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Chapter Text

Alec would probably be disturbed to know that Magnus has a mental list called, What I Will Do if Someone Tries to Assassinate My Husband.

Magnus has a lot of mental lists, and physical ones, too, scattered about his apartment between the pages of books and under potions ingredients, tucked in the pockets of jackets and in bedside drawers. He’s never been very good at managing his thoughts in any sort of orderly or systematized way. But this list is very important. This list keeps Magnus sane, because he’s absolutely sure that eventually, it’s going to happen.

He knows this because if he were a bitter ex-Circle member wanting to resegregate the world, Alec is who he would assassinate. It would probably be productive to kill Magnus, too, but the problem is that Magnus is one of the most powerful warlocks in the entire world, and any random Shadowhunter who tried to assassinate him would most likely just get blasted into the next century. Alec is a very skilled fighter, but he doesn’t have the power of an entire hell realm at his fingertips, and he’s also constantly surrounded by people who subtly have it out for him. Magnus has seen the way they look at him. He may have secretly given a few of them food poisoning.

Magnus’s list includes such preparatory things as, #12. keep antidotes for all known poisons on hand in the apothecary, and #28. practice shield magic until your fingers bleed from the strain. Then there are the darker entries like, #55. dampen your magic in the aftermath so you don’t explode Alicante, and #72. track down the bastards and string them up as an example. It’s morbid, but then, Magnus has often been morbid.

He will always be grateful that he’s by Alec’s side when it finally happens.

It’s breathtakingly fast. One moment they’re walking down the hall in the Institute, arms brushing, chatting about where they want to go on vacation next month, and the next moment a passing Shadowhunter has a wire around Alec’s neck, pulling him back and choking him, while two others lunge for Magnus with blades alight.

Alec would probably be disturbed to know that there’s an entry on Magnus’s list called, how to boil people from the inside out. It’s #31 in fact.

He throws out a wave of his magic, and the Shadowhunters drop their blades, spasming as fever overtakes them, as the heat rises. They drop unconscious quickly, and Magnus releases them to turn on the third, whom he hadn’t dared attack yet for fear the man’s spasming would hurt Alec. The Shadowhunter still has his wire around Alec’s throat, and Alec’s choking, trying to get his hand underneath it to pull it away from his windpipe.

Magnus lets his eyes glow with molten fire.

The Shadowhunter shakes, his resolve wavering, which gives Alec enough leeway to get his hand underneath the wire and push it away from his neck. It slices into his palm, blood dripping down his wrist, and his neck is bleeding, too, and Magnus fixates on it. Alec, however, pays it no mind, slipping out from under the man’s grip and turning, grabbing him by the throat and bashing his head into the wall. Which is a shame, because Magnus really wanted to be the one to do that.

Alec stumbles across the hall, and Magnus catches him before he can fall to his knees. Alec presses a hand to his throat, and his voice is high and ragged when he speaks. “Damn.” He looks down at the half-boiled Shadowhunters on the floor. “Don’t mess with the High Warlock of Brooklyn.”

Magnus clutches at his jacket. Despite the bruise darkening around his throat, the blood dripping down to his collarbone, Alec looks relatively unperturbed. Perhaps he’d been expecting something like this, just as Magnus had. 

Magnus, however, feels very perturbed. So perturbed, in fact, that he’s shaking a little. He can’t quite bring himself to move away from Alec, no matter that they should get out of this hallway, go report this, probably go to the infirmary— 

At that thought, Magnus finally unclenches his hands from Alec’s lapels and rests his fingers ever so lightly along his throat, summoning his magic with a shaky breath. It flares, too bright, and swirls red around his fingertips. Magnus wills it to settle, to focus on healing the damage instead of enacting more violence like it clearly wants to. But the magic is vibrating under his skin, and won’t give him the cool flow he needs. It wants to tear and destroy in defense of his Alexander, never mind that the danger’s already gone. 

And Magnus can’t really blame it. 

“Hey,” Alec says, voice full of sand, and grips Magnus’s wrists lightly. It’s a gentle, loose touch, and he doesn’t try to push Magnus’s hands away. “Don’t.” 

The words barely register. Magnus keeps trying to get his magic to cooperate, but instead of gentling, narrowing in on the bloody line on Alec’s throat, it only thrashes more furiously, swirling around them both. 

“Magnus.” Alec’s voice breaks on his name, damaged throat not quite able to form the syllables, and Magnus is forced to yank the magic back from where it starts to spin wildly. He’s distantly aware that his eyes are still completely unglamored, and in the middle of the Institute, where anyone could walk by— 

“Magnus, don’t.” Alec’s hands tighten like vises on his wrists, like he’s trying to arrest the flow of magic, and that gets Magnus’s attention. He would— Alec would never touch him like that, like he was trying to control his nature—

But even as the magic finally settles back under his skin, Magnus still feels off-kilter, a little bit out of control. Maybe he needed that grounding point. There’s no entry on his list for self-care after almost watching your husband get assassinated. 

He finally looks up at Alec, only to find him smiling at him, despite everything. “There you are,” he says, and then immediately doubles over in a coughing fit that has Magnus’s hands rushing back to his neck. He listens helplessly as Alec coughs raggedly, wheezing for breath, and he feels violence stirring within him again. He wants to tear somebody apart. 

Once Alec gets control of his breathing again, this time he does push Magnus’s hands away, albeit with a gentle touch, taking them in his own. “You can’t heal it. Not yet. We need to go file a report, we need this as evidence. We need witnesses.” 

“I’m a witness. I can testify to what happened,” Magnus tries to protest. 

Alec’s gaze on him is steady. “You’re also my husband. Look, we can’t afford to give the Clave even an inch on this. We both know there are still those in Idris who would love to see me—both of us—taken out. I won’t let them undo all our hard work just to spare myself a couple hours of discomfort. I won’t let them throw you in prison. Everything has to be by the book.” 

Magnus hates it, but he knows he’s right.

Alec sighs, looking down at the limp Shadowhunters on the floor. “We need to lock them up first.”

Before Magnus can figure out how to do that, Jace comes hurtling around the corner, Izzy at his heels. They skid to a stop, taking in the scene before them. “What the fuck?” Jace says, ever so eloquent. “Alec.”

“Would-be-assassins,” Magnus explains, prodding at one with his shoe. His voice is still shaky, dammit. “Don’t worry, I already boiled them alive.”

“By the Angel,” Izzy murmurs. “Alec, are you okay?”

“I will be. Can you take these guys down to a holding cell before they wake up? We need to go file a report.”

Izzy looks concerned by his matter-of-factness, but she nods. “We’ll handle it.”

Alec nods once, jerkily, then takes Magnus’s arm and marches him down the corridor. Magnus leans into his side. He’s going to have to update his list.

#103. Go home and keep him in bed until the memory’s bled from your bodies. Hold him so the world can’t take him away.

Chapter Text

“So, my darling Shadowhunter,” Magnus purrs, pressing a hand to Alec’s chest, “you’ve seduced me with your fine wine and five-star Parisian restaurant, and now I’m here, in your home, and I must confess I’m quite eager to know what the next step in your plan might be.”

“I’m not sure it counts as seducing when it’s our third anniversary,” Alec says, but he’s grinning. He reaches up to clasp a hand around Magnus’s where it’s still flat against his chest. “Unless you’re trying to role-play a first date?”

Magnus winks at him. “No need to pretend when every night with you is something beautiful and brand-new.” He twirls away, dragging Alec’s hand over his shoulder before letting it slip between his fingers. “Can I get you a drink, darling?”

“No, thanks. The wine was plenty.” Alec follows him over to the drinks cart, stumbling a little like maybe the wine really did affect him as much as he said, and presses against Magnus’s side, one arm looped around his waist. Magnus fixes himself a martini the old-fashioned way, no magic, and snaps a glass of water into Alec’s hand. 

He watches Alec down half the glass with a raised eyebrow. “Thirsty?” 

Alec just looks at him, gaze dark and considering. “Parched.” 

“Hmm, I see.” Magnus plucks the glass from his hand, vanishing it to the kitchen, and twines his arm around Alec’s neck, fingers twisting in his hair. “Let me see if I can help with that.” 

Before he can lean up, Alec’s leaning down, tilting his head to catch Magnus’s lips. He drinks of his mouth like he really could quench his thirst on the taste of Magnus alone, and Magnus is more than happy to be his wellspring. He pulls Alec in deeper, sliding their lips together, shuddering under the intensity of Alec’s desire.

He wasn’t lying, before. Every time he kisses Alec is like the first time and the thousandth time all at once, brilliant in its novelty even as it feels like coming home. 

Alec pulls away with a gasp, breathing into Magnus’s mouth. Sweat is beading on his temple, and Magnus watches with a frown as a droplet rolls down his cheek.

“Is it warm in here?” Alec asks, tugging at the collar of his shirt.

It isn’t, but Magnus pops the balcony doors open with a flicker of magic anyway. Sometimes Alec runs hotter than him, it isn’t entirely unusual. 

“If you want to get my clothes off, you only have to ask,” Magnus says, laying a hand on his shoulder. Alec fidgets under his touch, still apparently bothered by the tightness of his collar, which isn’t even tight. Magnus had popped open the top few buttons before they’d even gotten to the restaurant. 

Alec steps away from him, gesturing to the open balcony doors. “Thanks, that— it helps.” 

They really shouldn’t have the doors open this late in the fall. It’s genuinely cold outside, the air rushing in and raising goosebumps along Magnus’s skin. “Darling,” he says carefully, stepping closer to Alec, “are you alright?”

Alec nods vehemently. “Yeah, I just— do you have some water?”

Magnus magicks him another glass, and watches with alarm as Alec downs all of it in one go. As he lowers the glass from his mouth and places it down, his hand is trembling.

Magnus is on him in an instant, snatching Alec’s wrist between his fingers, feeling his racing pulse, his other hand going to Alec’s jaw to turn his husband’s face down towards his. “Alexander, look at me.” 

Alec does. His pupils are wide, the edge of his hairline dark with sweat. His chest rises and falls rapidly, his arm still shaking in Magnus’s grasp. 

“Breathe with me,” Magnus says. “In and out. In… out.” 

He can see Alec trying to do it, but the steady breaths keep collapsing into increasingly sharp and desperate inhales that sent panic spiraling through Magnus’s stomach. He pushes his magic into Alec’s body, scanning him from head to toe in a move that’s probably uncomfortable in its intensity.

“I know what this is,” Magnus says, and the rage that floods through him is as breathtaking as it is expected. “I know what this is. I have the antidote. Hang on.” Because he’s prepared for this, goddammit. He’s prepared for anything.

“Hanging on,” Alec croaks, sitting down heavily on the coach, and Magnus sprints across the loft to his apothecary.

“Stay conscious!” Magnus yells over his shoulder.

“I’ll be sure to do that.”

Magnus riffles through his store of antidotes—and Lilith he really does have a lot of them, doesn’t he—until he finds the glimmering scales he needs. He mixes them into a hastily-summoned glass of water and runs back out into the living room, vaulting over furniture and falling to his knees at Alec’s side.

“Drink this,” he says, shoving the glass into Alec’s hand. Alec takes it shakily. He’s drenched in sweat now, and his heart is hammering where Magnus wraps his fingers around his wrist to help lift the glass to his mouth.

Alec downs the water, and Magnus takes the glass back. He helps Alec out of his jacket and shoes, and guides him to lie down on the couch. “The antidote will take a few minutes to take hold, but you’ll be alright now,” he says.

Alec holds onto his hand. Unlike the last time something like this had happened, he looks a little scared. Magnus leans in closer to him. “Magnus, what was that?”

“Mirabile malum,” Magnus says. “An extremely rare magical poison.” The only good thing about that is there are only a few warlocks alive who could have made it, and Magnus knows who all of them are, and is already planning a little trip to make his feelings known. “Fortunately, I had the antidote on hand.”

