Chapter Text
Magnus stared blankly at Camille as she crawled out of the bed. She was already in the bathroom when she realised Magnus was not following. She retraced her steps, standing in the doorway of her en-suite, one hand on her hip. She was beautiful, there was no use denying it. She was probably the most beautiful woman Magnus had ever been with, and she was so strong, so brave, so independent. That was what he’d loved about her the most.
There was really nothing more attractive than a woman who would never need you. This woman was a dare dressed in nothing.
Magnus looked down at his hands and wasn’t surprised by what he saw printed on his left wrist: another crossed out name. Camille Belcourt, in elegant, curling calligraphy; crossed with a crude line. A new name was written beneath Camille’s; this one with an endearingly simple signature. No showmanship or flare, only a name; long enough to almost circle his wrist. Alexander Gideon Lightwood. Magnus smiled softly, through his fresh heartbreak. He cast his eyes up to Camille and, for the first time, felt that he could do better. Not in terms of looks, perhaps, because Camille really was beautiful, but she was a bad person, and Magnus generally considered himself to be a pretty good person.
He braced himself for one last fight with this woman, but spoke with easy confidence he wears like armour. “You might want to take a look at your wrist, Camille, darling.”
Camille was briefly surprised, brows high and eyes uncomprehending. Her lips part, then frown decisively, and she raises her left wrist as if she's just going through the motions; she already knows what she'll find there. Three crossed out names. There's a long, labouring moment of silence and and then she almost sways on the spot, slumps against the doorframe in a fit of exhaustion. “Fuck,” She breaths, then again, louder, “Fuck.” She turns away, runs a hand through her hair, mainly as an excuse not to look at the names anymore. She walks into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.
Magnus is distracted from staring at his new name until he hears telltale signs of her exhaustion turning to rage. Sharp kicks at the bathtub leave dents and craters behind; their perfumes are thrown to the tiled floor where they shatter and mix; the mirror breaks into segments as she crashes her coiled fist into her reflection. Magnus can't think of anything he'd like to do less than confront Camille Belcourt right then, so he remained on on the bed even after she swung the door open again and stood there, glaring at him.
"Well, I'm out." She snaps, as if he'd done this maliciously.
Magnus sighs and looks away so he won't have to look at her. He doesn't love her, not anymore, but there's a fondness for her in his heart still. She's been his companion for so long, he almost can't remember who he was before they found each other. He doesn't want to remember her like this; brutal and wild, and not in a good way. When she turned that scalding look on him, he could see through all the prettiness and civility she possessed. He could see her for the vampire she was; the ferocious, predatory creature of shadows and ghost stories. There she stood, bold as brass and completely naked. She had no reason to be meek; Magnus knew her body as well as she did, and she'd never been shy around anyone in her life. Magnus stood from the bed, feeling too vulnerable there, and dragged his hand through his hair, uncomfortable.
"What?" Camille snarls. She paces the room- no, she prowls. She watches him like a big cat, threatening to end him at any moment. "You've suddenly got nothing to say, Bane?" She ravages her pretty hair with her hands until its all a mess. "We're happy, but, what, that's not enough for you? Why are you doing this to me? You love me, why are you doing this? No one falls out of love like that, Bane. Like, last night everything was fine and now, all of a sudden, this!" She points angrily at her wrist, at that sad list of loves she'll never get back.
She's hysterical and mad and pissed. The worst thing is that Magnus sympathises. He understands. He knows that he'll be in this position someday. He'll have exhausted his options too, and he doesn't know whether he'll be able to take it any better than Camille. Now she faces the rest of eternity with no hope of ever loving anyone again- not like this, not with the kind of passion that burns you up and makes you want to live and die at once. The best she can hope for is a loyal human subjugate; someone to kiss her mouth and adore her and run her errands- but it won't be the same as this, what she and Magnus had. All her soulmates are gone now. Two dead, and one through with her.
