Chapter Text
MAGNUS
Love warps time differently from person to person.
With his first love, time was on fast-forward, passionate and hurried, as though life blurred past them. Imasu had the ability to make time slow down and make each beat full of emotion and vitality, as though music thickened the air enough to move through molasses. When Magnus danced with Etta, time was nostalgic and every memory was golden and dreamlike. With one snap, Camille had the power to pause time, bodies frozen in place like statues, as though they moved through a museum and they were the curators. It was manipulated immortality and it felt god-like. Until one day, Camille was gone and Magnus snapped back into reality.
And then there was Alec.
Alexander Gideon Lightwood, the one constant in his long, arduous life that managed to make time feel so… present. The only problem was that he was never really present. Magnus may be a powerful warlock, but the existence of Alexander, from the moment he would appear from thin air, was pure magic. As a time traveler, Alec visited him in different eras of his life and yet time itself never distorted. Time obeyed in his presence. When he would eventually vanish back to his present, Magnus would discover new interests, spells, and pleasures in his absence until the next time they meet and time fixes itself again.
The ultimate curse of immortality: being left behind.
It’s hard being left behind.
ALEC
Sed lex, dura lex. The law is hard, but it is the law.
Mandated by the Clave, the Accords maintain order amongst those in the shadow world and protects the mundane world from discovering it. There are codes of conduct, rights, and rules to abide by in order to keep the peace between the Clave, Downworlders, and mundanes. Follow orders, remember the training, and obey the basic moral code. That is the life of a shadowhunter.
No one has ever had to tell Alec what guidelines to follow when it comes to time travel. What would they know? They don’t know what it feels like to stand in the middle of Ops one moment and then feel snow beneath their stark naked body in the middle of Central Park in 1997. Or what to do in the following moments that would reduce the risk of a mundane calling the police or confronting a demon with no stele, weapons, or phone on hand. Fuck having to explain anything because it wastes time and the last thing he wants is to cause more attention to the shadow world. The best chance of survival usually involves lying, stealing, and hiding. Break noses and accept the consequences? Sure, but by the angel, not like this. He hates this side of him, the inverted part of him that is desperate, vulnerable, and a goddamn spectacle. Yeah, how would anyone know how that feels.
Izzy once asked if it felt like traveling through a portal. No fucking way.
What does it feel like? Time travel feels like shit. It’s… it’s all the blood rushing to the head, ears ringing and euphoria, tingling sensations from the limbs to the spine replaced by extreme nausea and vertigo. It’s grabbing hold on to whatever is nearby with hands that are no longer there. In an instant, it feels like carpet pulled from right underneath. It’s dislocation, physically and mentally. It’s “Who’s blood is that?” and praying that it’s something iratzes can fix. And other times, it’s waking up in a hospital with a policeman demanding identification because time travel means not having a fucking wallet. Why bother telling them? It’s so easy to distract mundanes long enough to vanish back to the present. In those rare cases, the piercing migraine and phantom sensations feel like a godsend, followed up by Jace swearing his ringing ears off when his body reappears. Even when time separates them, their parabatai rune can still be activated. So yeah, time travel can be a pain.
He doesn’t travel every day, but the work never stops as a shadowhunter. There’s always a demon to fight, a downworlder to track, or a report to write and in between, Alec would either be at target practice or training until his body gave out. Down time comes so few, but he secretly enjoys the homely aspects of it, such as Izzy’s head resting on his shoulder when he’s been gone for days, Max’s fire messages scattered all over his room, Clary leaving a small plate of food on top of a book on his bedside table, and Jace’s voicemails when he’s at Magnus’ loft.
And Magnus. Everything Magnus. Magnus at 2am, waiting for him half asleep with a lazy smile. Magnus’ hands when they dance while he speaks. The way his features soften when he recalls a distant memory, but doesn’t say aloud. The lip mark on a glass left unattended while they were wrapped in each other’s embrace. Magnus’ soft skin below his abdomen in between Alec’s teeth. Magnus’ low voice in his ear. The color of his cat eyes when he says “Alexander.” Just… Magnus. It’s agony being anywhere Magnus is not. Being immortal means having been abandoned by loved ones more times than he deserved and yet he would still choose Alec.
Time travel is cruel that way. Always going where Magnus can’t follow.