his gaze as warm as his smile. “It’s now infinitely improved. You’re home early.”
What Magnus means is that Alec is home at a reasonable time for once, and not several hours after the shift change, when everyone around him has gone off-duty.
“I wanted to see you,” Alec admits, because everything else had ceased to matter as soon as he’d seen Magnus out here on the chaise, bathed in a soft golden glow and silhouetted against the city skyline. “But also…” He draws the folded sheet of paper out of his jacket pocket and holds it up. “We need to talk about this.”
“All business, aren’t we? Here I thought you were off-duty.” Magnus sighs theatrically, then snaps his fingers to summon the second mug he must have left waiting in the kitchen. He passes it to Alec. “Very well. What about it?”
Alec almost, almost lets it go. Now that he’s here, paperwork and accounting don’t seem to matter as much as fitting himself onto the chaise next to Magnus, sipping spice tea and watching the sunset. He hasn’t had enough evenings like this. He doesn’t know that he could ever have enough.
He inhales the fragrant scent wafting up from the mug, and compromises by sitting on the foot of the chaise, next to Magnus’ legs. “This,” he says, laying out the invoice, “is your shopping list.”
“It’s a list of useful items, which I would be grateful if the New York Institute procured for me,” Magnus answers smoothly. “I can tell you the market value if you’d like. There’s nothing too expensive, it’s a reasonable rate of exchange. I’m even giving you a discount.”
“It’s not that.” Alec hesitates, then explains carefully, “I think there’s a conflict of interest. When I file this, I’ll be using Institute funds for my own benefit. Mine and my husband’s,” he amends, when Magnus opens his mouth to protest. Magnus considers this for a moment.
“You’re restocking my apothecary. It seems appropriate, since you’re paying me for potions to extend the capabilities of your medical suite to downworlders.” Magnus watches him, genuinely curious. He’s not being dismissive; he’s listening to Alec’s concerns, but there’s something else in his expression, in the tilt of his head.
“I’m using Institute resources to run your—our errands,” Alec counters. “If I don’t file it, this is exactly how we’d spend our Saturday, at the Shadow Market. And I know that because you copied this list word-for-word from the one on the kitchen counter.”
“Well, it’s how I’d spend my Saturday,” Magnus admits, pausing to sip his tea. “You’re not very good at taking days off.”
“Magnus.” Alec can hear the wry, hopelessly fond note in his own voice. “You put our groceries on this. It says ‘striped tomatoes A. likes’ at the bottom.”
“I told you I was undercharging. The least the Institute could do is stock up our pantry.” Magnus studies him. “You’ve handed over a fortune in gems, a prized magical artifact you had to steal from an underwater tomb, an assortment of defensive equipment that’s made Isabelle extremely jealous - not to mention certain extremely personal favors - and this is what’s led you to an ethical dilemma?”
Alec shifts uncomfortably. “This feels different. It’s just...this is our life. It feels wrong for me to be filing a request with the Clave for tomatoes, when I know they’re for me. I don’t mind you asking for them; I’m not saying you’ve done anything wrong,” he adds quickly. “I just think I shouldn’t be the one to sign off on this. I’ve asked Lydia for a favor and she agreed. From now on, your invoices to the New York Institute will go directly to her. They won’t be handled by me, or any of my people.”
Alec hesitates, then reaches out to lay his hand beside Magnus’, his thumb stroking over Magnus’ knuckles. “Is that okay? I’m sorry, I don’t want to make any trouble for you. It just feels like a line I shouldn’t cross.”
“Alexander.” Magnus takes his hand to squeeze it. “It’s fine. You have a strict moral code, and I wouldn’t want you any other way.”
He tilts his chin up in a request so familiar it makes Alec’s heart twist. Alec leans in to kiss him, and Magnus runs his fingers through Alec’s hair, making him shiver slightly.
“Well, I wouldn’t want to disappoint the man keeping me in striped tomatoes.” Alec nuzzles at Magnus’ jaw until they kiss again, soft and lingering. Kissing Magnus feels like this sometimes; like there’s a promise renewed each time.
Magnus shifts, setting aside his mug and then tugging gently at Alec’s until he realizes what’s happening and lets go. From there, it’s easy to sink down onto the chaise beside him, both of them working to close the book and move it to safety before they recline together, the kisses deepening into something slow, heady, and just right for the lazy evening heat.
