Chapter Text
Alastair Carstairs arrived at the Paris Institute still irate from his goodbyes with his family. Well, it was always ever his father in particular that put him in such a froth. As he shook his hand, his father acted as though Alastair was shirking family obligations in leaving.
He is already a year late at having his travel year. It never seemed to be a good time to be away from home - as Alastair was always fixing his father's messes.
When he had graduated from the Academy and come home again, he went from feeling pride to guilt very quickly. Though she tried to hide it, his mother was at her wits end. So, Alastair picked up the slack again without delay. He was, in most ways, the man of the house - which he could almost get used to if not for the way his father imposed his whims on them all as if it was he that looked at decisions with careful consideration.
As it stood, his father has just gone through a more troublesome stint of heavy drinking and should be on better behavior for a few months. That might be all Alastair gets here in Paris - a few months time, before his mother is at her wits end once again.
He arrived by portal right into the Institute. Perhaps if he had traveled normally he would have had time to clear his head and properly looking forward to going.
He was greeted by a member of the Institute at the other side of the portal, and Alastair greeted her as gratefully as he could in his particularly poor mood. She was good-natured enough, and did not seem bothered by his tightly-polite demeanor.
They walked up the stairs, through the main hall with its beautiful vaulted ceiling, and up another flight. There were impressive paintings and statues on every wall and in every corner along the way. They had managed some small talk - where he had come from, how she has lived in Paris her whole life.
Well now, he was starting to get the proper sense of separation from his home life that he was looking for.
His guide stood in front of an ornate wooden door and told him that the acting head of the Institute was inside and wished to greet him - Charles Fairchild.
They went inside the office and Charles stood from his seat at his desk. When they had first come in, Charles had been looking quite seriously at his writing. Then, he had gotten up and smiled in an automatic fashion - but then, as Charles truly looked at Alastair, Charles truly smiled at Alastair. And Alastair smiled truly in return. Alastair thought he looked quite handsome both when serious and when he smiled.
Charles' red hair shone in the daylight coming into the room from the window to Charles' left. Alastair could see streaks of darker red like his sisters, and strawberry-blond as well. Charles' light blue eyes pierced his as he shook his hand.
His hand was warm in his, and he could not look away from his smiling face. The moment lasted longer than was normal. Charles noticed first and pulled his hand back and put both in his pockets.
He had only seen Charles in school a few times. Alastair's first year was Charles' last. Each time, Charles acted as though he was not even there. Like he was beneath his notice. It was not that way now.
~
Alastair was in the library reading Sun Tsu's The Art of War. There was something he had seen Charles do, and he wanted to know more.
Charles had been arguing with Will Herondale, the head of the London Institute, about aligning the policies between Paris and London more closely since there was so much travel between the two, for both Shadowhunters and Downworlders. And then Charles had suddenly given up the argument even though he was not convinced that things were fine the way they already were. Charles told Alastair later it was because he realized he could not win.
Charles was adept at such things, Alastair found. At least he was using his advantages properly, unlike the Merry Thieves.
"Are you reading The Art of War?" Someone asked.
Alastair looked up, and standing at the end of the table was Charles himself. As he had been thinking of him a moment ago, he flushed slightly and looked at him dumbly. "Yes, I am," he said eventually. "I'm finding I have an interest. Maybe I could hold a position in the Council someday."
Charles' eyes flashed with interest and he sat down next to him. "Its a good book to be sure. And I find 'The Prince' to be helpful as well, though some would judge me unkindly for it."
"Why?"
"It can be thought of as the blueprint for manipulation," he answered candidly. "But I say understanding others is the only way to bargain, make alliances, and the like."
"I see. I shall read it and let you know what I think of it."
Charles smiled, pleased. "I will like that. I do not know anyone else that has read it and there are many things I would like to discuss about it."
Alastair's heart quickened at Charles' open interest in speaking with him about - anything. He smiled back.
"Say, I just remembered where I've heard of you before," Charles said. Alastair hoped it did not have to do with his father. "You gave my brother, Matthew, a hard time in school. Didn't you?"
