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Alec writes down the last words of a two-page letter that took up a considerable portion of his morning to be composed, and puts the pen down. His fingers ache from writing messages and signing papers these days, and he really starts to regret the fact that the amount of magic permeating Idris prevents the use of any electronic device throughout their home country. Internet would make everything so much easier for everybody. Actually, a simple phone would do just that. At least, he could refuse a call whenever he has nothing good to say to the caller, which is pretty much all the time.
Four years ago he would have been appalled at the mere suggestion of integrating mundane technology in what he thought was the perfect world of Nephilim, but that was before the two wars, before finding out that Nephilim are not so perfect after all, and before Clary, obviously, who took pride in her mundane upbringing as much as Alec takes it in his own. She taught them a lot about a world they had been protecting without bothering to learn about it. She died leaving an empty space inside them all, and also leaving them craving technology, apparently. The thought is so inappropriate that would make Magnus laugh. He's definitely spending too much time with his husband, which is also an inappropriate thought.
He reread the letter once again. It's basically a very formal Everything is okay here. What about you?. He could have cut it way shorter than six paragraphs, but Arthur Blackthorn's last letter was extremely bureaucratic and unnecessarily verbose, and Alec doesn't want to give the man the impression that all his work was for nothing by dismissing it with a two-line response. As he turns it into a fire message, Alec also realizes that Arthur Blackthorn made it sound like everything is perfect at the Los Angeles Institute. A little too perfect perhaps, which is exactly what you would do when nothing at all is. He knows he should send someone over there – that man is alone with two traumatized nephews he basically knows nothing about, a new institute to run and no personnel to help him whatsoever – but Alec's alone too and the only person that would make sense to send visiting, namely Jace, makes himself as scarce as he can.
He's still mulling over the Los Angeles Institute issue when the temperature in the room suddenly rises a few degrees and the edge of the wall in front of him starts to flicker as if the wall was just an optical illusion. Magnus's voice fills the air before any part of his body can show up in Alec's office. “Please, honey, don't brood so early in the morning. You know it messes you up for the rest of the day.”
That's when a portal starts to form in the center of the wall. The big rounded opening takes a few moment to settle itself into reality and then it becomes solid, as well as the wall that houses it. Alec watches as the swirling blue energy that fills the opening starts to coalesce into his flamboyant husband. “How did you know I was brooding? You weren't even here yet,” Alec says, and there's maybe a little flick of annoyance in his voice.
Magnus nonchalantly takes in his surrounding as he sets foot in the room. He wears a pair of bright yellow velvet harem pants and an orange tunic. A little white hat on his head completes what is clearly his perfect impression of a candy corn. Alec finds him stunning, as per usual. In the sense of the verb to stun. “It was either brooding or aggressively reading a piece of paper,” Magnus says, as the energy in the portal behind his back starts swirling again. “There's a fifty percent chance with you these days. It's not much of a gamble, my love.”
Alec doesn't comment on that, there's not much to say anyway. He stands up, and starts tidying up his desk. He hates to leave a mess behind, especially when he knows he's going to go back to it very soon. “So,” Magnus goes on. “What was the brooding about?”
There's no point in denying it, Magnus will insist anyway. “Arthur Blackthorn's message was extremely formal, almost strained in a sense,” he answers. “I'm wondering if there's something wrong over there.”
“This seems an excessive concern even for you, Alec,” Magnus says, frowning. “I'm sure the man has his struggles as a fairly new appointed head of the institute, but the same can be said about you, don't you think? I'm sure that if he really needs help, he will inform the Council. It's not your problem, love. You can't help everybody.”
Alec knows Magnus is right. One of the things he painfully learned throughout these four years is that he can't do everything alone, no matter how much he would like to. He needs to delegate, let other people deal with some of the problems. There's only so much he can do properly before he loses sight of what he's doing and he starts making mistakes. He's still recovering – if he has any chance to do it – from the last one, and he should know better than overthinking over a simply formal letter from the head of an institute. Still, it's not any institute.