“While we’re on the subject,” Alec comments, reminded by the crinkle of paper as he stretches out on top of the invoice, Magnus’ legs tangling with his, “what exactly are you planning to do with six ounces of silphium resin? Isn’t it used for summoning demons on behalf of a loved one?”
“Heads of Institutes,” Magnus murmurs, kissing along Alec’s jawline, “are not supposed to know that.”
“I listen when you talk,” Alec reminds him, head falling back and eyes closed in encouragement. He blinks them open a moment later when Magnus stops moving, and sees a strange, naked look on his face.
“I know you do,” Magnus says after a moment. There’s a note of wonder in his voice, like he still can’t quite believe it, which only makes Alec more determined to prove himself.
He rolls onto one elbow and nuzzles until Magnus parts his lips for another kiss. “Want me to list the properties of herbs in alphabetical order?” He doesn’t know them all, not even close, but he’s learning. Enough to make an attempt, and to make Magnus laugh.
“Mm, tempting,” Magnus returns, half-purred, and then Alec is on his back on the chaise, blinking up at Magnus, backlit in riotous orange and purple by the setting sun. “But I have a better idea.”
—
Amendments & alterations
Alec doesn’t recognize the number on his phone’s display, but it’s an Idris extension, so he takes the call. “Lightwood-Bane.”
“Alec.” Lydia’s voice is sharp and to-the-point as always. “I need to know whether you’re aware of the contents of Magnus Bane’s most recent invoice to the New York Institute.”
Lightwood-Bane, Alec corrects silently, but this doesn’t sound like the time to press that point. “Manchineel sap,” he recites, casting his mind back to weeks past. “Laccolith honey. Siren’s tears. Bat’s head root.” He hesitates, not sure whether he should mention the silphium resin. Or the tomatoes.
Lydia cuts him off, sparing him the decision. “Not that one. The one he sent over this morning.”
Alec frowns. “He sealed a rift in Marble Hill last night. If you’re asking whether it’s a legitimate expense claim…”
“I’m not. The service itself isn’t being contested. I’m asking whether you know what he’s demanded in payment.”
Alec slows his pace automatically, and then forces himself to pick it up again. He’s on a busy sidewalk, walking home toward Brooklyn, and with his glamour up he’ll have mundanes running into him if he doesn’t keep moving. “I told him to send everything directly to you. What is this about?”
“Would you swear before the Silent Brothers that you had no knowledge of either the invoice itself, or what Magnus was planning when he sent it?”
“What happened?” Fear sharpens his voice, and he’s moving faster now, calculating how far he is from home, from the Institute, from the portal to Alicante.
“I need you to think carefully about this, because if you knew, or if you lie about it, you could be charged by the Clave with collaboration.”
Alec’s head is filled with nightmare scenarios. Magnus in Idris, in a holding cell, under an Inquisitor’s stele, with a knife to his throat. Panic claws up his throat as he rasps out, “Angel’s mercy, what did he ask for?”
There’s silence on the other end of the line. “You’re a terrible liar,” Lydia says finally. “I’m willing to vouch for you having no knowledge of Magnus’ request. Although I am sorry,” she adds, her tone changing to something unusually sympathetic. “If you really didn’t know.”
“Lydia,” Alec grinds out. “Where is my husband?”
“He’s not here,” Lydia assures him. “He left hours ago, without an escort. I only found out a few minutes ago; they were keeping it locked down until they made a decision.” Before he can ask again, Lydia continues, “He kicked over a hornet’s nest, but they’ve given him everything he asked for in the end. You’re the one I’ve been worried about.”
Alec is halfway to running home when he remembers that Magnus won’t be there. He has a charity fundraiser tonight, something arranged through Catarina at the hospital. He’d told Alec not to wait for dinner, that he’d be home late.
Alec makes a sharp turn to cut across the city, dodging the traffic that can’t see him and won’t stop to avoid a collision. His phone starts ringing and he pulls it away from his ear to check the screen, hoping it will be Magnus, but it’s Jace. Alec declines the call and tries to tamp down some of the panic that must be leaking everywhere between them. He doesn’t have an explanation for Jace yet anyway.
