#the regular stuff

He hopes Simon is all right, hopes Maia believed him when he said it was probably just his music, wished he believed it was just Simon’s music. Wished he was doing something about that, rather than trying to convince this poor woman she’s crazy, even though he knows she’s not.

It makes him feel queasy, the back of his throat cool and slick and bitter.

He keeps reaching for his phone to call Jocelyn, to ask her for her help, to tell her how hard it is, to ask her to meet him for dinner so he can hold her hand and she can rest her head against his shoulder and he can stroke her hair until he’s strong enough to keep doing this.

So he can tell her he’s sorry, he’s starting to understand all her secrets all those years. What else can you do, when the truth is just going to hurt someone again?

What else can he do now? What else can he do without her?

Even if she was still alive he wouldn’t be able to call her. She’d be in Idris, with Clary.

Where he can’t go.

He can’t be there for Clary, has failed to be there for her, keeps failing her, even though she’s his daughter in all the ways that ought to count, and none of the ways that really do, not in Idris.

I’m sorry.

He’s not sure who he most needs to say that to, Jocelyn or Clary or Simon or Maia or Ollie.

He keeps failing them all.

Sorry isn’t good enough.

It’s all he’s got.

alec

There’s a woman he doesn’t know leaving the loft. 

A mundane?

Alec ducks into Magnus’ workspace, he rearranged again, and wow he looks good, and he didn’t say hello?

He’s just busy. With clients, apparently.

Too busy for a welcome home kiss.

Alec knows he’s being ridiculous.

Isn’t he?

Only Magnus’ smiles are too sharp and he’s not the High Warlock anymore and he’s elated and he’s moving too fast and he’s talking about money and he’s so happy about Alec’s “promotion” and Alec tries, he tries, but it’s like he’s watching from a mile and a year away, like he’s wrapped in cotton, too tight to breathe, too thick to move, and Magnus is burning away, away, and there’s nothing he can do to reach out, no way to hold, no way to get past the sparks and touch him.

jace 

He shouldn’t be here.

He shouldn’t be here, but he can’t tell anyone that. Can’t, cannot, he loves them too much to make them bear this, too much to destroy them, too much, not enough, he’s never enough. It’s like his chest is hollow, no heart left, no human heart, no angel blood, just a strange echoing darkness.

He always knew there was darkness in him, and now. Now there’s nothing else left.

How dare she do this to him.

How can he be mad at her? He’s such a monster, and she saved him, she doesn’t regret it, she should regret it, he should have stopped her, she’s saved him over and over, he loves her, he loves her so much it’s hard to think, to sleep, so much he wakes up every morning afraid, what if, what if. What if?

She shouldn’t love me, look what she’s done, look what I turned her into, look what she did to me.

It’s almost a relief when Sebastian--when the real Jonathan Christopher’s voice fills his thoughts and drowns out his own tired voice, their blood burning and hatred so bright in their eyes. He’s an easier monster to live with. He never had a choice, after all, demon blood and exiled to Hell and twisted by Valentine. Jace had a choice, had so many choices. How does he always make the wrong one? Why can’t he get it right, just once, just long enough to save his family?

He has to save them. Has to save them from himself. Has to save them before it’s too late.

isabelle 

Clary’s lying to her. Jace is lying to her. They’re lying to everyone and the answer is obvious but she can’t let herself think it, can’t let herself, can’t let anyone think it.

Alec is fighting with Jace again, and she can hear the fear under the anger, fear so strong it drowns the joy that they’re all still alive, fear so much deeper and stronger than the thin bit of rage he’s letting out. He’s so afraid for Jace, for their brother, for his future, for everyone’s future.

But not for her.

No one’s ever afraid for her, and she wants a hit, wants it so badly it’s hard to think, hard to focus on what’s in front of her, it burns between her bones and down her throat and she yells at them to shut up hoping it’ll stop the ache between each breath and they don’t care that she’s fighting her cravings and she can’t distract herself with a piece of fucking candy because the mundane piece of crap vending machine won’t take her money and give her chocolate.

Kicking it was completely reasonable and rational.

Fuck.

Fuck. 

She’s fine. Everything’s fine. Everything’s going to be fine. 

magnus 

All he’d wanted, after Lorenzo, after the Warlocks, after losing...

All he’d wanted was Alec, his Alexander, but when Alec came back, when he’d had the chance, he hadn’t, he couldn’t, he’d--. He was being an idiot, he knew that, but he couldn’t seem to stop.

He couldn’t ruin Alec’s life just because his own was such a mess.

He had to let Alec do what was right for him, not make him do what Magnus wanted just because Magnus was what, sad?

He’d get over it.

It wasn’t a big deal.

Why then did he have to keep reminding himself not to stare, not to say, not to ask...

How was it possible that a man who clearly just wore whatever shirt and jeans he pulled out of some sort of basic Nephilim stock room could always look so damnably good in them? It was making it very difficult to remember what he was supposed to say, difficult to remember whatever it was he thought he was doing, what he was hiding, what Alec wasn’t supposed to know.

But Alec knew. How did he know? Who had known to tell him... 

Catarina.

Alec knew, and he looked up across the pool table with those eyes and that stupid grey shirt and Magnus couldn’t make himself stop anymore.

I don’t want you to go.

For a breath Alec was so stiff, almost angry, and Magnus remembered what he’d decided, what he’d planned, now that it was too late. Shit. But then of course he had it backwards, how did he keep getting it backwards? He’d almost broken both their hearts again because he thought he had to make a choice between what he wanted and what he needed. 

Magnus considered the idea that he ought to be embarrassed by that, but Alec was smiling and nothing could be wrong with a world that led to that smile. Nothing wrong with a world that led to Alexander kissing him.