“‘Miraculous Evil’?” Alec repeats, recognizing the Latin. “Jesus Christ, that’s melodramatic.”

Magnus’s lips twitch. “Yes, well. It was made by a warlock.”

“And you just—had the antidote for this on hand?”

Magnus looks down at Alec’s chest. He seems to be breathing easier now. “I have an antidote for every poison in the world. We’re extremely lucky mirabile malum has obvious effects, there are some poisons that don’t show any symptoms before they—”

“Magnus, why do you have all these antidotes?”

Magnus meets Alec’s gaze. “I think you know.”

Alec pulls him down into a hug. Magnus presses his face into his neck. “I’m going to kill someone,” he says.

“Okay,” Alec says.

Chapter Text

Magnus could’ve sworn he said seven o’clock. 

He paces outside the restaurant, a chic Turkish place he’s had his eye on for some time now, turning his phone over and over in his hands. He could’ve sworn they’d agreed to meet here at seven, when Alec got out of work, but it’s almost eight and still no sign of him. It wasn’t like Alec to be this late, not without at least giving Magnus a call.

He hasn’t been answering Magnus’s calls, either. 

Maybe, Magnus thinks, he should portal over to the Institute, make sure everything’s okay. 

Stop, he berates himself, you’re being paranoid. He probably just got held up by some minor Clave emergency and is on his way now. 

The sinking feeling in his stomach says otherwise. 

Magnus’s phone rings, and he jumps. Hope soars in his chest until he sees the caller ID. He picks up without even a hello. “What happened?”

“Don’t freak out,” Jace says.

“Telling me that is making me freak out,” Magnus snaps. “What happened.”

Jace sighs. “It’s Alec.” 

Magnus already knew, but hearing it said aloud still causes his heart to skip several beats. “I’ll be right there.” 

He’s already spinning open a portal when Jace says, “Magnus, wait. You can’t come to the Institute.” 

The portal dissipates into sparks. “Excuse me?” 

Jace sounds genuinely apologetic, but that’s not preventing Magnus from wanting to wring his neck. “We’re on lockdown. No one in or out.” 

Magnus paces, hand white-knuckled on his phone. “That’s funny, I thought I just heard you say that the Head of the Institute was injured and his husband was barred from entering the building! But maybe I misheard.” 

“I’m sorry, Magnus. Believe me. I want nothing more than to let you in to see Alec. But no one can breach the wards until we find the assassin.” 

Now Magnus would swear his heart actually stops. “Jace,” he says, very slowly, “I think you want to tell me exactly what happened.” 

“We still don’t know the details,” Jace says, sounding frustrated. “It all went down behind the closed doors of the cabinet meeting. But from what we can surmise, someone—we still don’t know who, or even if it was a Shadowhunter or Downworlder—planted a bomb in the meeting room. Alec caught wind of it, though, I don’t know how—I mean, this could’ve turned out a lot worse—but Alec figured out something was up and tried to get everyone out. And he pretty much succeeded, but he—” Jace’s voice catches in his throat. “He was caught in the blast.” 

Magnus has to pull the phone away from his ear for a moment so he doesn’t say something unwise. As it is, he sways with the fear that rushes through him. The other times someone had dared to attack his husband, Magnus had at least been there, been able to help him. But this time…

He brings the phone back to his ear. “I’m coming to the Institute,” he says, leaving no room for argument.

Jace, of course, argues anyway. Sometimes Magnus hates Shadowhunters. “The wards are up, you can’t get in. I’m sorry, I’ll let you know as soon as there’s an update.”

That’s not good enough. Magnus paces in a circle, making himself dizzy and not caring. “Jace, I swear to Edom and back, if you do not let me in— for fuck’s sake, I can help! I can help him!” 

Jace is silent, breathing hard on the other end of the line. It’s clear this is difficult for him, too. 

“How badly is he hurt?” Magnus asks, voice resigned. 

Jace takes a shuddering breath.

Magnus’s panic surges. “How badly?”

“It’s pretty bad,” Jace whispers. “Look, the Silent Brothers are with him, they’re doing everything they can—” 

“Oh, so the Silent Brothers can get in, and I can’t? That’s just great, I really love the progressive Downworld relations you have going on there, really swell.” He knows he’s being petty, but he can’t help it. All Jace had said was “he was caught in the blast,” and Magnus just keeps picturing Alec’s limbs being blown off, his skin a charred wreck. He can’t get the images out of his head. 

“Magnus, please,” Jace says, his voice a little broken. “This is hard enough already. Can you please just go home and wait for me to call?” 

Oh, he thinks it’s hard now? It can get a lot harder— 

Tone it down. He hears Alec’s voice in his mind, the same words he uses whenever Magnus starts to let his thoughts spiral. Just breathe, Magnus. 

Does Jace want Magnus to beg? He’ll beg if he has to. “Please,” he says, voice breaking, and Jace makes a startled sound on the other end of the line. “I just want to help him. I just want to be there with him. Please, Jace, just let me.” 

There’s a long silence, and then Jace speaks, voice strained, “I can’t. Believe me, Magnus, it’s out of my—”

Magnus hangs up, suddenly overcome with frustration and helplessness. He fiddles angrily with his phone, tempted to hurl it against a wall. He really shouldn’t take all this out on Jace. It’s the goddamn Clave that’s at fault.

The Clave and their obsession with fucking rules, he thinks bitterly. They’re all too willing to break a rule when it benefits them, but God forbid someone else ask for some leniency.

He’s severely tempted to go to the Institute anyway and try to get in. He put the wards up, there’s a chance he can through them. But him spending the evening in an Institute cell for breaking and entering isn’t going to help anyone, least of all Alec. 

Fine, he thinks, you won’t let me in because there’s an assassin on the loose? 

Then I’ll catch your assassin. 

As far as Magnus can tell, there are two possible assassins. Either it’s a Shadowhunter in the Institute, in which case Magnus can’t do much from outside.

Or it’s the warlock Magnus so foolishly sent in his stead today.

It’d been a last minute thing, he’d been planning to go to the meeting himself. But he’d been called away to an emergency client, something only someone with his power could handle. Normally, he would ask Catarina to step in, but she couldn’t get out of work on such short notice. So Magnus had deputized a younger warlock he’d been tutoring recently, a young man called Pax.

Just take notes and report back to me, Magnus had told him. You aren’t authorized to make any decisions.

He knew Alec would report to him anyway, but it was always good to have real representation at the meeting. To present a united front to the Clave, if nothing else.

It couldn’t have been anyone else. Neither Maia, Meliorn, nor Raphael would have done this. Magnus may not always trust them with his life—well, not the Seelies at the very least—but he trusts them not to do this.

If Pax is responsible for this, Magnus will rip him limb from limb.

Another thing he’s certain of is that if Pax did this, he won’t be in the Institute any longer. He wouldn’t have stuck around waiting for the Shadowhunters to catch him. They may think the Institute was locked down, but Pax would have found a way out, he’s good at that sort of thing.

It’s almost hilariously easy to find him. Magnus has been helping him with his ward work, but apparently none of the life skills he’d also tried to impart have stuck. How fortunate that they didn’t.

He knocks on Pax’s apartment door, and it opens. In the brief moment the door’s open before Pax slams it in his face, Magnus catches a glimpse of suitcases and boxes, like he’s packing. Stupid.

The door slams, and Magnus hears running feet. That’s all the evidence of guilt he needs.

He forces his way into the apartment and catches the younger warlock around the throat with his magic before he can dive from the window. A fall which would probably have killed him, incidentally. More's the pity.

“You think,” Magnus snarls, “you can try to kill my husband and get away with it?”

Pax holds up his hands in surrender, choking on Magnus’s magic. “It wasn’t meant to kill them! Just send a message!”

Magnus tightens the grip of his magic. “Funny, that’s not how I see it.”

Evidently, Magnus has not made the consequences for these things clear enough. Evidently, he hasn’t made enough examples of people.

Fine. Then he’ll make an example.

He marches up the front steps of the Institute, dragging Pax, whose hands are bound, by his collar. Magnus bangs on the door with his fist.

“If you want your fucking assassin you better let me in!” he yells, though he’s not sure anyone can hear him through the heavy wooden doors.

Surprisingly, they swing open. There’s a shocked-looking young Shadowhunter guard standing on the other side, but Magnus pays them no mind. He marches his captive through the Institute foyer, through the halls until he reaches Ops, where what looks like the majority of the Institute is huddled around their computers, looking for answers.

Magnus stalks into the middle of the room and throws Pax down at their feet. He slides rather pathetically across the floor. Magnus sees Jace at the far end of the room and catches his eye. “I brought your assassin. The great mystery is solved. Without any Institute help, I might add. Render any justice you see fit. And let me see my husband.”

“Magnus?”

Magnus’s head whips up at the sound of Alec’s voice, and he finds his husband stumbling to a stop in a nearby doorway. His eyes are wide, and he looks between Magnus and the warlock still sprawled on the floor.

“Alexander.” Magnus rushes to him and steadies him as he sways. He scans him quickly, but finds no obvious injuries. No gaping wounds, no limbs blown to pieces.

Then he looks closer, and notices the haziness in his eyes, the remnants of magic swirling around him. Alec stumbles again, but Magnus holds him up. He whirls on Jace and fixes him with a glare.

“You didn’t think to tell me it was a magical blast?! You didn’t think that was relevant information?"

“I’m sorry, Magnus,” Jace says, raising his hands in surrender. “Orders came down.”

“Like you’ve ever followed orders.”

“Hey.” Alec’s hand finds his face. His eyes are unfocused, his voice wavering, but Magnus can still feel that he’s focusing all of what he can on him. “It’s alright.”

“It’s certainly not,” Magnus says, but he lowers his voice. He knows how loud everything can feel after getting blasted with uncontrolled magic. “Are you okay?”

Alec grimaces. “I think I will be. Though the Silent Brothers couldn’t do much to help.”

“I’m not surprised. I can help you, though.” Magnus turns back to the gathered Shadowhunters. “I’ll be taking my husband home now. Anyone who wishes to stop me can face my wrath. And believe me, it would love an outlet.”

No one tries to stop him. Two Shadowhunters do pick up Pax and drag him away. Good riddance.

Magnus knows there’ll have to be actual procedure later, reports and witness statements and a trial. But for now, he’s going to take care of his husband.

“Okay, I think this is a little bit excessive.”

Magnus sits down on the edge of the bed, placing the tea he’s just made on the nightstand. Alec looks at him from where he’s ensconced in a mound of blankets, surrounded by pillows, with various drinks and snacks all around him.

“It’s not,” Magnus sniffs. “I thought you got blown to pieces.”

“I’m sorry. I would have called you myself but the blast knocked me out for a while.”

“Don’t apologize for being unconscious, oh my God.”

Alec smiles, taking Magnus’s hands. There’s still a tremor going through him. Magnus doesn’t like it.

“Hold this,” he says abruptly, pushing a crystal into Alec’s hand.

“What is it?”

“Siphon stone. It’ll help pull out the excess magic.”

“Ah, okay. Thanks.” He closes his hand around the stone. Magnus watches him carefully.

“How are you feeling?”

“I don’t think it’s had the chance to work yet.”

“I meant more generally,” Magnus clarifies. “What are you feeling?”

Alec’s gaze skitters over him, and he looks around their bedroom. His eyes are still unfocused, though less so than they were earlier. “It’s sort of like vertigo,” he says. “The world’s tilted. And everything’s the wrong color.”

“Really?” Magnus says, fascinated despite himself. “What color am I?”

Alec squints. “Purple.”

Magnus squints back, holding his gaze until Alec’s expression cracks. “You’re messing with me.”

Alec grins. “Yeah. I didn’t mean it that literally. Just, everything has sort of a drag to it, a lingering outline.”