“If they’re going to arrest him, I want to be there,” Alec says. “And I want to know why.”
“Alec, relax.” There’s another pause, and then Lydia says, “I think I know how you’ll feel about this, which is why I had to be sure you weren’t involved, but it is your legislation he’s overturned.”
Alec’s stride falters, and only combat reflexes save him from being hit by a car. “My...what?”
“The Gemini Laws.” Lydia sounds quietly satisfied herself, smug on Magnus’ behalf. “He proposed seven amendments and an appeal clause for special circumstances. The Clave agreed to all of it.”
Alec’s throat works. He knows all seven of those amendments. He’s hammered them out with Magnus in committee meetings and over late-night dinner dates, debating the fine points of every argument.
“You’re not serious,” he says finally. “He can’t invoice the Clave for amendments to the law.”
“They said the same thing,” Lydia agrees. “Magnus argued that he’d asked for unconventional settlements in the past, and that the New York Institute had set a precedent by paying them.”
It takes Alec a second to find his voice. Then he says, “I have to go,” and hangs up without waiting for a reply.
He runs all the way to the hospital, and doesn’t have any idea what he’s going to say or do when he sees Magnus until he’s suddenly there, brilliant and dazzling, charming a handful of stuffy board members in suits and gesturing expansively with a glass of champagne.
Alec forgets that he’s still glamoured until Catarina’s eyes snag on him and she frowns. “Alec?”
Magnus turns. Alec stops breathing. Then he drops the glamour, striding forward through knots of invited guests until he’s at Magnus’ side, somehow managing an apologetic, “Excuse me,” as he steers Magnus away.
Magnus’ gaze is keen and assessing. Alec is struck by the sudden, wild desire to kiss him right here in front of everyone, to lay claim to this person who is, inexplicably, his entire world. He takes Magnus’ champagne flute instead, and downs the entire thing in a few swallows.
“You’ve heard, then,” Magnus remarks. He’s still studying Alec. “I can’t tell whether you’re here to celebrate or throttle me.”
“Both,” Alec croaks, heart rate finally beginning to slow to something approaching normal. His hand tightens on the stem of the glass. “How long have you been planning this?”
Magnus’ lips pinch. “Believe it or not, you gave me the idea. You told me we needed to work inside the system, together, and then you were adamant that I ask for what I really wanted. It took longer than I thought it would to bring you around to handing things off to someone else, though.”
“All this time?” It’s been nearly six months. Alec has all but forgotten the original conversation, the fight they’d had about precisely how Alec could and couldn’t take a stand against the Clave.
“All good things are worth the wait,” Magnus replies. There’s still something cautious in his eyes, which are ringed with indigo and shadowed with a dusting of emerald glitter. He’s dressed to the nines—much better than Alec is, since he just came from the office, and wasn’t expecting to crash a high society fundraiser when he left. There are silver rings on every other finger, and dark polish on his nails. His hair is gelled into soft, dye-tipped spikes. Alec can’t breathe again.
“Every time I think I can’t love you more,” Alec says hoarsely, “you prove me wrong.”
Magnus blinks, and his entire expression changes, eyes widening and shoulders relaxing, like he’s a flower blossoming right here before Alec’s eyes. “I wasn’t sure you’d feel that way.”
“I love you,” Alec says, resolute and unyielding. “You scared me half to death, don’t ever do that again, but I can’t believe...you did it. You actually did it.”
“We did it, technically,” Magnus allows. “You were just unaware that I’d made you an accomplice.”
“I want...Magnus.” The enormity of it is still crashing over him like a slow-motion tidal wave. “Is there...can we…?”
“A room with a bed?” Magnus suggests, correctly interpreting the wild look that’s probably in Alec’s eyes. He makes some kind of noise in assent, hungry and desperate, and Magnus amends, “Though I’d settle for a closet.”
“I don’t care,” Alec manages, and then they’re dragging each other out of the room and into a side hallway, where Alec pushes Magnus against a wall to crash their mouths together, stunned relief giving way to a cascade of giddy joy.
“I love you,” Alec gasps into Magnus’ mouth. “So much.”
“I’m relieved to hear it,” Magnus pants when he breaks away from Alec’s insistent mouth. “Just to be clear, we are celebrating?”
“Find us a closet,” Alec says, and kisses him again.