She'd watched two human soulmates die in her lifetime. She'd been so earnestly happy when she met Magnus and knew, without a single doubt in her mind, that she wouldn't have to lose this one too. She'd won the goddamn lottery. Her last soulmate, immortal just like her. He wouldn't leave her like the last two had and now this. This was worse than that, too. At least the last two had died before they could wise up to her wretchedness; at least they'd died and not just fallen out of love. At least they'd died and not gone on to love someone else.
Magnus felt bad for her, but relieved too. This wasn't it for him. Camille wasn't it for him. He would get a chance at happiness with someone else- someone less complicated, less spiteful. But that pity in his chest made him almost wish he could rub out that line. It made him wish he could be it for her.
He tried to reason with her. "You know this isn't all my fault. Things haven't been right with us for a long time." He bends to collect his boxers, pulls them on, lingers awkwardly by the bed. "This is clearly over, Camille. Lets just get on with it. I'm going home." He knows the rest of his clothes are around somewhere, but he honestly can't be bothered to look for them, and he really just wants to get away from this new ex as soon as possible. Break-ups are always horrible.
He sets to work drawing out a portal.
He'll go to his apartment in Brooklyn. People like him in Brooklyn. He hasn't been there in a couple decades though, not since the eighties brought about some regrettable interior design fads he'd rather forget. He'll have to redecorate.
Camille has stopped pacing now. She stands with her arms folded defensively across her chest and asks in a sour voice, "Who's the lucky name?"
He holds out his hand to her.
She gingerly crosses the room and takes his hand in her cold grip. "Alexander Gideon Lightwood," She mumbled, then pauses, the cogs in her brain turning. She almost laughs aloud when she realises why that name seems so familiar. She smirks and drops Magnus' hand. She turns away, almost grinning. This is something like revenge, something like karma. "Lightwood..." She says haughtily, then glances over her shoulder at him, "That's a shadowhunter name, isn't it?"
Magnus doesn't have to think about it. "Yes." He's met enough Lightwoods in his time.
"What a pity." She says jovially, a skip returning to her step. She perches herself on the foot of the bed, looking at her long red fingernails. "What a shame."
Magnus says nothing. He turns back to his work.
"Magnus, honey, maybe you should just stay here?" She says demurely, straightening her shoulders. "A shadowhunter is no kind of lover for you. They're all such dreadful prudes, and so boring. Really they're not very much fun at all."
Magnus hums but doesn't otherwise respond. He knows she's partially right. Some shadowhunters are stuffy bigots- but not all of them.
"And they're mortal, darling." She sighs like she's sorry for him, but she's still grinning ear to ear. "You don't want a mortal soulmate, honey, believe me. And shadowhunters die so young! You'll hardly get to be with him at all. You'd really better stay with me."
Magnus hums again, but the portal is nearly ready. She isn't wrong here, either. He knows he'll be lucky to know the poor kid six months before he dies at the claws of some beastly thing from another dimension.
Magnus turns to her after a moment, the portal glimmering blue behind him, and smiles as earnestly as he can. "Maybe I'll look you up one day, darling." He walks to her, leans close, presses a chaste kiss to her cheek. He pulls back and they're stuck there in each other's eyes for a long moment. Magnus wants to remember her like this; beautiful and unabashed; strong and enduring. He tries to forget her anger and resentment and spite, but finds they're as big a part of her as all her loveliness. He was sorry, in a way, to be losing her. She'd been such a constant in an ever shifting world. His life would be emptier without her.
But that was what it was to be immortal; to live a life forever meaning less and less until, someday not long before the sun burned them all up once and for all, it meant hardly anything at all.
And with that thought, he resigned himself to look forward to this particular change. It would bring happiness and excitement and dashing shadowhunters into his life. It would not be the end of everything.
Thoughtful, she watched Magnus Bane turn from her and head back to his portal. "I think you were my favourite." She said blandly, "Out of the three, I mean. You're certainly the prettiest, anyway." Her smile turned indecent, "And definitely the best in bed."