“It will fade with time,” Magnus says. “The stone will help.”

Alec nods, and Magnus kisses his hands.

“Were you scared?” he asks.

“I didn’t have time to be,” Alec says. “It was so quick. I just noticed that warlock you sent, he started fidgeting, kept looking at the door. Something about it set off my alarms. I told everyone to get out, and then it was just— this huge blast, it didn’t really hurt, just made the world spin. And then nothing.”

Magnus grits his teeth. “People are going to learn not to mess with you. If they haven’t already, they will.”

Alec grins. “Pretty sure they have after the way you dragged that guy into the Institute.”

Magnus rubs the back of his neck. “Well, I was rather incensed.”

Alec draws Magnus up and kisses him. Magnus feels the prickle of the foreign magic on his lips.

“What can I do to make you feel better?” Magnus asks.

Alec’s gaze slants away, then comes back, unexpectedly shy. “Um. Your— your magic. I want to feel your magic, if you’ll let me.” 

Magnus doesn’t think he quite understands, and if he does understand, then Alec can’t mean that.

“I don’t—” Magnus starts to say, and Alec takes his hand and places it over his own chest. 

“Banish that other warlock’s magic from inside me and replace it with yours. Please, Magnus.”

Magnus swallows hard. “Well, when you ask so nicely.”

He presses his hands carefully to Alec’s face, fingers spread, and lets magic drift up from his skin. He feels the foreign magic immediately, feels how hostile it is, though Alec’s angelic magic is doing a decent job of fighting it off. The feeling sparks something in Magnus’s gut, some jealousy or protectiveness, and his magic washes deeper into Alec, soaks into him, and Alec gasps. “Fuck, I can feel you.”

“Good.” Magnus lets his magic run all over Alec, lets it consume him, until there’s no more of the foreign magic left. Alec shudders against him, hands wrapping around Magnus’s wrists.

“I like that,” he says. “I like feeling you so close to me.”

Magnus kisses him, a little more hungrily than is probably right for this situation, but Alec only pulls him closer. The magic rises and falls within them, pulling Magnus’s emotions with it until he’s forced to break the kiss, breathing hard. Alec looks at him with Magnus’s magic still dancing over his skin.

“No one will ever touch you again,” Magnus says.

Chapter Text

No one has tried to assassinate Alec since the blast at the council meeting. Magnus had thought he’d have to behead somebody or something else drastic and violent to get the message across that Alec was not to be touched, but apparently the simple image of him marching into Pax’s apartment and dragging him to face retribution was potent enough. Alec’s been safe ever since.

Magnus is still watchful, though. He won’t let something slip past his guard because he got complacent.

What does escape his attention is that someone might be bold enough to target him.

Magnus is pretty sure there’s something wrong with his drink. But it tastes good and the room is warm and swirly so that all seems pretty unimportant right now.

“Oof,” Alec says at his side, knocking back the rest of his own drink, “that was rough, huh?”

Magnus blinks at him. His husband is so pretty. “Hm?”

“Those councilmen, they were really digging in their heels,” Alec clarifies.

Magnus has no memory of this conversation. “Heels?” he repeats.

Alec’s brow furrows. He leans in, eyes dark and worried. “Are you feeling okay?” He presses the back of his hand to Magnus’s forehead.

It’s nice to be touching him. “You’re very pretty, you know,” Magnus tells him. “I’m such a lucky man.”

He goes to take another sip of his drink, but Alec snatches it from his hand. “Nope, I think you’ve had enough. Come on, honey, we’re going home.”

He wraps an arm around Magnus’s shoulders and bundles him out of the reception hall. Magnus leans into his side. He’s so warm and comfortable. “But we just got here,” he says. The words feel heavy in his mouth.

Alec swears. “Fuck, you’re not going to be able to portal. Thank fuck we’re in the Institute and not Alicante.”

Magnus has no idea what that means. He just leans into Alec’s side as they make their meandering way through the halls to Alec’s office, where Magnus is deposited on the couch. It’s hard to hold his head up, and he lets it tip back against the couch cushions. All the swirling is starting to hurt his eyes. “Come back,” he moans.

“One second.” Alec is rummaging in a chest of drawers across the room, looking furiously for something. Maybe he has snacks in there. Magnus could go for a snack.

His lips feel wet. He touches them and finds that his nose is bleeding. “Pretty sure that’s not good,” he murmurs.

Alec turns to look at him, and grits his teeth when he sees the blood on Magnus’s hand. “Hang on,” he says.

“Hanging,” Magnus agrees, and then slumps sideways on the couch. Wow, the ceiling in Alec’s office is nice. He never noticed.

The next thing he’s aware of is Alec crouched by his side, smearing some kind of salve on his chest. His shirt is torn open, but Magnus doesn’t much feel like acting on that. “Head hurts,” he whines.

Alec looks truly apologetic. And angry. “I know, baby, I’m sorry. This’ll help.”

The salve smells like spearmint. It makes Magnus’s eyes water. “Don’t be angry.”

“Never with you,” Alec says. “I am gonna kill someone, though.”

“Sexy,” Magnus mutters, and Alec cracks a tiny smile. He smears more of the salve up Magnus’s neck and down to his stomach. The touch of his hands is nice, even if the salve feels cold. “Where’d you even get—” clarity of thought is returning to him, but slowly “—alpine mint salve? How’d you even know to use that?”

Alec looks at him darkly. “You’re not the only one who’s been preparing.”

Magnus giggles somewhat hysterically. “Did I ever tell you about my list?”

Alec rests a hand on his cheek. “What list?”

“What I Will Do If Someone Tries to Assassinate My Husband.”

Alec smiles. “No, why, what’s on it?”

Magnus waves a hand. “Lots of things that are neither here nor there. And one very important one.”

“What’s that?”

Magnus grins. “It involves cuddling. You must banish this horrible, horrible experience from my mind, Mr. Lightwood.”

“Oh, I see.” Alec looks at him so fondly. “Well, if you require it.” He slips in behind Magnus on the couch and lets Magnus settle between his legs, holding him to his chest. Magnus sighs, resting against him.

Alec’s arms tighten around him. “Guess I’m gonna have to make a list of my own. Though most of what’s on it will be increasingly detailed torture methods.”

“If you want, I can teach you how to boil someone alive,” Magnus offers, and Alec laughs.

“Seems like appropriate punishment.”

“I’m just miffed that they got to me,” Magnus says. “I’m supposed to be better than that. I let my guard down.”

“It’s alright,” Alec says, “I’m watching out for you. Just like I know you’re always watching out for me.”

Magnus feels so safe in his hands. “Yes,” he agrees, “I am.”

Chapter Text

Magnus really fucking hates Alicante.

It’s not the place itself, really. The city is pleasant enough, cleaner than New York, and surrounded by some truly stunning mountains. They’re the Swiss Alps, he thinks. Not that he’s ever seen them from this direction. Not that anyone outside Alicante knows this direction even exists.

It might actually be a nice place to live, if it weren’t for all the Shadowhunters. Of course, that was like saying, this might be a nice place to swim, if it weren’t for all the brain-eating amoebas. Impossible to achieve and vaguely suicidal to even consider.

No, it’s not the place he hates. It’s more the fact that it feels like everyone here wants to kill him.

“If they don’t tone it down soon, we’re going to have an incident,” he mumbles to Alec as another group of glaring Shadowhunters passes them in the halls of the Gard.

Alec scowls in their direction. “You bet we are.”

There’s a large part of Magnus that would like to see that incident play out. There’s a larger part that wants to finish their business here and go home.

“We should be finished soon, though,” Alec says.

Magnus tries to project a magical aura of you do not want to fuck with me around himself.

As hoped for, their meeting is quick and uneventful. As usual, it leaves Magnus wondering why it couldn’t have possibly occurred over the phone. Or in an email. Or possibly telepathically. Surely everyone could have predicted his stance on the matter anyway.

As they walk back down the hall to the standing portal by the Gard entrance, Magnus considers suggesting this to Alec for next time. Before he gets the chance, someone behind them says, “Hey.”

They turn around as one, and Magnus barely has time to think, oh, for the love of Chairman Meow, not again, I’m wearing my nicest necktie, before a knife is flying at his face.

Alec catches it out of the air before it hits Magnus, which is extremely sexy—though he does mainly catch it by the blade, which is not so much.

“Why do I feel like we’ve been here before?” Magnus asks, and Alec grins, flipping the bloody knife and catching it by the hilt. He flings it back at the Shadowhunter who’d thrown it, and it thwacks into the man’s shoulder.

Suddenly the narrow hallway is filled with Shadowhunters, and Magnus has an unfortunate sense of déjà vu. “At least they learned from last time and brought backup!” he yells as he finds his position at Alec’s back, and Alec laughs even as Magnus hears the shiiiing-slorp-crunch of his seraph blade cutting another Shadowhunter practically in half.

Magnus raises his hands to blast the two Shadowhunters coming at him with a wall of fiery magic—

And nothing happens.

Now that he’s calling on his magic, Magnus can feel the telltale cold weight of magic suppressant—he’s not sure if it’s somewhere in the walls or if one of the Shadowhunters is wearing something, but something is blocking his magic. And he doesn’t have time to figure out what, because he’s about two seconds away from being impaled.

He dodges the swing aimed at his head and grabs onto the Shadowhunter’s wrist, yanking him forward and jabbing his knee into the man’s groin in the same movement. The man drops with a curse, and Magnus spins, cracking the other Shadowhunter in the nose before she can even get her blade up. It’s fortunate that he keeps up his hand-to-hand skills, though he’s still at a disadvantage without a blade or even any kind of shield.

Shadowhunter 2 recovers quickly and comes at Magnus with a vicious snarl on her face. Magnus dances backwards until he bumps up against Alec—who doesn’t even react, used by now to what Magnus’s touch feels like versus anyone else’s—and reaches back to pull his husband’s spare dagger from his waistband, bringing it up just in time to parry a swing of the Shadowhunter’s seraph blade. He doesn’t have a lot of leverage with this short blade, but he manages to push her off and duck her next swing, skipping around to draw her back and away from Alec.

He's just planning his next attack when Shadowhunter 1 staggers back to his feet and, seeing Magnus out of his reach, goes for Alec’s unprotected back. Magnus doesn’t think, just hurls his dagger.

It thunks into the Shadowhunter’s back and he drops heavily to the floor. Magnus cheers in silent victory—but the distraction of protecting Alec costs him. Shadowhunter 2 lunges at him—Magnus twists and turns and dodges, unable to parry without a weapon, trying to find an opening to get his fists up—

—and backs himself right into the wall.

These Shadowhunters might not be any match for Alec or Magnus at full strength, but they’re not completely useless amateurs either. The woman’s blade strikes true, piercing right between two of Magnus’s lower ribs. All his breath punches out of him, his gasp lost in the loud clanging of swords down the hall. Shadowhunter 2 grins viciously, twisting her blade in Magnus’s chest, and he tastes blood in the back of his throat.

With a last push of strength, Magnus brings up a leg and kicks her hard in the pelvis, knocking her away from him, then yanks the blade from his chest and cuts down across her throat.

He doesn’t watch her fall. He just slumps back against the wall, trying to remain on his feet. He presses a hand to the wound, which is now burbling blood down the front of his shirt, hissing at the sting. The cardinal rule of getting stabbed is to not take the blade out of the wound, but it’s a bit late for that now.

Magnus wants to contribute more to the fight, but not passing out is taking about all of his effort, so he watches Alec instead. His husband seems to have it well in hand, anyway. Magnus doesn’t think he saw him get injured, but it doesn’t seem to matter. He’s still fighting with the ferocity of an angered predator, cutting through Shadowhunters with a serrated kind of violence—all heat and savage grace, none of his usual efficiency. As soon as I no longer have a gaping wound in my chest, I’m going to ravish him, Magnus thinks hazily.