The blood drained from Alastair's face. Charles didn't seem particularly angry about it, judging by his tone, however. So he answered honestly. "He and his friends. Yes, I did," he admitted neutrally. He was not particularly proud or embarrassed by it, but this was Matthew's brother so he prepared for a negative reaction.
"As they told it, they were little Angels," Charles confided, "and you were a Greater Demon. But I know that they were likely acting like little brats." Alastair didn't expect this answer.
"They...were spoiled and did not even know it. They had everything, but just wanted to have fun." It was the partial truth. He left out the opinion that they were too sweet and kind - it would make him sound brutish, he knew. Even though that kindness came from advantages as well. He felt uncertain and uncomfortable.
Charles laughed lightly. "That was them."
"But not you," Alastair said without thinking. And now that he'd started, and Charles looked at him so expectantly to go on, he added, "You're still so young and already heading an Institute, even if its temporary. Its very commendable, and an indication of how far you'll go with the Clave."
Charles blushed faintly, and looked at him in a way no one ever has before. It made him tingle all over. Charles leaned closer, and Alastair did as well - drawn in. "You will go far as well, Alastair, I can tell already. You have a drive and understanding that most do not. And I think we shall be great friends and allies."
"I would like that very much," Alastair agreed.
~
Alastair and Charles spoke often of politics, and Alastair opened up - about a lot of things. About everything, except for one. About his father, and his time at school, and his hopes and ambitions.
When Alastair spoke openly to him about how others see the way he looks, he expected the denial he had received from the few friends he had mentioned it to in the past. He was pleasantly surprised at Charles' agreement and acknowledgement that the members of the Clave should be so much better than that. That it was up to their up and coming generation to make sure of it.
His heart belonged to Charles more and more. His ally, his friend, his confidante, his secret and impossible love. Impossible - or so he thought.
~
It was starting to get late and Alastair knocked on Charles's door, book in hand.
"Who is it?," he heard from the other side of the door.
"Its Alastair."
"Come in."
He walked in and closed the door the behind him.
Charles was at his dresser, sliding a pajama shirt down - but not before Alastair got a glimpse of his toned, rune-ornamented, torso. "Sorry," Alastair said, feeling like a wolf in sheep's clothing - for Charles has no idea what he feels for him, or he would not have invited him in while he was in such a state.
"I invited you," Charles assured. "I am not troubled."
Alastair could not get the image out of his mind - wanted to see more of him. He forced himself to focus. "I have brought you a book you might like - on werewolf pack dynamics."
Charles walked over to him casually, took it, read the cover, and flipped through the pages. "Thank you, I have not read this one. It may come in useful during my trip. I am leaving in the morning."
"Yes, that is why I thought to bring it to you now." He knew Charles was going to Idris to discuss whether the surrounding werewolf packs were becoming troublesome.
Charles smiled at his thoughtfulness. "Sit down, I have one for you as well." Alastair sat on the end of Charles' bed and Charles rifled through the short stack of books on his dresser. He pulled out a slim book and sat down on the bed next to him. He handed him the book. Alastair thanked him but could not focus enough to understand the words on the cover at the moment, let alone comment on its possible usefulness.
"You have come to know me so well in such a short time," Charles commented. His entire manner was so open - and completely disarming.
"I have never had a friend so good as you myself," Alastair replied, finding himself to be as completely open as Charles. Too open? But, with the way Charles was looking at him, was it possible that he felt the same?
"There is something else I wish to tell you. Something I have not told anyone in the world, but I want you to know."
To be so far in his confidence was a great pleasure to Alastair. "You can tell me. I would keep any secret for you."
Charles scooted closer and looked him in the eye for a long moment. "I like you, Alastair. That is my secret," he said gently.
Alastair inhaled a small breath.
"You know what I mean," Charles pressed with certainty, reading his recognition.
"Yes," Alastair agreed.
Charles inhaled deeply, and exhaled slowly. "I like men," he told him, as if it was of great importance and gravity for him to say so explicitly. "And I like you."
Alastair saw the truth of it in his eyes, and did not want to make Charles wait too long in agony for his reaction.