"Thanks." Magnus said, smiling despite everything. He knew what she was doing. She was looking at him with those distracting eyes and trying to bend his intentions. A mundane would be putty in her hands, sure, but this was Magnus Bane she was dealing with. She really ought to know better.
Alec should not wish there was no such thing as soulmates. Being bitter and lonely and jilted was no reason to resent the rest of the globe genuine love and happiness. Loving someone unrequitedly, though, was a pretty sound way of making someone lose all faith in the very concept of soulmates.
He'd found his first soulmate when he was young, and he'd loved him so damn much- too much- but the guy could hardly stand the sight of Alec. So sure of being a hundred percent heterosexual, he'd just ignored the male name on his wrist until it crossed itself out. Everything bended to Jace's will, Alec thought irritably, even the universe. Jace had been so sure he couldn't ever love Alec in that way, he'd never stopped looking for a new One since. He looked with a vengeance, a determination completely alien to Jace in every other aspect of his life. Alec had never seen him so single minded. He shook his handsome head and the universe waved a white flag and said "alright, alright, our bad, we take it back!" leaving just a crossed out name on their left wrists; an unwelcome reminder to the both of them
And Alec- despite all his declarations of understanding Jace and feeling the same way- is so angry. At sixteen, he found himself one name down, and he hadn't even gotten to try.
Alec knows the facts and statistics of soulmates. He's done his research, read the lore, searched the web. Everyone in the world- mortal, immortal, mundane and otherwise- gets three names in their lifetime. Or, rather, a maximum of three names. Someone people never get past number one. Alec's own brother, Max, had died before he even got one. But, as to the facts, Alec knew that he had at most two more attempts ahead of him. Two more rolls of the dice. One day, another name will just appear on Alec's wrist overnight, and the whole horrible affair will start over.
When Alec found Jace's name on his wrist, he was ecstatic. Jace was his best friend, and the coolest person Alec had ever known. He was great at everything, and good looking, and he had one of those easy smiles that made you willing to jump off a building if you thought it might impress him (Alec had done this more than once in the past, each time earning an iratze from Jace and feeling very content).
Still, he knew, from the beginning that it was wrong, that it was forbidden. They were parabatai. The clave would frown on any romantic intentions between parabatai- would banish them, strip them off their runes.
There was something romantic about that, though, in a way. They were like star-crossed lovers. Sixteen year olds love that Romeo and Juliet shit, and Alec hadn't been immune.
He'd been infatuated with this boy too long to not give into this sudden hope of their being together. He'd spent years pining for a boy who was almost aggressively heterosexual, who Alec had always knows would never love him back, not the way Alec wanted him to. Miserable and guilty, he'd never been told it was okay to like boys the way Jace always went on and on about liking girls. No one had explained that love was about more than conventions and gender.
So, just when he was most miserable about his lot, something incredible happened. He woke up, went to brush his teeth, and saw something odd in his peripheral. A smudge or something on his left wrist. He looked, and was so shocked he couldn't read it for a second. A name. He'd only ever seen names on other people. His mother had one on her wrist, and his father had two. He'd never read the second name; it had just appeared when he and Maryse were particularly unhappy; when the kids were woken by them fighting late at night, and Robert would go away for weeks on end, "working." No one ever brought the other name out. Eventually Alec caught sight of his father's wrist and was surprised to see that both names were crossed out now. He didn't love Alec's mother anymore, but he was still there, and that had been the first time Alec really doubted the whole soulmate thing.
His confusing love for Jace confirmed his cynicism, and drove Alec to an admittedly sad conclusion; soulmates were overestimated, unrealistic, and nothing but a pleasant lie people liked to believe in, just to make their lives seem a little more meaningful and romantic.