The last Shadowhunter falls to Alec’s seraph blade in a spray of blood, and Alec lingers for a second, making sure no more are coming. “Magnus, are you good?”

“Fine,” Magnus says, giving him a bloody thumbs up when Alec finally turns around. “Though my relationship with standing is currently on the rocks.” He slides down the wall and lands rather undignifiedly on his ass on the hard floor.

“Magnus!”

Magnus tries to maintain pressure, even though it makes his body feel like it’s on fire, as Alec rushes over and falls to his knees beside him. “Damn, I forgot how much getting stabbed with one of these things does not feel good.”

Alec’s hands hover desperately over him. “How did one even get you?”

“There was a—” Magnus struggles for breath— “some kind of magic blocker in the hallway. Turns out I brought my fists to a knife fight.”

“Stop making jokes right now.” Alec shrugs out of his suit jacket and presses it carefully to the wound, which is both incredibly tender and hot. Then again, Magnus usually finds Alec being tender with him hot in and of itself. “Tell me what I should do.”

“Well, first you need to stop sexily saving my life. Please do it in a less sexy way so I can concentrate.”

Alec just shakes his head. “Magnus.”

“If you drag me into another hallway where I can access my magic—” Magnus has to pause to catch his breath as Alec presses down on the wound, lighting up all of his nerve endings— “then I should be able to heal it.”

“I’m not dragging you anywhere,” Alec says. “Keep pressure on that.”

Magnus presses his hands to Alec’s jacket and tries to hold it in place as Alec wraps his arms around him and lifts him off the floor. The world sways around him, but Alec’s arms are solid, and Magnus relaxes against him.

Between one blink and the next he’s being laid on a couch in what appears to be a spare meeting room. “Please,” Alec says. He’s taken over holding pressure to Magnus’s chest. “Please, Magnus, come on. Heal yourself.”

“Right,” Magnus says slowly. Alec’s eyes are wide, he looks desperate. Magnus hovers a shaky hand over his own chest, and starts sloppily trying to knit his flesh back together. He can’t exactly see it, and his internal sense of what’s going on with his body is kind of knocked askew at the moment. He groans at the prickle of it. If he can at least stop the bleeding, then maybe Cat can finish it better later. “See, this is why we need to figure out a better method of magic sharing. I want to make you do this.”

“So it can be sexy, you mean?” Alec says, a hint of teasing back in his voice now that Magnus’s chest is no longer pulsing blood.

“Yes, exactly.” Magnus pats Alec’s hand in approval. “Also, I can’t see what the fuck I’m doing.”

Alec chuckles, finding Magnus’s hand and squeezing it. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you patched up properly at home. We’re getting out of here as soon as you’re able to stand. Or at least not bleed out while I carry you to the portal.”

“My hero,” Magnus moans. “But isn’t there some paperwork or something? We can’t just leave a bunch of dead Shadowhunters in the hallway.”

“Aline’s helping get it sorted out, I already called her. I’m not hanging around waiting to see if any other assassins come out of the woodwork.”

“I’m sick of being almost assassinated. I’m going to get a t-shirt that says Assassins Do Not Interact,” Magnus tells him, and Alec shakes his head.

“You let me know if that works out for you.”

“Those who disobey shall be turned into frogs,” Magnus says seriously. “They’ll be of more use like that anyway.”

“That is definitely true,” Alec agrees. “Alright, up you get.” He hauls Magnus up in his arms again, and Magnus lets out a pained whine at the movement. He’s no longer in danger of bleeding out, but that doesn’t mean that the gash in his chest doesn’t still hurt.

“One benefit of almost getting assassinated,” he pants as Alec carries him through the halls, “is I get to make you carry me everywhere.”

“You don’t have to get stabbed for me to carry you.”

“Important information that I’m filing away carefully in my brain,” Magnus muses. “This will return at a later time.”

“An inopportune one, I’m sure,” Alec says, shaking his head fondly, and Magnus winks at him.

Once they’re home, and Magnus is patched up to Alec’s exacting standard, Magnus finds himself in the extremely enviable position of being able to get Alec to do pretty much whatever he wants simply by making a pleading look in his general direction.

But while it’s tempting to rope Alec into learning to pole dance or something (“that would definitely raise my spirits, Alexander”), Magnus takes pity on him when he sees how genuinely concerned Alec still is. Magnus reflects that, while he may not take his own injury very seriously, if their positions were switched he would probably be fretting out of his mind. Has done so on more than one occasion in the past.

“Look,” he tells Alec, who’s sort of hovering by the side of the bed, and lifts the hem of his t-shirt to show his healed ribcage. “I didn’t even get a cool scar out of it.”

His skin is still kind of bruised though, so Alec doesn’t react to his joke, just frowns. Magnus hadn’t wanted to use up Cat’s magic for something as trivial as the lingering vestiges of his injury—or his own, which still feels a bit squiggly as it always does after encountering magic suppressant. That probably explains why Cat took one look at his patch job, sighed dramatically, and told Magnus to never attempt magical stitches ever again. She’d also had to partially undo his shoddy work in order to correct it, causing fresh blood to well over his chest, which hadn’t exactly helped with the getting Alec to stop freaking out endeavor.

“Come here,” Magnus says, managing to reach Alec’s hand and pull him towards the bed. “Aren’t you going to cuddle me?”

He finally gets a tiny smile out of his husband. Alec climbs into bed beside him and pulls him close, letting Magnus tuck his head into his shoulder.

“You know,” Magnus says conspiratorially, “it’s actually kind of flattering to be important enough for people to want to assassinate. As I always say, ‘the more assholes who want you dead, the more you must be on the right track!’”

“Let’s find a track that doesn’t involve you getting stabbed, please.”

“Life’s no fun if you don’t have something inside you once in a while—”

“Please! Oh my God.” Alec covers his eyes with his hand, and Magnus cackles and presses a smiling kiss to his shoulder.

“You were so close to being rid of all this,” Magnus laments, and Alec stiffens abruptly under him.

“Don’t joke about that. That’s not funny.”

Magnus sobers up quickly then.

“Seriously,” Alec says. “I don’t want to think about that. What would I even do without you?”

“Not have to listen to my stupid jokes,” Magnus mutters, pressing his face abashedly into Alec’s shoulder.

“Yeah, exactly,” Alec says, sounding upset about it. His arms tighten around Magnus. “What kind of world would that be?”

Magnus just swallows and stays where he is, not looking at Alec. It doesn’t seem to matter that they’re married; he still finds Alec’s devoted declarations too much sometimes.

“I’m not gonna lose you,” Alec says, with all the surety of the earth spinning on its axis. And Magnus believes him. He really does.

“My guardian angel,” he murmurs, and then feels the desperate urge to steer this back somewhere lighter before one or both of them starts weeping or something. “If you did want to lose something, however, you could start with your shirt—”

Alec groans. “Magnus!”

If Magnus’s laugh sounds a little teary, he knows Alec won’t mention it.

Chapter Text

“Goooooood morning, gorgeous husband!”

Magnus twirls into Alec’s office like a summer rainshower, and Alec really, really doesn’t know where he gets his energy sometimes.

“Morning,” he grumbles back, face still buried in his paperwork.

“So grumpy. Cheer up, I brought you coffee.” He deposits a latte on Alec’s desk, which does indeed have Alec cheering up.

“Thank you.” He takes a sip and almost sighs in appreciation.

Magnus hums and pokes at the corner of his mouth as if to encourage him to smile. He looks so bright today. Literally glimmering. He takes a sip of his own coffee and smirks at Alec over the rim of the cup.

“Did you come here to distract me?” Alec asks. “Because I would not be opposed to a distraction.”

Magnus sighs. “Alas, not. I have my own work to deal with. I just wanted to see you. It’s been such a long week.”

Alec stands up to meet him and pulls him into a kiss, tasting the bitter tang of the coffee on Magnus’s lips. “We should get dinner later,” he says when they part. “At your favorite Italian place.”

“Oh, honey, after the week we’ve had, we’re going to Italy. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“It will be like midnight in Italy by then,” Alec points out.

Magnus blinks. “Shit. Little Italy it is, then. Until then…” he blows a kiss in Alec’s direction, then steps backward out the door. Alec shakes his head, picking up his gifted coffee again and turning back to his paperwork. What he wouldn’t give to just drop everything and leave with Magnus right now.

Then again, as Magnus would say, waiting makes everything sweeter.

Magnus’s coffee is long gone by the time he gets home, and he’s already mourning its absence. He definitely has a caffeine addiction. Ah, well. He needs the extra energy to power him through the rest of the day.

Though the thought of seeing Alec later is also helping with that. He smiles at the thought.

He spends the rest of the morning putting together potions for clients. Not difficult ones, thankfully, as he doesn’t think his concentration is there for that. When he gets up a few hours later, his back is stiff, and he stretches as he heads to the kitchen to make some tea.

And then stops in the middle of the living room, because something is definitely wrong. He doesn’t know what. But his magic is flaring in warning, and there’s a strange taste at the back of his throat, and—

When Magnus comes to, the sun is scarcely higher in the sky than when he, apparently, lost consciousness. Not very long, then. He’s flat on his back on the floor, and the back of his head is pulsing from impacting the hardwood, but as he carefully sits up and takes stock of himself, he can’t find any other damage.

Strange.

He doesn’t sense any spellwork on himself, so a potion or poison, maybe? But not a very effective one, if it merely knocked him out for a few minutes before his magic was able to burn through it like kindling.

He gets to his feet slowly and heads back to the apothecary. Once there, he summons a syringe and draws a small vial of his blood for analysis. Whoever attempted to do this is going to get a stern talking to, both for their incompetence and for, presumably, trying to kill him.

He’s able to isolate the poison in his bloodstream easily enough. And is immediately confused by what he finds.

Magnus doesn’t recognize the specific poison, but he’s able to pick up on its energy signature. And this poison is entirely unsuitable for killing a demon-blooded creature. It originates from demonic energy itself. No wonder Magnus’s system was able to metabolize it so quickly.

If anything, this poison would be more suitable for attacking an angel-blooded creature—

Magnus’s magic falters in its analysis and splatters out everywhere. He stumbles to his feet. It’s meant for Nephilim, oh God, and whoever it was would have had no idea which coffee I was giving him—

He rips open a portal right into Alec’s office, dizzying himself with the speed of it.

“Alexander? Alexander?”

He doesn’t see Alec at first. Actually, he initially thinks Alec isn’t even in his office at all, and rushes for the door—

But doesn’t get there, because his husband is sprawled out on the floor behind his desk, unmoving.

“Alexander!”

Magnus falls to his knees by his side, hands hovering over Alec’s back. Didn’t Jace feel him? Or is this poison so insidious as to not even ricochet back through the parabatai bond?

“Come on, darling,” he murmurs, carefully turning Alec over so they’re facing each other. Alec’s jaw is slack, his lips and eyelids tinting blue—but unconscious, not dead. Thankfully. Magnus feels the swirling vortex in his peripheral vision recede a little.

He suddenly realizes that he still doesn’t know what this poison is. Or how to heal it. So much for having every known antidote in his apothecary. And there’s no time to mess around with experimental cures, no time for delicacy or precision.

He’s just going to have to fight it with force.

He pulls open the buttons of Alec’s shirt, ignoring how the fabric tears. Underneath, Alec’s skin looks so normal, if it weren’t for his stillness it would be impossible to tell how much poison is coursing through his blood.

Magnus presses his hands flat to Alec’s chest, probing deep with his magic. He finds the poison immediately, a blue, writhing thing that slips and twirls around in his grasp. It’s already in so deep. Magnus is going to kill whoever did this.