“I know,” he sighs. “But it's not easy to look the other way. They're not strangers to me, and their situation is extremely precarious to say the least. Julian and Ty have seen what was left of their family wiped out by the endarkened before their very eyes. Julian killed his own father! They shouldn't be back at the institute as if nothing happened. They should be healing in Alicante, getting some help.”
Magnus gives him a concerned frown. “Alec, Los Angeles is their home. Being away from home would just delay their healing process. Unfortunately, there's not much anybody can do.”
“I don't think the Council is doing nearly enough,” Alec says. “They've been completely forgotten in the midst of the crisis the Nation is in. And it's not just Julian and Ty. Mark is still in Faeries' hands and Helen is still stuck on Wrangel Island, when we could actively work to bring them back so they could help their brothers.”
“Alec...”
“I don't know, I just feel responsible,” Alec finally says. “Everything that happened to them was Sebastian's fault.”
“Who was not your responsibility at the time,” Magnus states.
“But he is now, isn't he?” Alec turns to look at him, and he sighs when he finds his husband frowning at him as if his words made no sense at all. Sometimes Magnus doesn't seem to understand how strongly he feels for this whole situation.
“As a matter of fact, he isn't,” Magnus sighs, clearly trying to be reasonable and understanding. “Despite the several mistakes that have been made in trying to control him, confine him and also kill him, he's still the only one responsible for his own actions, and I'm quite ready to believe that he would agree with me on this one. He's not trying to pass the blame of everything he's ever done on anybody else, so why are you taking it?”
Alec doesn't have an answer to that. Or at least, he doesn't have one that would agree with Magnus, so he just shakes his head. “I don't know,” he sighs again.
Magnus reaches out to grab his hand and squeezes it gently. “You're not responsible for him, love,” he repeats again, more sweetly. “What you are, is in a tough spot, I give you that. The Consul is expecting you to deliver Sebastian to her. Jace is either expecting you not to or not caring about it at all. I understand that you feel helpless and that you're trying to compensate by wanting to find a solution for anything else, but it's not the right way to face this situation. You can't fix everything, and you're only going to drain yourself out in the process if you try to.”
Alec feels suddenly very tired. He has never wanted an holiday more than he does now, especially when he knows this day has just begun and the end of it seems way further than just twenty-four hours away. “You're right,” he sighs. “I know you are.”
“This is pretty much always the case with me,” Magnus nods. “But, there's something you can do, show up when Jia summons you, which incidentally is why I am here. I've been entrusted with transporting you to Idris.”
Alec frowns a little. “They sent you?” He asks, surprised. “I thought you were in a Council meeting.”
“I was,” Magnus confirms. “And then I got really bored, so I made myself available as your chaperon through dimensions.”
Alec grins at his husband, holding onto the arm he's offering to him. “So, you left the warlocks without a representative?”
“Not that we need one, but Catarina has temporarily taken my place at the table,” Magnus answers. A small wave of his hand and the blue energy inside the portal starts coalescing again, this time into the green fields of Idris. In the distance, Alicante can be seen with its high walls and demon towers. “She wanted to speak about the Academy anyway.”
Alec is very pleased to hear that. “Oh, so she finally accepted to teach there.”
“She's not happy about it, she hates the school, most of the other teachers and, generally speaking, the government behind the academy, but we as warlocks agreed we won't pass the chance of having a say in the education of your youngsters this time,” he explains. “We did that for over two hundreds years and look at the results.”
“Hey,” Alec glares at him.
“You people have the tendency to forget pieces of history you don't particularly like or to remember them slightly different than the rest of us,” Magnus says. “You really need someone with a better memory to help you out.”
A few years ago any hint to his people acting in the name of anything but the truth would have made Alec fly into a rage instantly. He had been raised in the knowledge that Shadowhunters were never wrong in their actions, even when they seemed cruel and merciless, because they followed the Law, and the Law is hard but it is the Law. But faced with the consequences of his people blindly applying said law without any better judgment – that is two psychopaths, the raging hate of four other species, and three different wars that nearly led to the extinction of the Nephilim – Alec is now willing to acknowledge the fact that his people has flaws that need to be addressed to like any other people.