But then, all of a sudden, there was a name on his wrist, and Alec forgot all his doubts and worries and he dropped his toothbrush in the sink and slammed his shoulder against the bathroom doorframe in his haste to get out, to find Jace. This was all the validation he'd never been given. This was the universe at large telling him that he was okay and not weird for thinking of his best friend the way he did. They were soulmates, and not even the Clave, not even his dad, could tell him otherwise. It was right there, on his wrist, clear as day. Jace wasn't in his bedroom, or the kitchen. Alec finally found him in the training room; sweaty and shirtless and in the midst of a workout. Jace was fourteen at the time and, in hindsight, probably not much to look at, but to Alec he was the most beautiful person in existence.
Alec had stood there in the doorway, watching him with a stupid, embarrassing grin on his face. All that feeling of urgency had suddenly vanished. Now it felt as though Alec had nothing but time. As though this- Alec and Jace- was a sure thing and there was no need to rush anything.
And, by the Angle, Jace had Alec's name on his wrist, too. It was so obvious, but it still sent a thrill through him when he saw it there; when Jace turned and saw him and smiled and gestured for him to come over, and his own name was there, marking Jace Herondale as his own.
But Jace hadn't seen it yet. That was apparent in the way Jace grabbed Alec's wrist and pulled him over to the training mat to practice some move. It was so normal. It wasn't the way soulmates reacted to something so monumental as a name. This had amused Alec at the time. He'd found it funny that someone as vain as Jace could have gone so long without noticing a name tattooed on his wrist. Alec went willingly where Jace led him, still smiling weirdly. Alec couldn't be less interested in training.
And then Jace let go of Alec's wrist, fell back a step, squared his shoulders, and then he noticed the writing on his parabatai's wrist. He immediately made a little cheering noise and congratulated Alec. Jace clapped his shoulder with one hand and took his hand with the other, turning it over in so familiar a grip. Then he read the name, dropped Alec's hand as though it had stabbed him, and from then on nothing was the same between the two of them.
And not in the way Alec had hoped.
Jace was all furrowed eyebrows and petulant scowl. He backed away, uncomprehending for a moment, before it dawned on him just what this meant. He raised his own hand and read the name he hadn't noticed before, and for a second Alec really thought Jace was going to hit him. And not in the way he did when they were fighting when they trained, either. Jace, too, looked like he thought he might hit him. He settled for turning away and pacing, not able to even look at his parabatai. Alec stumbled back a step, as though he'd been pushed, and his brain whirred with confusion and questions and he couldn't understand what was happening. Why was Jace mad? Alec hadn't even thought it was possible for someones literal soulmate to react badly.
Jace rubbed his temples and muttered, "I'm not gay" under his breath. Jace looked weird, like he might throw up, and Alec felt a genuine concern for him. He stepped towards him, but Jace didn't want his help, not anymore.
"What the fuck?" Jace said nastily, turning his own shocked anger at this easy target. His voice was raw and mean and barely even recognisable. Alec stopped. He didn't try to close the space between them. He stared at the floor, at his own pale feet, until Jace spoke again. "I'm not gay, Alec. You're not, are you? I don't get how this has happened." He shook his head, "Have you ever heard about the names being screwed up like this before?" Alec understood now. Jace felt cheated. He'd been robbed of a name, of a soulmate. He'd dreamt of a sweet girl and gotten, instead, Alec. It was a colossal disappointment to Jace who was, at heart, a romantic.
Alec was sure now that he was going to throw up. He turned away.
"This is crazy," Jace went on, still pissed. "I'm not gay. What the fuck is this supposed to mean?"
He went quiet for a moment, and Alec missed his chance to act along. He should have pretended there and then to be as baffled by this as Jace, to be just as angry and shocked and disgusted by the very notion of loving someone of his own gender. This was his shot to play it cool and be normal and salvage some part of their friendship. Alec was too busy trying not to throw up, though, to realise the importance of this moment, to realise what he should say. When he turned back to face Jace again, his parabatai was staring at him, suddenly pale. All the gold was gone from his complexion, and his jaw dropped a little.
Suddenly Jace was the one turning away, rubbing his temples again. "I'm not gay, Alec." He made a noise like the very idea of being with Alec revolted him, and Alec felt tears stinging his eyes. "No."