He carefully manages to wind his magic around the poison, feeling it writhe and jerk in his hands. Alec murmurs as he does, as if he can feel the fight going on inside his body. The poison is entangled too deep for Magnus to simply pull it out… but perhaps he can push it in a different direction. Angle it at a different target.

“Promise not to yell at me,” he tells Alec, who obviously doesn’t respond, and then he takes Alec’s hand, joins their magicks, and pulls the winding poison towards himself.

He only has one second to realize why this is not, in fact, a good idea, before everything goes dark.

It takes a bit longer for him to come to this time. Perhaps that’s his magic’s way of telling him off for getting poisoned twice in one day, once intentionally. When he does, he shoots upright, the room spinning around him. “Alec?”

“He’s good,” says Jace, somewhere behind Magnus’s. He realizes he’s still sitting on the floor of Alec’s office. Not the most pleasant place to sleep. “Well, mostly.”

Magnus spins around, and indeed, Alec is sitting a few feet away from him on the couch, a hand pressed to his temple, Jace hovering over him. He meets Magnus’s gaze with a small, tight smile, but he still seems very out of it, not caught up to what’s going on.

“Let me see,” Magnus says, and half-stumbles, half-crawls across the office to Alec’s side. Apparently, that poison packs a bit more of a wallop the second time around.

As Magnus lays a hand over Alec’s, searching for any remaining traces of poison, Alec seems to finally register what Magnus is doing. He frowns at Jace. “Did you just leave him on the floor?”

“I had other priorities.”

“Yes, and so helpful of you to finally show up,” Magnus mutters, even though he knows it’s not Jace’s fault.

Jace just ignores him. “What even happened?”

“Poison in our coffee,” Magnus says. He can’t find any of it left in Alec’s bloodstream, and is about to drop his hand when Alec catches it in his own. “The world is simply full of betrayal.”

“Damn, everybody has it out for you guys. Even baristas.”

“Well, we’re just so desirable,” Magnus says, but he can’t put as much heart into it as usual. “Fortunately, the poison only affects Nephilim, so I was able to come rescue Alexander.”

“And then you poisoned yourself again,” Alec says, and Magnus looks away.

“You already figured that out, I see.”

“I know how you operate.”

“Well, it barely affects me,” Magnus argues. “It would have killed you.”

“I know.” Alec squeezes Magnus’s hand. “Thank you.”

“Well, I guess I’ll leave you two to whatever this is,” Jace says, heading for the door. He points at Alec. “You good?”

“Yup,” Alec says, even though he is most definitely not good. His eyes are shadowed enough to look almost bruised, his skin tinged blue in places.

“You should freak out more,” Magnus tells him. “You’re too calm. It’s unnerving.”

“I’m just used to this now,” Alec says, which makes it worse. “Besides, I barely remember anything. I just feel like I got a slightly unsatisfying nap.” He squeezes Magnus’s hand. “Are you okay?”

“No,” Magnus says, and Alec’s eyebrows crease in concern, “I can never drink coffee again.”

Alec’s expression softens. “I am sure you’ll be drinking it literally tomorrow.”

“But only if I make it myself. And even then, I will have to check the coffee grounds for tampering.”

“Well, that’s a problem for tomorrow.” Alec squeezes his hand. “You want to go home?”

Magnus very much does.

It’s only once he’s gotten Alec situated in bed—and dear God how many times is this going to keep happening—that the guilt sets in.

“I can’t believe I delivered poison to my own husband,” Magnus moans, magicking another blanket on top of Alec’s heavily blanketed form. “You should just divorce me now.”

“Stop being dramatic,” Alec says, which is extremely rich considering he still has dark circles under his eyes and generally kind of looks like he’s on the verge of death.

Magnus picks up his Assassins Do Not Interact t-shirt from where he flung it on the chair in the corner and looks at it mournfully. “You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain.”

“Oh my god. Come over here.”

Magnus acquiesces and sits on the edge of the bed beside him. When he doesn’t get any closer, Alec takes his hand. “I’m sorry,” Magnus says, the words all tumbling out of him now, “I should have checked it before I gave it to you, or interrogated the barista, or—”

“That’s completely unreasonable,” Alec interrupts gently. “You can’t just go around assuming everything is poisoned.”

“I sure can,” Magnus argues. “I could hire a professional taste-tester like they had in ye olden times.”

“In ‘ye olden times’?” Alec repeats, a smile tugging at his lips. “You really want some guy to follow us around on all of our dates?”

“Well, when you phrase it like that…”

“Magnus, listen.” Alec cradles his face in one hand. “It’s not your fault, okay? What someone else chose to do is not on you.”

Magnus knows Alec’s right, but that doesn’t stop the guilt from sitting heavy in his chest anyway. “Perhaps. But don’t expect me to bring you coffee from anywhere but home for a while. I know it’s subpar, but you’ll have to make do.”

“I guess that’s fair.” Alec tugs him closer and Magnus settles against his side, wrapping an arm firmly around his middle.

“I don’t know what to do about all these assassins,” Magnus complains. “I know that, in a twisted way, I should be flattered. It means we’re actually changing things. But I don’t like looking over my shoulder all the time.”

“Maybe you can wear your t-shirt more often,” Alec suggests, and Magnus pokes him in the side.

“Serious suggestions, please.”

“You can go on an assassins witch hunt. Or you can hold an Assassinating Alec and Magnus Convention and see who shows up.”

“I see I’m not going to get anywhere with you,” Magnus says. “I suppose I could pass out mood rings, and whenever someone’s mood turns to ‘thinking about assassination,’ I can expel them to Neptune.”

“Now you’re talking,” Alec says, and kisses his temple. “But in all seriousness, I know there’s a lot of danger out there. But I always have your back. No matter what.”

Magnus smiles, leaning his head on Alec’s shoulder. “And I yours.”

Chapter Text

“So,” Magnus says, twirling around, “how is my disguise?”

Alec’s mouth drops open, then snaps shut again. “Um,” he says eloquently. “Um. Uh—”

“That good, hm?”

“I mean, uh, if you’re trying to go for inconspicuous, you are, um. Very very very much not succeeding.”

Alec sounds deeply strangled. Magnus pouts down at his shimmery tunic and tight leather pants. “No? You’re sure?”

Alec strides the few steps over to him and takes his face between his hands, tipping Magnus up for a kiss. Alec kisses him in a way that has Magnus doubting whether they’re going to make it to this event at all—it’s deep and wanting and sends little spirals of pleasure running up Magnus’s skin.

“Were you trying for inconspicuous?” Alec asks, lips still brushing Magnus’s. “Or were you just trying to get me to kiss you?”

“When am I ever not trying to get you to kiss me?” Magnus says, and Alec shakes his head with a fond smile. “But no, as a matter of fact, I was not going for inconspicuous. I was going for look at what a specimen I am, wouldn’t it be a shame to kill me?”

“I think that ship may have sailed with this particular crowd, but if anything could change their minds, it would be your ass in those pants.” Alec slides his hands down Magnus’s back, just brushing the waistband of his leggings. “Though I’m not sure I like the idea of all those people lusting after you.”

“They may get to lust, but you’re the one who gets to swoop in at the end of the night and kiss me senseless,” Magnus points out.

Alec hums consideringly, and then leans in to kiss him again until they’re both senseless. When he pulls away, he has a smear of blue lipstick on the corner of his mouth.

“Seriously, though,” he says. “Do you have something to wear to fake your identity? Or are you changing the plan entirely?”

“Never doubt me, Alexander,” Magnus admonishes, and waves a hand. A glamor settles over him, transforming his clothes into Shadowhunter gear, vanishing his makeup, adding some gray to his hair and a few extra lines to his face, and, of course, runes on his exposed skin. “Ta-da! How do I look?”

“You look like a DILF,” Alec says, and Magnus chokes.

“Where on earth did you learn that word?”

“Max,” Alec says. “He didn’t tell me what it meant; I think he wanted me to embarrass myself in a Clave meeting or something. But I know better now, I can use Urban Dictionary.”

Magnus presses a hand to his mouth to stop his laughter. “I’m going to buy this kid some ice cream.”

“No,” Alec begs, “don’t reward him.”

“As a DILF, I get Dad privileges of handing out both rewards and punishments,” Magnus declares. “Ice cream.”

Alec shakes his head, defeated.

“Now, can I spice up your outfit? Your clothes are already pretty nondescript, but I think we can do better.”

“I shudder to think what better is,” Alec says, with a little shiver to emphasize the point. “But okay.”

Magnus waves a hand over him. Alec’s simple clothes disappear in favor of a bespoke evergreen suit, his runes fade into plain skin, a beard settles over the lower half of his face, and, as the pièce de resistance, a cape falls over his shoulders. “Perfection.”

“A CAPE???” Alec yells. “A CAPE, Magnus? How is this inconspicuous?”

“Well, you’re supposed to be a warlock, darling. We don’t do inconspicuous.”

“Why am I a warlock?” Alec asks.

Magnus rolls his eyes. “Because you’d be more recognizable as a Shadowhunter.”

Alec fingers the edge of the cape. “What’s my warlock mark, then?”

Magnus winks. “That’s classified.”

Alec shudders. “Alright, actually, I don’t want to know. How are we doing this thing?”

“I have your invitation.” Magnus summons it and brandishes it between them. The paper is dark, with silver lettering reading, let’s finish this once and for all.

“I still can’t believe you made invitations,” Alec grumbles.

“All good secret meetings have cryptic invitations,” Magnus asserts.

“You think anyone will actually be stupid enough to come to this?”

“There is only one way to find out, my dear.” Magnus raises a hand to open a portal. “Allons—”

“Wait.” Alec grabs his wrist. “I might have to use magic, right? And you’ll need to carry a seraph blade.”

Magnus frowns. “Ah. Yes.”

“Let’s use the rune,” Alec says.

Magnus smiles. He does like the alliance rune. They don’t use it often. But feeling Alec connected to him, feeling him use his magic—it gives him quite a rush.

He holds out his wrist.

Alec traces the shape carefully with his stele. He always draws it with such a light touch, like he’s desperate for it not to hurt Magnus. Even though there’s no way for a rune not to hurt.

Magnus takes the stele and draws the corresponding rune on Alec’s wrist. Immediately, magic floods into him, the familiar, comforting prickle of Alec’s angelic power. He lets himself rest in it for a moment. Then he pockets the stele. Alec hands him his seraph blade, and Magnus slots it into a thigh holster on his gear.

“We can’t arrive together,” he says with regret. “We’ll be too obvious.”

“Yeah,” Alec bites his lip. “Just try to signal me through the rune if you think there will be trouble.”

“I’m not sure how precise it is, but I will try.”

He leans in for one final kiss, Alec leaning down to meet him halfway. When they part again, Magnus gives him a feral grin.

“Let’s finish this thing once and for all.”

Organizing the “Assassinating Alec and Magnus” Convention had taken considerably more energy than Magnus had anticipated. First, he had had to create an alias for himself in the Shadow World, framing himself as a disgruntled Shadowhunter who hated the disgustingly progressive then-Head of the New York Institute, now-Inquisitor Lightwood.

Yes. It had taken so much time to organize that Alec had been named Inquisitor in the interim.

Magnus had spent months gaining clout with various reactionaries by posting increasingly vitriolic spiels on hateful forums in the Shadow World version of Reddit. It had been… unpleasant, to say the least, to have to write those things about Alec. Even more unpleasant to read others writing them. Writing horrible things about himself had been easier, especially since they often became so outrageous that they did a one-eighty turn back into hilarity.

Magnus Bane is concocting a plot to crash the moon into earth!

Magnus Bane is holding Downworld orgies in the Gard – corrupting our most sacred institutions!

Magnus Bane is raising a zombie cat army to take over Alicante!

Alec had expressed concern over this several times. Is it really good for your mental health to be reading this stuff? It definitely wasn’t, but fearing death every time he stepped out his front door was worse. So Magnus kept at it.