"I share the same secret that you do. I like you, too, Charles," he said confidently. Charles took his hand in his and Alastair felt light-headed. His touch was so welcome it was staggering. Like he has tasted the first drop of water in a lifetime in the desert. "I like men, and I like you, Charles." It did feel amazing to say it out loud. Alastair felt lighter than air.
Charles smiled brilliantly and asked, "Can I kiss you, Alastair?" He said yes, and the next thing he knew he was kissing Charles back. His lips were so soft and warm over his. Alastair put his hands in Charles' vibrant red hair, and cupped the back of his head as if to make sure to keep him there forever. Charles ran his hand up his shoulders, to his neck, down his back, and settled at his waist.
Charles delved his tongue into Alastair's mouth, and Alastair moaned and he rushed to open his mouth to him. Their tongues slid together in a dance.
They kissed a while longer, until Charles said that needed to get to bed to be ready for his trip in the early morning.
Alastair has not been this happy in his entire life.
~
Alastair read a book in bed while he waited. It had been a splendid day. Charles did a wonderful job at the fairy meeting today. Alastair had helped him prepare for it. They read books on fairy history, custom, and law. They devised what would be the best outcome and how they bring the fairies around to it. 'The Prince' did have its uses.
Alastair didn't have to wait long. Charles slipped into his room, opening and closing the door quietly in a well-practiced way that avoided any squeaking from its hinges.
They smiled at each other. Alastair closed and set aside his book as Charles slid under the covers with him.
"You were brilliant," Alastair started, voice low - but not a whisper - so it did not carry to the neighboring rooms in the Institute.
"Thanks to you," Charles answered in the same low voice. "It did go really well, though, didn't it?"
Alastair kissed him, and when their lips parted they both shared an expression that said they both knew they did not need to speak any further to celebrate.
Charles kissed Alastair and pulled him flush against him. Alastair felt up his chest and started unbuttoning his pajama top.
When they both lost their tops, Charles settled on top of Alastair. They kissed and felt the addictive glide of skin on skin for a long time. They moved together.
Everything was perfect, Alastair thought. They were in love, and they were a team. They were unstoppable.
After this year, Charles wants to put in a word on his behalf to gain political experience for himself. Alastair thought it was worth considering, but he wanted to be near Charles always. He didn't know how to do that and keep his family together, but they could figure that out, too.
Charles took off Alastair's pajama pants, then his own. And now when Charles settled on top of him again, there was nothing between them.
They moaned into each others mouths as they moved together. Charles sucked on his ear and Alastair turned his head to make it easier.
How lucky they were to have found each other in Paris. They might have carried on their whole lives and not gotten to know each other. And not know about each other. Its such a shame that people like them had to hide in plain sight - or else be a bohemian, which felt like giving up to people like Alastair and Charles. Giving up on the unfairness of the society in which they live, instead of pushing forward however they can and making the changes they wish to see themselves.
"I need you, Charles," he told him hotly.
"I am here," he said.
They fell asleep in each others arms, until Charles left to go back to his own room in the early morning - before anyone else in the Institute would awaken for the day.
~
Alastair's unbridled joy ended abruptly for two reasons.
One: he learned that when Charles went back to London next week, he planned to get engaged to Ariadne Bridgestock. Charles said it was the only way for him to stay a great contender in politics and that he still loved him and wanted to stay with Alastair. That Alastair should convince his family to come to London as planned.
Two: he learned that his father has been arrested and he needed to return home. He was leaving in three days.
Alastair's dreams of life with Charles turned bitter with the realities of life. He would stay with him, and love him, but he feared he would never know the feeling of that pure, sweet love again. Perhaps it was naive to think he ever could have such a thing.
All of these thoughts swirled in his head as he walked the streets of Paris - and he could not have been more surprised, or more in need of a kind soul, than when he ran into Thomas Lightwood.
~~
London.
Alastair regretted his words to Thomas as soon as he and Brother Zachariah cleared the Institute corridor.
Alastair had been so hopeful right up until a few moments ago. It was Matthew's words that had brought reality crashing down on him. 'Be the man Cordelia believes you to be.' It would never be who the Merry Thieves believed he was.