Unfortunately, despite the situation they're currently in, the vast majority of Nephilim still thinks they did nothing wrong, which doesn't exactly raise Alec's hopes for a peachy future. “I'm sure she will be a great history teacher,” he comments.
“Besides, nobody can deny what you're saying when you were there and they were not,” Magnus grins, taking the first step into the portal. “Now, let's go. If I don't get you to Jia on time, I'll never hear the end of it.”
*
Jia's office is big and has an oriental flair, as everything she has ever owned since Alec can remember. The room is roughly divided in half by a bamboo wall panel. On one side of it there's a white couch bending around a small Chinese coffee table that looks both ancient and incredibly precious. It shows her love for her heritage, and so do the little terracotta statues and the items of pottery in red and black displayed in a wooden and glass cabinet against the wall. On the other side of the wall panel, Jia's sitting behind a thick glass desk, a big dark tapestry against the white wall behind her. The two monumental windows overlook the city, which seems endless from there.
Alec is standing rigidly in front of the desk, his hands behind his back. Being the head of an institute means he's not strictly a soldier anymore, but old habits die hard. Besides, his current position can't prevent him from feeling like a child in the headmaster's office, awkward and feeling vaguely guilty for something he doesn't know anything about – except that he does this time. He's somewhat hiding a fugitive – or he's refusing to acknowledge the fact that he knows someone who knows where the fugitive is, which is one and the same at this point – and Jia is clearly tired of playing around. Alec has no idea what is going to happen, but he thinks a destitution is in the realm of possibilities, and that doesn't help him focus on the matter at hand, which would be to look professional, he supposes.
Apparently, he's not doing a good job because Jia chuckles. It's a tired sound that goes along with her tired face, but she seems amused. “Please, Alec, sit down,” she invites him, gesturing towards one of the chairs in front of the desk. “This is not a summoning, but more of a friendly meeting.”
“A friendly meeting you requested with a formal summoning,” Alec comments. He instantly kicks himself for saying that. His father Robert would say he has the tendency not to help himself in any given situation, and as much as he hates it, he has to agree with him.
Jia doesn't seem bothered by his snarky remark. In fact, she crosses her hands in her lap and looks at him with indulgence. “The reason behind this meeting required a certain degree of formality,” she nods in agreement, “but there's no reason why this encounter shouldn't be an amicable one. We're on the same side, Alec. I need you to understand that.”
The true meaning of those words doesn't get lost on Alec. The amount of things left unsaid between them is starting to be a little uncomfortable, but by the look of it they're going to keep them that way . “I never thought otherwise,” he says. He didn't, perhaps. What about her?
She seems to be satisfied with his answer or with the mandatory pleasantries it represents, so she moves on. “Did Magnus tell you about the last few council meetings?” She asks.
“He's not supposed to,” Alec reminds her. Despite how much he's been involved with the Council in the past – with or without their approval – Alec is in fact not, at any level, a member of the government and should not be informed of any decision unless it was intended for all the heads of the institutes and other lower figures of authority. Ironically enough, Magnus, a downworlder, is totally entitled to keep information on and about the Nephilim from him, since he's effectively a member of the Council. And that is, to Alec, one of the biggest achievements of the new mindset that was born during the Mortal War and that he and other people of his generation are desperately trying to keep alive.
“But he does anyway, does he not?” Jia insists, but there's no trace of annoyance in her voice. She's just stating a fact, probably trying to get this I know that you know that I know issue out of the way.
“He told me that meetings have been very frustrating lately,” Alec says. “And mostly unsuccessful.”
“We've had some... major issues with effective cooperation,” Jia confirms. “The presence of Downworlder representatives is fairly new. A trial stage is inevitable.”