Only after several months of carefully establishing a reputation for his false self in that repugnant place had Magnus, very tentatively, suggested “collaborating” to “do something about it.”

Many private messages later, and here they are.

At the “Assassinating Magnus and Alec” Convention.

Well, that’s what Magnus is calling it in his head. It doesn’t actually have a name.

Magnus’s Shadowhunter persona—whom he’d called “Xander Darkwood”, because he has the worst sense of humor, (“it’s your evil twin, Alexander!” he’d said when Alec rolled his eyes)—is supposed to lead this underground meeting. He really hopes none of the people here are perceptive enough to recognize him. He’s performed a spell to conceal his magical signature, but as far as physical appearances go, he’s mostly counting on people being more familiar with his persona than they are with his basic appearance.

It's fine, he tells himself as he walks to the door of the underground club where this sordid meeting is being held. He just needs to get them to admit they’re planning assassination attempts. Then he can call in backup and end this thing.

Alec’s presence soothes him as well, even if he’ll be more in the background than Magnus.

Once inside the club, he leans on the bar, catching the eye of the Seelie bartender. “There’s a bridge club here tonight,” he says. Bridge. If only. “Anyone here yet?”

She gestures to a door that presumably leads to a back room, giving him a significant nod. Great, Magnus thinks. Even the bartender wants me dead.

He orders a drink and takes it with him to the back room, subtly swapping out the liquor for his own as he goes. Like hell he’s getting poisoned at his own sting operation.

He pushes open the door, and— Wow. There’s— there’s actually a lot of people here. Got to be at least twenty so far, though that’s including Alec, who’s sitting at the back and who briefly catches Magnus’s eye before turning back to the conversation he’s having with a Shadowhunter beside him.

Magnus really hopes no one recognizes Alec. They’d picked Chicago for this thing specifically because neither of them knew too many people who lived there, but you never know with Nephilim. The community is small. Warlocks, too.

In retrospect, maybe they should have asked somebody else to go in their place. But Magnus doesn’t like asking other people to take risks for him.

Steeling himself with a brief twirl of his wedding ring around his finger, Magnus leans against the wall at the front of the room, clearing his throat.

Eyes swivel towards him. “Darkwood,” a grizzled-looking Shadowhunter guesses, and Magnus nods. Despite the gravity of the situation, Magnus sees Alec stifle a laugh at the name.

“Thank you all for coming to bridge club,” Magnus says wryly, taking a sip of his drink, and a few of them laugh. “As I’m sure you know, bridge is very important to me, and I’m very invested in improving it.”

A few of them raise their glasses. Magnus watches Alec look subtly around the room, cataloging, remembering everything.

“The room is warded,” Magnus tells everyone, still affecting as much nonchalance as possible. “Though I still recommend due caution during our discussion today, of course.”

Apparently, not everyone feels the same way. “When are we going to give these progressive fucks what for?” one woman yells, and another person bangs their fist on the table.

“Enough fooling around,” they say. “We should take action right now.”

Oh dear. What has Magnus created.

“Why, um, why them, specifically?” Alec interjects, keeping his voice low. “Surely broader action would be more effective?”

The first woman snorts. “Listen, I’d blow up Alicante if I could—lord knows those assholes in their ivory tower need a wakeup call—but that just ain’t gonna happen. But a symbolic hit will still go a long way.”

Another Shadowhunter nods. “Especially now that Lightwood’s the Inquisitor. If we don’t stop him now, things will only get worse.”

“I heard they’re going to appoint Bane to something,” a warlock woman adds. “Now’s the only time. Before the regime consolidates power.”

Well. This is news to Magnus.

“But what can we do, my friends?” he asks, pacing sadly. “I’ve heard of so many attempts to get rid of this problem, and all have failed. Slapdash efforts aren’t going to cut it.”

“They are well-defended,” the warlock woman agrees, and Magnus gets a little thrill of pride from it. “It is essential to separate them first.”

“Magic suppressant for Bane, that almost worked at the Gard,” adds the first man.

“Get Lightwood into an enclosed space so he can’t use his bow,” suggests another person.

“I’m still a fan of poison,” says a third.

“If you can subdue one, you can use him to threaten the other into submission, and then kill them both,” adds a vampire.

“Take Lightwood first,” says the warlock woman decisively. “Enough insiders at the Gard should be able to manage it. It just requires more manpower than has been used thus far. But it needs to be him, I don’t fancy anyone’s chances with Bane in open combat with no leverage.”

Magnus’s head whips back and forth as he listens to this exchange, wide-eyed. Dear God, these people have really thought about this. Not that he didn’t know that, but…

He imagines them attacking Alec at work. He imagines them holding a blade to his throat, and forcing Magnus to his knees so they won’t kill his husband. It fills him with a burning rage that almost has his magic dancing along his skin.

Everybody is engaged in the conversation now, tossing ideas back and forth, except for Alec, who meets Magnus’s gaze, an alarmed expression on his face. Magnus subtly thumbs the ring he’s charmed to call for backup from the local Institute.

But before they get here, he needs to get this more under control, or else the resulting fight may be a massacre.

Then the warlock woman turns slowly to Alec. “You’re being awfully quiet,” she observes.

Alec is steady under her gaze. “You seem to have it well in hand,” he says evenly.

She narrows her eyes at him. “I taste magic on you.”

“I am a warlock.”

“Other magic.” She moves closer, reaching out to lay a hand on his arm.

Alec shifts back. “Don’t touch me.”

This is not a crowd that takes no for an answer. One of the other Shadowhunters grabs Alec by the arm and holds him still. Magnus holds his breath. He doesn’t want to intervene until he absolutely has to, lest he make it worse.

The woman presses a hand to Alec’s chest, fingertips prickling with magic. Her eyes narrow into furious slits.

Oh shit, Magnus thinks.

“Why would you glamor yourself, I wonder,” the woman hisses, “Shadowhunter.”

Alec stands up. At full height, he towers over her. He’s so tense with fury he looks like a statue. “Maybe to stop you from trying to assassinate my husband.”

There’s a moment of utter silence.

Magnus drops his glamor. “Look!” he yells, suddenly quite visible in his shiny tunic and blue lipstick. “Over here! Prime assassination material!”

Pandemonium.

People start yelling and grabbing for weapons. Somebody throws a chair at Magnus’s head, and he ducks just in time. Screams and blasts of magic fill the room. Magnus crawls under a table and pops up again, throwing a ball of magic at a Shadowhunter and knocking him to the floor. He tries to catch sight of his husband, but it’s impossible in the chaos.

Somebody comes up behind him. Magnus spins around just in time to block a sword that was coming for his back with Alec’s seraph blade.

“You dare to wield that?” hisses the man who’d attacked him. “Demon spawn?”

“I can wield it better than you,” Magnus says, and swings.

The man parries, and they dance across the room, trading blows. Magnus doesn’t get a chance to finish it, however, as a burst of magic hits the man in the shoulder and sends him flying. Magnus locks eyes with Alec just long enough for the image of the magic swirling around his hands to burn itself into his brain for later fantasizing, and then he’s lost to the furor again.

The warlock woman who’d been so calculating in trying to kill him appears before Magnus. Her eyes blaze with orange light. “You’re a traitor to your race, Bane!” she snarls.

“And yet, I’m not the one planning to assassinate a fellow warlock,” Magnus says, tilting his head in consideration. “Funny.”

She hurls a ball of fire at him, and he deflects it, sending it spinning into the wall. “You’ll pay for fraternizing with Shadowhunters.”

“Are you really against interracial marriage? It’s not 1954, you know.”

This comment just gets him another fireball to the face, which he manages again to deflect. In the opening after she’s attacked, he manages to let fly a burst of magic of his own, throwing her to the floor and sending her skidding across the room. “Consider your choices!” he calls after her.

Two Shadowhunters advance on him. Magnus barely has time to get his blade up in defense, and the impact of the other sword against his shudders up his arm, setting the muscle throbbing. He doesn’t manage to catch the other attack, and takes a blow from an adamas staff hard to his ribcage. It knocks the breath out of him and sends him off balance, but he recovers quickly, collecting his magic, letting it engulf Alec’s blade until the thing is screaming with power.

One of the Shadowhunters falters, but the other charges, and they meet in a clash of steel. Magnus meets him swing for swing, but the Shadowhunter is strong, and he’s pushed back. At the next blow, he ducks, and the man’s momentum carries him forward and off-balance—Magnus kicks him in the back of the knee and knocks him to the floor.

He’s about to properly subdue him when—

—an explosion of fire sends him flying off his feet. He hits the wall, hard, seeing stars and black spots in his vision, then falls to the floor. His sleeve is burning. He hurriedly pats it out, head pounding.

He tries to get up, but the world spins, and his limbs feel misdirected. Spell, his mind registers, but it’s too late to diagnose or do anything about it.

That same warlock is standing over him.

She’s bleeding from a cut on her forehead, but her eyes are lit with anger. Her body thrums with it. Fire dances at her fingertips.

“You should have killed me,” she growls. “I certainly won’t show you the same mercy.”

“Do it, then,” Magnus challenges. “I dare you. See if you find any solace in the warlock community again if you do.”

Challenge and spite are all Magnus knows how to do in these situations, but he doesn’t actually want to die. He wants more time with his husband. He wants to see what Alec can do as Inquisitor. Fuck, he— he wants everything.

The woman merely smirks. “There is always a place for those who do what is necessary.” She turns back to the crowd. Magnus tries to stand, to fight back, but it’s like there’s a vice around his chest—her spell has him stuck fast, disconnected from his body. He can’t get up. “Lightwood!” the woman yells. Her voice cracks like a whip over the noise of the crowd. “I’d suggest you stand down.”

“Don’t!” Magnus yells, and instantly realizes his mistake. Fuck. Now Alec will know she has him. Now he’ll definitely surrender.

The rest of the room falls quiet, then Alec’s voice rings out softly. “I won’t bother asking what you want. But I entreat you to consider that there’s a way everyone can still walk out of here alive.”

The woman laughs. “Your begging and pleading won’t work on me. Kneel.”

Alec’s voice is still even. “I want to see Magnus.”

The woman hauls Magnus up by an arm. He staggers on his feet, ears ringing, but manages to meet Alec’s gaze across the room. His husband looks disheveled, shirt rumpled, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. But seeing him sends a surge of new energy through Magnus’s body. He’s getting them out of here. He doesn’t know how, but he has to.

“Take a good, long look, Lightwood, because in one minute I’m going to separate his head from his shoulders.”

Magnus is pretty sure he’s the only one who can see the tension in Alec’s jaw. Otherwise, he looks practically unaffected. He meets Magnus’s eyes very briefly, gaze flickering down to his wrist and then back to the woman a second later.

Of course, Magnus thinks. Alliance rune. He’s an idiot.  

He reaches into the power, feeling Alec’s angelic energy flood into him, loosening the spell around him just enough that he’s able to activate his own magic and snap it.

At the same time, blue flames crawl up Alec’s arms.

He says, “It’s Lightwood-Bane, actually.”

Magnus lunges for the warlock woman’s throat, angelic magic burning at his fingertips. He feels it sear her skin as he drags her backward, and she screams, more of anger than of pain. Across the room, Alec is hurling balls of red magic at people, knocking them off their feet, but he’s vastly outnumbered. Magnus has to get to him.

The woman elbows him in the ribs, dislodging him and throwing him back. Magnus pulls a seraph blade from an unconscious Shadowhunter’s belt—he’s not sure where Alec’s went flying to—and it lights up pure white in his hand. The angelic magic is a cold gleam under his skin, but it doesn’t feel hostile. It feels like the icy ferocity of Alec when he defends Magnus in front of the Clave.

Magnus seizes it and charges.

His blade meets a sword of pure energy, orange light held crackling in the woman’s hand. They trade blows, gaining and then losing ground on the slippery wood floor.