And, just like that, Alec became bitter. He was angry, but not for the reason Jace was. No, Alec was pissed because Jace fucking Herondale was so stubborn, even the universe couldn't tell him what to do. Jace was a force of nature stronger even than the cosmic forces, than the Angel, than whatever the hell made soulmates exist.
Just like that, Alec lost that fleeting sense of contentment with himself, with the way he was.
He left Jace alone, and Jace didn't follow him, and, back in his bedroom, he looked at his wrist again, only to see that the name was crossed out.
Two years later, Jace can't look back on that day without feeling ashamed of himself. Defensive and angry, he'd screwed up a friendship that had meant so much to him. A partnership that would have made the both of them stronger. He didn't love Alec. He couldn't love Alec, no matter how much he sometimes willed it. He knew he'd been stupid to treat Alec so badly, to hurt him like that. Jace wished he could go back and react better. He should have been kind and gentle and let Alec down easy. Alec would never have treated Jace that way, had their roles been reversed, and Jace knew that.
It was just that, all his life, the dream of a soulmate who loved him had kept him going through all that shit with his dad. When he had nothing else, he at least had the notion that there was someone out there who was meant for him. And that someone had never been Alec. They'd been a girl. It was just the way he'd pictured it. So, when he saw that name on his wrist, he sort of felt like Alec was stealing something from him.
The only language Jace spoke fluently was aggression and anger. On that day, he'd said things he could never take back.
It was stupid, and inexcusable.
But it had happened.
They'd never been the same since.
And, for better or worse, he'd said all those mean, insensitive things to the one person he would let him get away with it; wouldn't hate him for it.
Their names were crossed out, like Robert and Maryse's. Like the name Jace could vaguely remember seeing on his father's wrist as a child. Alec wasn't dead, like his mother. They hadn't drifted apart over the course of years like Maryse and Robert.
It had begun and ended within an hour, because Jace had rejected him. Neither of them had even known that was a possibility, that you could be denied by a soulmate.
They avoided each other as long as they could, and then when they had to be in the same room as each other, they tried to act as though none of that had ever happened. Alec wore long sleeves even in the summer, and Jace took to wearing leather bracelets on his left wrist every single day.
Alec was convinced he even slept in the bracelets.
Finally, after many uncomfortable weeks, Jace apologised. He explained, as gently as possible, that he just wasn't into guys. Alec couldn't look him in the eyes while he spoke. He stared at his own hands and nodded when he was supposed to and mumbled an affirmative when Jace asked if he was okay. They went back to being parabatai and best friends and brothers, but it was never the way it had been when they were younger.
Izzy was the only person who knew. She'd known immediately that something had happened between them, and had she'd dragged the truth out of Alec after much badgering. She was in an awkward position. She loved Alec and Jace. She only wished her hothead brother could have been a little more tactile and saved Alec some unhappiness.
Isabelle Lightwood was perhaps the only one more of a cynic than Alec when it came to soulmates. She'd always known that romantic relationships of any kind could only end in heartbreak. She'd seen it happen to her parents, and then her brother, and it only convinced her more and more that she would never let herself fall victim to that pain.
At sixteen, Alec had already lost a soulmate. No, not lost. He'd been rejected by a soulmate. All he'd lost was a name, and his childhood. He had no interest in getting another. He only wished that there was no such thing as a soulmate, so he wouldn't be constantly reminded of the most mortifying day of his life.
At eighteen, his feelings had not changed. The word soulmate was synonymous with heartbreak and rejection and he would be quite happy (or at least as close to that as was possible) if he lived the rest of his life without every getting another name. He never checked his wrist anymore, and kept it covered up at all times unless he was in the shower or sleeping. He would dedicate himself to his career and become an incredible shadowhunter. He would live a full life, never even considering love.
And then, as he lathered shampoo between his hands one morning, he saw what he dreaded most.
A name.
Magnus Bane.