“But you withhold information,” Alec says, and he's also just stating a fact as Jia did just a moment earlier. He's speaking as if he was sure of it, even when he's not, because there's a 99% chance that he's right. In fact, Jia has the decency not to deny his words. “And Downworlders know that, so naturally they do the same. It'd be extraordinarily easier, not to mention a testament of good faith, if we just share everything we know for everybody's sake. We should strive to create premises for a true alliance not to recreate the conditions that led to the Seelie War.”
“The reasons behind the Seelie War were far more complex than distrust,” Jia says, patiently.
Alec ignores her words, which have been repeated over and over for so long that they just lost their meaning, if they ever had one to begin with. “But I guess that a policy of inclusion is still far from being on the table,” he concludes with a tone that is halfway between disappointment and resignation.
“It will take time,” Jia says.
“Let's just hope it doesn't take another war,” Alec comments, coldly. Jia seems to tense, but Alec doesn't even flinch. He should be more indulging if he wants to have a chance at maintaining his position once this period of uncertainty will be over, but he can't help it. Tactfulness has never been his strong suit. “So, is there anything I can do for you, Consul?”
Jia opens a drawer of her desk and takes out a white envelope. She puts it on the desk and places her crossed hands on it. “Among the many things that concerns me right now, there's the people's growing discontent towards the way the Seelie War ended,” she explains. “People are well aware that, despite our bravery, the hand that killed the Queen was not our own, and they wonder how that was even possible.”
“They're wondering how Sebastian Morgenstern escaped The Gard, you mean,” Alec says.
“We need him to answers some questions,” Jia goes on. “And this is for everybody's sake.”
Alec narrows his eyes and he says what he always says to her whenever she asks or even hints about. it. “I don't know where he is.”
“I know, you already said that several times.” She makes the envelope slide on the desk towards him. “But you can give this to Jace.”
Alec looks at the envelope, but he doesn't reach for it. He still doesn't want to acknowledge any possible hint by taking it. “What makes you think I know where he is either?” He asks, instead. “As I said several times already, Jace spends most of his time wherever I'm not these days.”
Jia sighs, but her collected expression doesn't falter. “You will agree that Jace is most likely to come back to the Institute to see his son sooner or later.”
Alec is not so sure about that. He and Magnus have taken care of Thomas for the last few weeks without Jace showing up once, or even sending a message to ask how his son was doing. “I certainly hope so.”
“Then, you can give this to him. Ask him to deliver this formal summoning to Sebastian. We both know that Jace is either currently with him or he knows where to find him,” she says, ultimately voicing what had been left unsaid so far.
Finally, Alec grabs the envelope and turns it around in his hands. It's white and simple, and there's nothing written on it, not even Sebastian's name. “I will give this to Jace if he's ever going to make us the courtesy of showing up,” he concedes. “But, honestly, Consul, I don't think Sebastian Morgenstern will respond to a call from the Clave. That man has nothing to gain from us, and he's still a fugitive.”
Jia smiles, a maternal, almost affectionate, smile. “We tried brute force with him, and it didn't work,” she says. “Let's try kindness this time.”
Of all the people she should try kindness with, Sebastian is at the bottom of the list. No, he's not even on the list. A serial killer with a history of violence, alliances with demons and genocide, and the Clave sends him a tea invitation, while their true allies are one accord short of being treated like animals. Alec can't really get the way the Clave thinks sometimes, but he doesn't say anything. He knows that if he speaks up now, he's gonna make more damage than good.
So, he grabs the letter and goes back home, trying to ignore how it seems to burn in his pocket.
*
“Where the fuck have you been?” Alec grabs Jace by the shirt and slams him against the wall the moment Jace sets step into the Institute.
“Were you hiding behind the door to ambush me?” Jace cries out as Alec pins him against the wall. His voice sounds annoyed, possibly because he didn't see it coming. “Seriously, Alec, you need to get a life!”
Alec lets him go immediately. He had no intention of attacking his parabatai like that, but the moment he saw him walking inside, his body just moved on its own.
In fact, he wasn't even waiting for Jace tonight. That hope had long gone lost. He had tried waiting for him for a while after Jia gave him the letter – admittedly to prevent Jace from sneaking inside the institute to say hi to his son and be gone right after that without him noticing – but staring at the door had started to look pointless pretty soon. Jace had clearly something better to do and no intention to come back home anytime soon. And Alec was too busy to wait for him like an old worried mother.