“Why do you hate me so much?” Magnus demands as their blades clash again and power ricochets up his arms, jarring his shoulder. “I don’t hate you that much, and you’re literally trying to kill me right now!”

“Because Shadowhunters are evil, Magnus,” she seethes. “You can’t change their nature. If you give them an inch, they will take it all and destroy us.”

“Nobody’s born evil,” Magnus counters. His arm is tiring, and she manages to push him back another meter across the floor. “What do you think I’m trying to do, fucking hand over the Spiral Labyrinth to the Clave? I know the leadership can’t be trusted, I’m not stupid. That doesn’t mean we stop trying and resign ourselves to endless war and persecution.”

“Oh, we can end things, alright,” she growls. “We have plenty of time. Someday, the Downworld will be strong enough, and we’ll march on Idris. And then things will be over for good.”

“Well, if all goes to plan, by the time that’s possible it won’t be necessary anymore,” Magnus says.

She ignores him completely. “And when that day comes, I’ll be sure it’s your husband’s head on a pike first.”

Magnus spreads his hands in a what the fuck? gesture. “Why did you have to make it personal? That’s not how you have an effective debate—”

She whips her magic at him, and he just manages to catch it on his seraph blade. He sends a burst of his own power up the length of the blade and shoves her back, knocking her onto her heels. He takes advantage of the momentum and advances, wrapping magic around her wrists, cutting off the flow to her magical blade.

He pushes her to the floor and binds her hands. Around him, the room is starting to sound quieter, like more of the would-be assassins have been subdued. He hopes Alec’s okay.

“This is exactly what I’m talking about,” says the woman. She’s tied up, but she still sounds almost smug. “You’re one of them now. You’ll pay for it eventually, even if I’m not the one to deliver that payment.”

Doesn’t she know that Magnus has paid for it? Has paid for his association with the Shadowhunters, paid deeply? Doesn’t she realize that Magnus has always paid, over and over again, all of his life, for doing what he feels is right? He’s long since accepted that price.

Magnus stands up. “I’m not scared of you. Of course, I’ve done wrong in my life, we all have. But I’ve done good, too. You may want to consider if your current course of action has done any good for anybody at all.”

He opens a portal underneath her and drops her through to the Spiral Labyrinth, watching her startled face disappear with little satisfaction, and far more exhaustion.

He starts to turn. “Alexand—”

He hears Alec suck in a startled, choked-off breath.

Magnus whips around, dread already plummeting into his stomach. He’s just in time to catch the shiiing as one of the Shadowhunters yanks his blade out of Alec’s back. Alec drops to his knees, hands pressed to the wound now burbling blood at the center of his breastbone, and Magnus sees red.

Magic flares all over his body, a swirling mix of warlock and angelic power. It blurs his vision, and he hears the crackling of sparks around him. He fixes his gaze on the three assassins left standing.

He doesn’t even have to say anything. The men drop their weapons hastily and back up, hands raised.

“That’s what I thought,” Magnus growls. “Kneel.”

They do, and Magnus binds their hands with magic, then knocks them out with a quick spell for good measure. Like hell he’s getting jumped on again.

Then he rushes to Alec’s side. Alec, who’s still partially upright but swaying violently on his knees, finally collapses into him as Magnus reaches him. Magnus lays him down on his side on the floor, summoning bandages and pressing them with shaking hands to the larger entry wound on his back.

“Can’t believe they literally stabbed me in the back,” Alec grumbles, words slurring a little as he wraps a wobbly hand around Magnus’s ankle. “That’s so fucking cliché.”

Magnus laughs wetly. The glamor he’d put on Alec has already fallen, and it just makes him look more vulnerable, soft and crumpled in Magnus’s lap. He summons some scissors and cuts his shirt away from the wound.

“You know, I stand by the cape,” he says conversationally, to distract both of them. “That was a good look.”

“Maybe if we’re going to a magic show,” Alec mutters.

“I, myself, am a magic show,” Magnus tells him, and Alec smiles. There’s blood on his lips.

“You are,” he says.

He’s already weakening, Magnus can tell. He summons some steadiness, though he’s not sure where he gets it, and pulls Alec’s stele from his pocket, drawing an iratze on his back.

The wound remains stubbornly open. Magnus tries again, scribbling more fiercely. Still nothing. He presses his hands to the wound, murmuring to himself under his breath as he weaves his spell. His magic seems to slow the bleeding, but the wound doesn’t heal entirely.

“Why is this tormenting me?” Magnus yells.

“Adamas,” Alec says.

“You’re a fucking Shadowhunter,” Magnus growls.

“Sometimes it messes with our magic,” Alec tells him, eyelids fluttering. “The— the iratze doesn’t know what to do when it’s fighting its own power.”

Magnus grits his teeth, anger settling in all of his cells. Of course, he knows the anger is only temporary. In a few moments it will be swept away by crushing fear. But he harnesses the anger while he still has it.

“Watch closely, darling, because I am about to do something that will be either very stupid, or very sexy.”

“Like the time you tried to do parkour in lingerie?” Alec asks deliriously.

“I thought we agreed not to mention that again,” Magnus whines.

Alec gives him a little smile, eyes falling shut. “I never promised that.”

Magnus lays one hand over the wound on his back, taking Alec’s hand in the other and squeezing it. Hold on, darling, he thinks.

He finds the point in the rune’s connection where their magics intertwine. He holds it in his metaphorical hands.

Then he inverts it.

Angelic magic pours into him, white light bursting behind his eyes. Every cell in his body screams—he is not meant for this power, and even though it’s Alec’s, it hurts as it burns through him. But he only has to hold it for a moment.

Beside him, Alec jerks violently, eyes screwing shut. The runes on his skin start flickering. Blue and red flames chase themselves up his skin, and his face tightens in pain, body curling in against the surge of magic. Magnus doesn’t think he’s fully conscious anymore, which is probably for the better.

Then—the wounds close. Magnus’s magic zips them up instantly, no effort required, and Alec’s breathing evens out.

Magnus lets out a shaky sigh of relief, and releases his grip on the magical bond.

His magic snaps back into his body and—

—he wakes up on the floor of the bar, feeling sticky and sweaty and discombobulated, like he’s had a fever. Before he can try to get up and ascertain what’s happened, a hand lands on his shoulder.

Magnus looks up. “Jace?” he says, not understanding. “Aren’t we in Chicago…?”

“Yeah, but I felt something fucking weird happening,” Jace says. “Did you guys seriously organize a whole sting operation and not invite me?”

Magnus grabs Jace’s arm and lets the man pull him up to sitting. He leans against a table leg. “Don’t ask me complex questions right now. I have a killer headache.” Then he startles as he remembers what he should have thought of immediately. “Wait— Alec— where—”

“Relax, he’s over there.” Jace points to where Alec is also propped up against a table, looking equally woozy. There’s a Shadowhunter medic bent over him. Ah. The cavalry from the Chicago Institute, arrived at last. Magnus is going to have a word with them about their reaction time.

Magnus crawls over toward Alec. “Alexander—”

Alec looks up. “Magnus—”

They collapse into each other. Magnus clutches Alec desperately, feeling along his back and finding no trace of a wound, to his relief. Alec holds him just as tight, squeezing Magnus into him.

“How did you—” Alec gasps, tangling his fingers in Magnus’s hair, “how—”

“I swapped our magics,” Magnus says. He’s still shocked that it even worked. “I— I gave you my warlock magic, temporarily, so it could heal the wound.”

“What the fuck,” Alec laughs. “That’s insane.”

“Well, I am quite magical.”

Alec tucks his face into Magnus’s shoulder. “I can still feel you, you know. Your magic, I mean. It’s the only reason I didn’t freak out when I woke up.”

“You can?” Magnus looks down at his wrist. The alliance rune has faded. He searches within himself, and—

He— he can feel Alec, too. The majority of his magic is still his own, but there’s angelic magic there, now, too. Alec’s magic.

“Oh, dear,” Magnus says, in a gross understatement.

“What does that mean?” Alec scans him. “You seem concerned.”

Magnus is concerned because it’s entirely possible he’s permanently altered the makeup of their respective magics in a way that’s never been done before. “Um,” he says. “Uh. It appears that you have a bit of my magic now. And I have a bit of yours.”

Alec’s eyebrows rise. “Do I?” He lifts a hand, eyebrows rising even higher when a small flame appears in his palm. “By the Angel.”

“By the Angel,” Magnus echoes.

“Does that mean…?” Alec starts.

Sometimes, Magnus wishes his husband wasn’t smart. He can never pull anything over on him.

Magnus tries to form an eloquent answer. “Um,” is what comes out of his mouth.

Unexpectedly, Alec pulls him into a fierce hug. “Oh my God,” he chokes out.

Magnus lets Alec squeeze him, chest tightening until he’s not sure he’s breathing. This would already be too much to contemplate, but to have it thrust on them so suddenly… “Are you— are you upset?”

“What?” Alec looks at him askance, grip tight on Magnus’s shoulders. “What? No, how could I be?”

“Well, we came here to take out some assassins, not to irrevocably change the course of our lives,” Magnus explains. Which doesn’t touch on his deeper insecurities, but better not to get into that on the floor of this seedy bar.

“I don’t care. I— I’m glad,” Alec admits. “Are— are you?”

Magnus smiles, feeling surprisingly shy. “Yes.”

Alec pulls him into another hug, and Magnus melts into him. Now that he knows Alec’s not upset, giddiness is bubbling up in his chest, making him shake. “Do you realize what this means, Alexander?” he squeals into Alec’s shoulder upon sudden realization. “Do you understand???”

Alec frowns. “No…?”

“A bunch of people tried to kill you. Multiple times, in fact.” Magnus holds Alec’s face between his hands, bouncing up and down where he’s sitting. “The end result? An Alec Lightwood who is even MORE UNKILLABLE THAN BEFORE!!”

“It’s Lightwood-Bane,” Alec says automatically, but he’s smiling. “Looks like they were the least competent assassins ever known.”

Magnus giggles hysterically. He can’t even tell what he’s feeling right now. Some kind of manic adrenaline papering over a barely-avoided despair. “I love you,” he says, and then he starts crying.

“Hey, hey.” Alec cradles Magnus’s head to his shoulder. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” Magnus whines, voice thick. “So many people want you dead.”

“Pretty sure they want you dead, too,” Alec reminds him, pulling Magnus into his lap and leaning back further against the table.

“Immaterial,” Magnus sniffs. “You should have seen the things they were saying about you.”

“I told you not to read that stuff.”

“I will enact vengeance—”

“Shhh. You’ve delivered enough vengeance for one day.” Alec rocks him in place, and Magnus feels so stupid. And small. Persecuted. Hated.

Normally it doesn’t get to him, being hated. Especially when it’s for doing something that he won’t back down from or apologize for. Normally he bristles, and throws up his shields and defenses, and people take it for the warning that it is.

But, Lilith. There is still so much hatred in the world. Hatred that would see another warlock look at him like he had personally murdered her children simply for falling in love with a man she didn’t approve of, a man whose character she didn’t know at all. Hatred that would see one of Alec’s supposed colleagues stick a knife between his shoulder blades for daring to step out of line and challenge tradition.

What was the point of all this, anyway? This plot, this meeting, this fight—sure, they took down this group, but what has that really accomplished? Nothing. It’s accomplished nothing. Picking maggots off of rotting meat doesn’t change the fact that the meat is rotting.

“You’re spiraling,” Alec whispers in his ear, ever attuned to him, and Magnus leans in closer, letting the smell of his sweat, the prickle of his magic along his skin ground him. He knows he shouldn’t do that, shouldn’t fall into that trap of thinking that he’s merely bailing water from the ocean. He’s been there before, and it only leads to malaise and hopelessness.

