Chapter Text
Alec clenched his fist, and his jaw was tight. He'd thought when the whole Valentine and Soul sword debacle had been laid to rest that he would have some time to breathe. But, of course not. Maybe he's being too naive; maybe he just needed to accept that the feeling of drowning, of never being good enough, would continue shadowing him for the rest of his life.
He did want to keep his position, more than he might be willing to admit. Him failing to find a solution to this problem put his position in jeopardy. It would not help him smooth things over with the Clave and how he got appointed as Head of the Institute to begin with either. No matter his personal feelings towards the Clave, the inevitable truth was that he still needed them to be on his side — or at least not give them reason to replace him.
He'd followed every lead, searched every book available, but when the Silent Brothers concluded they couldn't heal whatever his shadowhunters were under, the curtain ultimately fell. For a second, and somewhere deep, deep down, he almost regretted letting Jace hand over the position to him.
Nevertheless, being out of options was beneath him. He was a Lightwood.
Another truth was that he actually wasn't completely out of options — it's just that he didn't like the one he had left. He glared at the screen displaying the photo of a trio of warlocks Alec learnt by heart.
Ragnor Fell was the oldest of them, not only because he stopped aging later than the others but according to his file he was actually older. He had this stoic posture and the deep frown on his forehead told Alec he's not pleased with the situation.
Catharina Loss had this aura of both fierceness and kindness emanating from her. There was something relaxed over her features, immediately setting the viewer at ease. It was easy to understand that healing was her strength.
However, neither of them was whom Alec’s eyes were drawn to every damn time he looked at the photo. No, in between the two, perched on what looked like a throne, his legs lazily thrown over the armrests, with his jaw tight, and a defiant gaze in his eyes was the man who stole the picture completely.
Magnus Bane.
Devious, powerful, alluring.
Lothario — not ashamed of who he loved or to show off his every conquest.
Accused of several crimes, never convicted.
Gorgeous.
Alec scoffed at the little voice inside his head whispering that last addition. He was very good at ignoring what his mind was trying to tell him. Though, he'd given up years ago trying to deny the fact that he was whole-heartedly into guys. Not that he'd ever let himself explore it, but he still had eyes. All those stolen glances became his downfall, the end of him being in the closet, because it was how Izzy found out. Then, once Jace got old enough he got helped by the emotional turmoil over the bond to put the pieces together.
No one else knew, and Alec hadn't decided yet if that's how he wanted to keep it. It was still a gamble with the Clave, and Alec needed to be sure it wouldn't affect his position as the Head of the Institute negatively to be out. Solving this problem would put him in a much better position, and not before then would he even consider making his sexuality public knowledge.
Not that Bane seemed to care about helping Alec.
Alec narrowed his eyes as he focused on the man in the photo. He wasn't very surprised about Bane's reluctance to help. His reputation and Clave file preceded him. Magnus Bane was the High Warlock of Brooklyn; respected among Downworlders and the Clave feared his powers. His distaste for Shadowhunters was well-documented. He was powerful enough to not have to care what others thought of him. Contrary to Alec, Bane didn't have to hide — he did whatever he wanted and whenever. People throwing themselves at his feet, getting everything offered on a silver platter. Not to mention being greedy and vindictive. Alec couldn't stand him — even if they had never met.
"So, big brother, ready to swallow your pride?" Izzy teased and shoved a not very friendly elbow into his ribs.
He winced and rubbed the sore spot, "Pride's got nothing to do with it."
Izzy threw her head back and cackled loud enough for the Ops center to quiet down, and a few were brave enough to look in their direction. "Right, and the sky ain't blue."
Alec flipped her off, not bothering to care about how unprofessional it was. He felt even tighter strung than his bowstring; he didn't need her nor Jace mocking him about this particular decision. He had done everything he could, but with the Silent Brothers not being able to figure it out Alec had turned to his last option — the warlocks. It was not his fault that none of the other warlocks he reached out to wanted to help regardless of the payment he was offering. 'The New York Institute is Magnus Bane's headache' was the answer everyone gave him.
The issue was that Alec didn't want the High Warlock to swoop in, taking over his Institute. He didn't need his pompous presence, drawing attention from the cause.
However, what Alec wanted had never had high priority. Declining him, the warlocks forced his hand. Therefore, here he was, summoning Bane to the Institute to discuss his dilemma. Anger was coiling in his veins, a near constant feeling ever since his first contact with Bane. Alec was not used to the blatant disrespect when being summoned by a Head of an Institute. He had been nothing but polite, and yet it took three fire messages before the man even bothered to answer and when he did, Alec ended up having to beg for him to come.
It had been the final nail in the I-hate-Magnus-Bane-coffin.
Fueled by the mortifying memory, Alec stomped off towards the entrance with Izzy easily falling steps to his left, thankfully not saying a single word. He needed to get a grip. He's been trained his whole life to keep his emotions in check. There was too much at stake, too many depending on him to lead, to collaborate, to play the game. He definitely couldn't afford to blow this up. The entire Institute was depending on Alec getting Bane to help them.
Turning the corner, Alec's gaze landed on their visitor and it's like the air was sucked out of his lungs.
The pictures didn't do him justice.
That devious, little voice at the back of his head was rearing its ugly head again. Though, this time, Alec couldn't find a reason to disagree.
The man carried himself with a straight back, a pride and raw power few people possessed. When Bane swirled around at the sound of their footsteps, their eyes met and there was a moment when Alec thought time stopped. Seeing pictures of him sure as hell hadn't prepared Alec enough to be in his presence.
Staring at Bane, Alec could read his eyes like an open book; the defiance and the anger. The pride. There was something else there too. Was it fear? It disappeared as soon as it appeared, but it made Alec even more certain that he was right. The realization made Alec's stomach churn. No matter his personal feelings towards the man, no one —Nephilim nor Downworlder— should feel afraid stepping into his Institute.
Their moment was over as soon as Bane cocked an eyebrow, slowly letting his eyes trail down Alec's body, lingering a little longer every now and then. Alec had never been the object of such blatant interest before, especially not from a man. His body reacted instantaneously, like throwing gas on fire, anger coursing through his veins. He burnt so hot his lungs were malfunctioning and for a second, Alec felt dizzy.
Then Bane turned his attention over to Izzy.
Alec knew his sister wasn't in any way a rookie in catching a man's attention. He knew she liked it, even used it to her benefit every now and then. Alec didn't want to dig deeper into the pain slowly growing in his stomach when Bane's eyes stayed on Izzy. He didn't even want the man's attention, and Izzy was capable of making her own choices. But did the man have to be so painfully obvious that he preferred Izzy over him? If anything, it should be him. He was the Head of the Institute. He was the man who had summoned him here. He was not the person to ignore.
With his gaze still locked on Izzy, a smile took form on Bane's lips. It changed his entire demeanor, softened the features on his face and his shoulders fell. The late night light coming in from the tainted glass roof, wrapped them all in a warm glow. Together with the smile on his face, it all created a shimmer, a glow around Bane, and all Alec could do was stare at the visitor.
The High Warlock of Brooklyn truly was a work of art.
Alec hated him.