Alastair was not prepared to set his heart up for failure again so soon. Perhaps, never again. Thomas would wake up to his hatred of him. Or, alternatively, break with his best friends. It was true that he thought Thomas was self-destructive, but to say so as he did was too harsh - he could see that clearly from Thomas' expression. Well, it would remind him of who Alastair really was in any case. He was not just the version of himself he was in Paris.
They were at the infirmary door all too quickly. He spent the entire walk thinking about Thomas even though he likely aught to have been thinking of Charles.
The subject of Charles was not any easier to think of than Thomas was. He was feeling rather stuck at the moment.
They passed through the door into the infirmary and his cousin brought him to where Charles was. Brother Zachariah had not started any further conversation on their walk. Did he sense his muddied thoughts? Did he know exactly what he was thinking about?
Charles. He looked weak. He nearly died, he knew, and it was only now that it really hit him. He sat down at the chair next to his narrow bed, defenses lowered. "Charles, how are you?"
Charles opened his eyes and looked at him happily. "Better now," he said with double meaning. The rest of it was, 'now that you're here.' So many of their conversations had to be had with double meaning, he thought with a pang.
His cousin bade him goodbye, his task done.
"I should be able to go home in a few hours," Charles continued.
"James told everyone what happened."
Charles nodded, then turned thoughtful. "When I was lying there, dying, all I could think about what how you hated me. I do not want you to hate me, Alastair. We used to talk, and make plans - we were great friends."
More veiled words. He meant, 'I love you. I cannot bear to be apart from you any longer.' This was so frustrating, they had to speak plainly. But he could say this much and it be true. "You were my best friend. I do miss that, too."
A glimmer of hope came to Charles' eyes. "It would mean the world to me if we could be friends again." Did he mean friends or 'friends'? This was unendurable. "Please, let me try to be your friend."
He decided Charles was being literal here, and said, "Perhaps. At the very least, I wish to keep you company here."
They talked for some time, about all the things that made them great friends: books and politics, mostly.
He dropped Cordelia off, and she told him how Charles kept saying, "Don't go, Alastair. Don't go." He added the information to the muddle of his thoughts.
He went back to Charles and they were eventually visited by his mother the Consul and Brother Zachariah. They asked to speak to Charles privately, but Charles said he could stay.
Apparently, his fiancee, Grace Blackthorn, has been using black magic to ensnare Charles. To force him into marry him and break things off with Ariadne.
And that, within a few minutes, the spell will be broken, and Charles is likely to feel quite differently about both Grace and Ariadne.
Charles protested, saying she would never do such a thing. She was a treasure of a woman.
His cousin countered it could be the spell that makes him think so.
Both Alastair and Charles were dumbstruck. And so they all waited patiently - until his cousin said the spell was now broken.
"How do you feel about Grace? Compared to just a few minutes ago? his mother asked him intently.
She had no way of knowing that both betrothals were a sham. And Alastair had to idea what Charles was going to say.
"I feel nothing for her," he said, truly astonished. More astonished than Alastair could have guessed.
"And of Ariadne?"
"She is...a lost friend."
"You do not love her, Charles?"
"I do not. I was coming to that conclusion when I met Grace. Truly."
"I did not know that, son. I am sorry." Charles looked sorry too, for reasons he did not voice.
After that, Charles was discharged, and his mother and Brother Zachariah left. Alastair noticed they were the last two in the room. He had assured the Consul that he would see Charles home.
"Charles. I do not know what to say. I am sorry." To be bewitched like that...Grace was lucky she was under the protection of the Silent City or else Alastair would seek her out right now.
Charles looked at him for a long time. "I would have broken it off. For you. If Grace had not interfered, I am now quite certain that I would have delicately ended my engagement with Ariadne, once I knew you could not allow it," he said gravely.
Alastair gasped.
"I would have still earned your ire for getting engaged in the first place, but please know that. I am now convinced that your plea at your house in the drawing room would have changed my mind. How could it not? I did not want to lose you."