He holds tight to Alec, and tries to remember.

“This floor is all sticky,” he complains at a whisper, and Alec laughs tearily.

“I know. Let’s go home.”

Home is in Alicante now. Magnus isn’t entirely used to it. The city doesn’t unnerve him like it once did, now that there’s been such an influx of Downworlders, and the demographics are changing so rapidly. But it’s still new, still different.

He tries to find pride in it, in that fact that this would never have been possible even five years ago, that no matter what those people had said, things are getting better.

It’s hard to feel it, though, when his head is still aching from being thrown into a wall, when he still has a massive bruise blooming on his ribcage, when Alec, beside him, is still walking gingerly and hesitating on each breath.

“I’m going to make some coffee,” Magnus declares, and disappears into the kitchen.

Alec leaves him be for a while, lets Magnus decide to come back to him. Magnus leans against the counter, trying to breathe evenly, watching the coffee brew. Eventually, he regathers himself, bringing two mugs out to the living room, where Alec is already lying down on the couch, a hand pressed to his forehead.

“Hurts?” Magnus questions, and Alec shakes his head.

“Just tired.”

Magnus knows that tiredness. It’s existential, not physical.

He sets the coffees down on the table, already forgotten, and crawls into Alec’s lap. He lays down across him, head on Alec’s chest, and Alec wraps his arms around him.

“You look so pretty,” Alec whispers, thumbing at the lipstick smeared on Magnus’s mouth.

“I look like a mess,” Magnus says.

“A pretty mess.”

Magnus sighs, fond, and plays with the hem of Alec’s shirt. “Will it ever stop?”

“You being pretty? Never.”

He knows Alec knows what he means, though.

“Truthfully?” Alec says, and Magnus nods. “No, I don’t think so.”

Magnus sighs heavily, like a huge weight is crushing him. But deep down, he agrees. He’s been alive for too long, he’s seen empires rise and fall, movements come and go and succeed and fail—he’s seen too much to believe that there’s some kind of utopia on the horizon.

“You’re never going to get miraculous accord amongst everybody,” Alec continues, and huffs out a humorless laugh. “Hell, I can barely get a subcommittee of five people to agree on a simple bill.”

Truthfully, Magnus wouldn’t want to live in a world where there was miraculous accord, because… accord under whose definition, exactly? It sounds more dystopian than utopian.

“You are right, of course, Alexander,” he says. “And I can handle the arguing and the struggle. But when I think about the— the things they said about you. The hatred. And yes, I know, you told me not to read it, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.” It hurts so much more, unexpectedly so, to hear those things said about Alec than it’s ever hurt to hear them about himself.

“What did you tell me last time?” Alec says gently. “When people are attacking you, you’re going in the right direction? They wouldn’t care if we weren’t making a difference, Magnus.”

Magnus kisses his collarbone. “When did you become such an optimist?”

Alec laughs. “Somebody had to take over while you were going down a rabbit hole of internet extremism.”

Magnus groans, but actually, that gives him an idea. “I know what I’m going to do—”

“You know what you should do—” Alec says at the same time, then stops. “Go on.”

“I’m going to start posting about how much I love Alec Lightwood. I’m going to start an Alec Lightwood fan club. Be the change you want to see in the world.”

Alec sighs despairingly. “I was going to suggest you throw your computer out a window, actually.”

“I can’t, I have work to do.”

“Speaking of which…” Alec starts thoughtfully. “What did that woman mean? About you being appointed to a new position? I haven’t heard anything about that.”

“Nor have I.” Magnus will have to take it up with someone at the Spiral Labyrinth. Or maybe he’ll just wait and see what transpires.

“Well, whatever it is, it’s gotta be better than whatever you’re doing now.”

Magnus pokes him in the side. “Hey!”

Alec laughs. “Sorry, honey.”

“No, you aren’t,” Magnus grumbles. “Enough of this talk, anyway. I seem to remember at the beginning of all this you promised to swoop in at the end and kiss me senseless.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Magnus pushes himself up and leans in to capture Alec’s mouth. “Is Inquisitor Lightwood breaking a promise? Is Inquisitor Lightwood being ideologically inconsistent?”

Alec winds a hand into his hair. “I thought you said enough of that talk.”

“Perhaps Inquisitor Lightwood should prove he’s a man of his word,” Magnus teases, and Alec lets out a low growl.

“Perhaps Mr. Lightwood-Bane should stop criticizing and let himself be kissed.”

“It does make me so hot when you correct our name like that.”

Alec rolls them over on the couch so Magnus is beneath him, then kisses him deeply. “Is that why you keep doing that?”

Magnus wraps one leg around his thigh and pulls him closer. “Yep. Is it making you want to prove me wrong?”

“Yep,” Alec says, echoing him. He kisses along Magnus’s throat. “You won’t be so argumentative when I’m done with you.”

A thrill runs through Magnus’s body. “Oh yeah? Prove it to me. Make me a Lightwood-Bane.”

And oh, God, Alec does.

Chapter Text

“Magnus. Hey. Magnus?”

There’s something about the line of Alec’s neck and jawline that is doing things to Magnus. Maybe it’s the rune. Maybe it’s the way he swallows. Maybe it’s actually just all of him, the strong curve of his shoulder, his tongue licking over his lower lip as a drop of his drink spills— and Magnus’s brain is just hyperfocusing on one area so it doesn’t explode.

Is it too forward to lean in and start sucking on his neck? Probably. No— definitely. Definitely too forward.

“Magnus? You okay?”

Oh. Alec sounds like he’s been calling him for some time. Magnus tries to shake himself back to awareness, but the haze that’s descended over him doesn’t quite shake off. He squints down at his drink critically. One martini usually isn’t enough to make feel like this. Usually, it takes two to make him even a little tipsy.

Did they double the alcohol content of vodka without telling him or something? No, Magnus is pretty sure he’d have heard of that development. He’d have definitely bought a bottle of that.

“Magnus.” Alec waves a hand in front of his face, looking concerned now. “Are you okay?”

Magnus smiles at him. Alec looks a little swirly, but still delectable. “Perfectly,” he says.

A crease forms between Alec’s eyebrows. “Do you want to go out and get some air or something? You look a little… peaky.”

Maybe that’s not a bad idea. He is feeling a bit overheated. Plus, he might be able to convince Alec to make out with him against a wall…

He stands up from his bar stool, the world spins, and Magnus has a brief moment to think, I don’t think intoxication is supposed to give me vertigo like that before he falls to the floor and everything goes black.

Magnus wakes up with his head pounding, and a surprising lack of concern with where he is. He wouldn’t have been entirely surprised to wake up in some villainous lair or other, but instead he’s lying on his own sheets, under his own comforter. Strange, unless he really did just black out on alcohol and managed to get himself home anyway. Wouldn’t be the first time.

“Hey. Magnus.” Alec’s voice sounds by his side, and a moment later, his hand lands tentatively on Magnus’s arm. “Are you awake?”

Magnus nods, squeezing his eyes shut as his headache protests, then forcing them open again so he can look at Alec’s face.

Alec looks slightly more… disheveled than when Magnus last saw him. His jacket is gone, his hair mussed, and there are specks of dried blood across his cheek. Magnus doesn’t know what to make of any of it.

“What happened to you?” he murmurs, catching Alec’s sleeve between his fingertips and tugging lightly. “I don’t recall kissing you into such a state of disarray. I certainly hope there wouldn’t be blood involved.”

Alec’s face colors, but he says, “What happened to you is someone put something in your drink. I really think that should be a higher priority to you than the state of my hair.”

Magnus shrugs, then winces as it jostles his pounding head. “Wouldn’t be the first time, I’m afraid. But this was my first time on a date with one Alexander Lightwood, so you’ll understand why my priorities are in that order.”

Alec shakes his head with a smile. “I have to admit, if anyone was going to wind up falling all over themselves on this date, I thought it was going to be me.”

Magnus laughs, looking up at him blearily. “Oh, you’d have done it in a cuter way, though. I’m rather embarrassed to have collapsed in a puddle after one measly drink.”

“A measly drink with poison in it.”

Magnus waves a limp hand. “It’s a bad look either way. Unsexy.”

Alec pushes his hair off his forehead. Magnus hadn’t expected him to be bold enough to do that, but it’s nice. It’s very nice. Even if Magnus feels a bit sticky with dried sweat and probably looks gross.

He finally realizes to ask, “Why do you have blood on your face?”

“Oh.” Alec scrubs at his skin. “I found the guy who poisoned you and punched him in the face. I think I broke his nose.”

Magnus stares at him, breath catching in his throat. “That’s an arresting image.” God, he wishes he got to see Alec defend him like that.

“He’s in an Institute cell now,” Alec informs him, squirming under Magnus’s gaze.

“Who poisons someone when they’re on a first date with a beautiful young man?” Magnus complains. “Good thing he got his comeuppance. That’s just bad manners. Who raised this guy?”

Alec chuckles. “I’d say it’s ‘bad manners’ to poison someone at any time.”

“Perhaps, but I’m very annoyed that they interrupted our date. It took us so long to get to it as it was.”

“We can go again when you’re feeling better,” Alec promises. Magnus will definitely make sure that happens. “But we might need to bring our own drinks.”

“Speaking of the date, how did we get here?” Magnus asks. “And how did I not die? Unless you have some antidote-making skills you’ve yet to reveal.”

“I called your friend… Ragnor? I found his number in your phone,” Alec says.

“How did you even know my password?”

Alec looks slightly abashed. “I guessed. It was your cat's name. 'Meow.'”

“God, I am so transparent," Magnus says faintly, embarrassed.

"Only if one's paying attention," Alec says.

Magnus squirms both comfortably and uncomfortably at the thought of Alec paying such close attention to him. “Sorry, I don’t know why I’m focusing on minutiae. Please continue. I’m sure Ragnor was extremely irritated that I’d found myself in a life-or-death situation again.”

“He nearly fried me when he thought I was the one who’d attacked you.”

Magnus smiles fondly. “He can be prickly.”

“I’ll say. He didn’t want to let me stay here, either, but I managed to convince him I wasn’t going to kill you in your sleep.”

“Good, because I’d much rather wake up to this pretty face.” He taps Alec’s cheek, and Alec blushes again. He’s so easy to get a rise out of. It’s delightful.

“Thank you for staying,” Magnus adds, more genuinely. “And for throwing my would-be-killer behind bars. Whoever said chivalry is dead hadn’t met my Alexander.”

Oh God he shouldn’t have phrased it like that, they’re literally— were literally— on their first date, oh my God—

But Alec just smiles and brushes his hair off his forehead again.

“Do you think this is going to become a pattern in our relationship?” Magnus asks. “Me swooning into your arms? It’s happened twice already, and we’ve only been on half of a date.”

“I hope so,” Alec says, then backtracks rapidly— “I mean, not the fainting part, the—”

“The into your arms part?” Magnus says, eyebrow raised, and Alec ducks his head. “Well, I think I could rather get used to that. In fact, since I’ve already imposed upon you by having you stay here for I don’t even know how long, I’m going to impose upon you again.” He holds out a hand. “Come lie down with me.”

Alec looks startled, but eventually takes Magnus’s hand, climbing into bed beside him. He lies there stiffly, unsure what to do, until Magnus tugs him closer.

“I’m trying to swoon into your arms again, can’t you tell?”

Alec gives him a wide, toothy grin. “You’re ridiculous.” Then he frowns disapprovingly. “And far too unconcerned about having been poisoned.”

“I have other priorities,” Magnus reminds him. “And, besides. Why be concerned when you’re right there to swoop in and save me?”

Alec leans in to kiss him, a quick peck before he pulls away. “Damn right. I’m not letting my Magnus get poisoned again.”

Magnus beams at him and lets Alec pull him into his arms. Perhaps it wasn’t such an unsuccessful first date, after all.