It was just by chance that he was passing by the door as Jace came in tonight.
“Answer the question,” Alec says, crossing his arms to his chest.
He looks him up and down to make sure he's okay, an old habit he took up when they started to go hunting demons together that seeped into his everyday life. Jace seems to be doing fine – which means he's at least taking care of himself – but he lost his sneaky smile somewhere and it doesn't seem to be coming back anytime soon. What's left is a tired, bitter man who's here only because he has to. Alec doesn't dare to wonder if that's the face Jace saves only for him now, and if he's completely different wherever he stays with Sebastian. He feels like he wouldn't like the answer.
Jace walks away from the wall and fixes his shirt. “Are you rehearsing to become an inquisitor, now?” He says, heading upstairs. “If you think Robert will step down, you're delusional.”
Alec goes after him, coming up beside him in two long strides. “Stop it, Jace! Just answer the question!”
“You know where I've been,” Jace says. The hallway of the second floor looks ghostly, bathed as it is in the blue luminescence of the witchlights along the walls. Their quick steps seem to echo endlessly in the huge empty spaces of the Institute.
“Say it,” Alec insists.
Jace turns to him quickly, his golden eyes seem to gleam in the dim light. “Why? So you'll finally have proof that it's true, that it's not your raging paranoia?”
“Say it,” Alec repeats, grabbing him by his arm. He needs Jace to stop—moving, lying, being the way he's now. Alec doesn't know. Everything is spinning so fast and in the wrong direction. It feels like being in a boat on rapids, headed towards a waterfall he knows will kill them both. They've lost control, and Alec needs something to hang on to and save them. And that something must be the truth.
“I was with Sebastian,” Jace finally spits out, annoyed.
“Doing what?” The question just explodes out of Alec. He wanted the truth, but it's a rock with cutting edges and he can't cling to it without hurting his hands. They keep spinning furiously.
“Avoiding your judgmental ass, I suppose.”
Alec can feel the strength of Jace's annoyance aggressively trying to push him away, but their bond pulls them one towards the other as a natural defense mechanism that refuses to let them be apart. It's like a painful game of tug of war where nobody moves and yet an invisible rope is tensing anyway, threatening to break.
He can't deny to be judging him, because he is judging Jace as hard as he can – for the way he behaves, for leaving his son behind, for choosing Sebastian. In general or over him, Alec won't acknowledge the difference. “Jace, this can't go on,” he says sternly.
“Oh, finally something we can agree on,” Jace exclaims, raising both his arms. “Like the good ol' times.”
“The good old times are gone!” Alec's voice just bursts out. He kept it inside too long and Jace has finally managed to scavenge it out with his mocking attitude.
“And whose fault is that?” Jace screams back, coming forward, one step away from biting his face off. “Whose fault is that, Alec? Who destroyed everything I had?”
They're fighting a few doors away from Tommy's room, but Alec can't think about that now. Months of pent-up rage are taking over, and there's no turning back at this point. None of them want to. He grabs Jace by his shirt and throws him against the wall once again. “Ask your fucking lover,” he hisses in his face. He slams Jia's invitation in his chest and doesn't back off until Jace grabs it.
“What is it?”
“It’s from the Council,” Alec says. “For him. Since it’s obvious you’re going to see him way before I do, see that it gets delivered soon. So I can tell the Consul I did what was asked of me.”
For a moment, they just a look at each other. They could back off and apologize, try to work it out, but nobody moves, and they get even angrier with each other.
Why aren't you trying to make peace with me?
Why aren't you?
Alec turns around and starts walking down the hallway, away from him. “And don't get Tommy too excited. It's late, he needs to sleep,” he says. “But what would you know.”
Turning the corner, Alec hears Jace's fist against the wall, the creaking of the door, Tommy's light footsteps in the hall, and he shakes his head. I'm done, he thinks. I'm done.