"Charles. I..." It was all too much.
Charles could tell that Alastair was unprepared to reply just yet. "Will you please see me home, Alastair?"
Alastair gratefully set to the task. They rode the carriage in silence, and Alastair walked Charles to his room. He was a little unsteady on his feet, but walked on his own. Charles got changed into pajamas, and Alastair simply turned around. That way he was still in arms reach in case Charles lost his strength.
He heard him get changed, walk over to his bed, and get under the covers. Alastair turned around then and saw Charles looking at him as he leaned against the pillows.
"Thank you, Alastair. You have gotten me home safely." Charles seemed to be desperately looking for the right words. "If there is any way that you could let me start to make everything up to you, please, please let me know. I will not ask again, because I do not wish to burden you. But, if nothing else, I do wish to also be your friend. You're the only true friend that I have."
Alastair sat on the side of the bed, and looked at Charles. Did he hate him for things out of his control? He should never have gotten engaged, but people make mistakes. He said that he would have broken it. He wasn't sure what he felt for Charles at the moment. "I do not know what is in my own heart any longer." Being so close to Charles made him want to be closer still. Perhaps his subconscious mind knew more than he did. "Perhaps I know a way to find out."
Alastair leaned in and kissed Charles. It was full of his heartbreak, and yearning, and love. It was familiar and comforting. Their kiss deepened and it almost felt like it used to. He could be happy with Charles, he knew. Things could be what they should have been. What he thought they were going to be when they were still in Paris. Their hands touched each others faces, they ran their fingers through each others hair.
But.
Though this kiss was wonderful, it was not as wonderful as it was to kiss Thomas.
The thought shook him. It made him kiss him even harder in desperation - ran his hands over his arms and chest. He tried to cling to this safe and nice thing he had with Charles.
It did not help.
The feeling of wrongness grew in Alastair. And he had kissed Thomas only this morning. The entire night, because that is how good it was.
Alastair broke the kiss and pulled away. "I am sorry, I do not love you," he confessed.
Charles' elated expression turned heartbroken. "But, I thought..."
"I...tried to find what we were, and it was there, but...not as strongly as I feel for someone else."
"What?! Who. Alastair."
Alastair hesitated. How could he say it out loud when being with Thomas was impossible? Should he be with Charles after all? Get some measure of happiness for himself?
Regardless, Charles deserved the truth. "Thomas Lightwood," he confessed.
"Thomas?! My brother's friend? I know you have been trying to make amends with them, but..." His confused expression turned to one of vague understanding. "I have seen him look at you - with affection, and with hate. I just did not know it was that kind of affection. How does it stand between you?" Charles looked as if he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.
Alastair cut himself off from pointing out it could not have gone that well if he was kissing Charles. "I did not know he felt the same way that I did. I did not know about him at all - until we talked while we were locked in the Sanctuary." Charles looked like he had questions about that, so Alastair pressed on quickly. "But, I knew it was impossible between us, for the way his friends hate me so much, and the way he himself still hates me and tries to push that aside, and I told him it could only end badly."
Charles looked supremely conflicted. "I did not know about him either. So, you both confessed, and you ended it anyway? Alastair...So what, you plan to live life alone?"
Alastair was startled. "What? I..."
"You pushed us both away, for what?" he asked, angry. "I could try to make things up to you but you clearly do not want to. You had him, and you turned him down...If I am to be your friend let me start with this piece of advice: do not wall yourself off again to prevent yourself from being hurt. It is just like when you were the bully at school. Striking first before anyone else can hurt you. But you do that, Alastair, you're going to end up alone!"
"I'm not, I..." Alastair thought a moment. "Yes, perhaps I am protecting my feelings, but that's because I stand a very good chance of getting hurt."
"So you will not take the chance at all?"
"He is going to realize I am not worth it."
"You do not know that until you try! That is all I care to say about it. I will not argue for my rival any further."
Was Charles right? He knew in his heart that he was. He has wanted to be Thomas' friend all this time because he could not be more. Well, now was his chance. His expression changed to one of resolve.
"There you are!" Charles said. "Now go get your Merry Thief."