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The Moon Rabbit

Summary:

Some are born immortal, some achieve immortality, and some have immortality thrust upon them when they touch something in a museum that they really shouldn't touch.

Magnus reached up to tweak Alec’s collar when he got close enough. “Saved the day again, Mr Lightwood?”

Alec felt some of the tension of the past few days seep out of him, and his mouth twitched into a smile. “As always, Mr Bane.”

Notes:

A gift for Nathalys, an all-round lovely human who kindly donated to the Fandom Trumps Hate cause, prompting some Immortal Alec and all the repercussions that follow. I really love the idea of fighting back against hate with creativity, and I hope this story is everything you hoped it would be!

If I had to Timeline this, I think Post-Season Two is probably appropriate? Magnus is still High Warlock, still has his magic, and Alec is Head of the Institute. No Valentine. I've tagged it Canon Divergence just in case but it's as close to canon up to that point as possible! Flashbacks are in italics!

Rated T for Mild Language, alcohol mentions and just generally less soft themes.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1: Gold in Our Mouths

Summary:

“I think,” Alec said, to the wall with an unfettered portrait pinned to it, “that I’m getting old and bitter. But not old, ‘cause I can’t do that anymore. I also think I’m gonna throw up.”

Notes:

Alcohol/drunkenness mentioned, so just warning for that. Enjoy!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Alec found the roaring twenties in a bottle of something gold and an hour of music that felt like a cotton bud rubbed just right in the deep of his ear. Wasn’t fair to call it gold really, Alec thought, squinting at the shivering liquid that filled the bottom quarter of his glass. It felt like fire in his throat. It had all the colours he’d been missing for years, all the burn of mortality that he wished he didn't miss. It would be easier if he didn't miss it, he told himself.

Immortal. He was immortal now. Time wouldn’t kill him, although Magnus had been quick to impress on him that a well-placed weapon would. He wasn’t impervious to harm, just age. He wouldn’t get wrinkles or grey hair, and his bones wouldn’t grow brittle, his teeth yellow, his eyes cloudy. He was this version of Alexander Lightwood forever.

Alec didn't drink often. He didn't like the bitter taste or the manufactured sweetness, although Magnus had taken to experimenting with his drinks to try and find something that might agree with Alec’s palate. Either he had a very refined one, or absolutely no taste at all, because so far nothing agreed with him. But this amber stuff, gold stuff as his hazy mind insisted - it tasted okay after you swallowed enough of it.

He was down to Magnus’s last bottle, and that was fine, he said, because this was a goodbye bottle, a goodbye to the Alec that liked a drink. He just needed to drink tonight because it was cold and lonely in the loft without Magnus there, and the alcohol felt warm enough that he almost didn't mind the loneliness.

The needle skipped along the scratched record he’d found under Magnus’s bed earlier, amongst a pile of other records and a bedraggled feather boa. He’d blown the dust off and left it on the floor because he wasn’t even going to attempt to wrangle a hoover around in this state, and he wasn’t even sure Magnus had a hoover to wrangle. The music was exuberant, coy and sultry, a combination Alec didn't think anyone could pull off, no matter what colour was in their glass. Except Magnus. Magnus could pull of most things.

Like Alec’s clothes, he thought with a goofy grin. He could pull off Alec’s clothes any time.

Although, that hadn’t been happening all that often lately. His smile dulled a second later. There was one thing Magnus couldn’t do: he couldn’t pull off happy when he was actually anything but. That was something that had come as a surprise to Alec, because the Magnus he knew hid his vulnerabilities between flares of blue and silver, behind sparkling jewellery and lace-ridden clothing. He exposed his skin and his power like it was nothing, as a distraction from the fact that his heart was far from visible. He was an actor, a showman, when it came to what he was feeling.

Maybe Alec just knew Magnus well enough now to know that he wasn’t as happy as he was pretending to be. Or maybe he didn't know Magnus at all. How could he, when Magnus had been alive for years and years and was so used to locking everything away that the notion of revealing anything about his past made him stiff and tense. They were better at it these days. Alec understood more now, but he didn't know if he knew Magnus. He didn't know if anyone did.

“I think,” Alec said, to the wall with an unfettered portrait pinned to it, “that I’m getting old and bitter. But not old, ‘cause I can’t do that anymore. I also think I’m gonna throw up.”

The portrait was suddenly empty, the fur-cloak-clad man vanishing with dignity to meet others with an equal amount of dignity, others that hopefully wouldn’t vomit all over his oil canvas world. Magnus had strange magic, Alec thought, before he passed out. Strange and beautiful magic.

*

White light ricocheted off the smooth surface of the display case. Beams of light rebounded off the marble walls, glancing off the panes of glass covering weathered texts and ancient artefacts. Thin white stripes recoiled off the gleaming floor.

Alec lowered his witchlight and stepped closer to the display case. He was in the left wing of the museum, having systematically worked his way through the rest of the silent building, until this was the only room left. The museum was buried in a glamoured area of China, the name of which was unknown, where the streets ran thick with rich magic, and the cold walls told the history of a world that Mundanes were not privy to.

The sky was black outside. Some of that inky darkness crept in through the skylights above, bleeding shadows over the walls. If Alec tipped his head back, he could see a sliver of the moon’s shining face, just visible past the corner of an old building that towered above the museum.

Magnus could re-open a portal for them whenever he wanted to, but realistically, Alec knew they couldn’t afford to wait. They had an agreed-upon time. Jace paced the length of the room behind Alec, his footsteps echoing off the thick stone walls as he scoured the display cases for a very specific artefact. Their noises were supposed to be muffled by the magic of runes, but that didn't seem to make any difference in this place.

Alec should have been searching too, but instead, his gaze was drawn to the display case, the one right in the middle of the room.

A silver plaque adorned the plinth beneath the case, but the words were written in characters that Alec didn't understand. After a cursory glance, he fit his fingers in the crease above the little silver clasp that held the case shut.

He should have known better. He did know better, but there was something about the contents of the case that entranced him. He stepped closer, until the toes of his shoes were pressed against the wooden stand. It felt a little like standing in a dense fog and hearing a voice in the distance, and knowing that was the only way to escape the encroaching softness.

The display case swung open easily. It shouldn’t have. Alec felt a little light-headed as his hand ghosted forward, almost of its own accord. Moonlight filtered in through the skylight and brushed against the tips of Alec’s hair, dyeing it silver. If anyone were to look, they would see an ageless being, bathed in a silver glow - smooth skin and white hair and a wealth of youthful curiosity in his eyes.

Jace cursed behind him; the moment was gone. There was no ageless being. There was just Alec, leaning forward to remove the contents of the case.

Inside, there was a mortar and pestle.

It was obviously ancient; the wood was chipped and worn, like the rough bark of an old tree. The tip of the handle had started to splinter and the inside of the mortar was worn thin, small scrapes made all around the edges. Alec ran his fingers over the ragged surface and breathed steadily. He felt rooted, at peace. There was something about this moment that had him pressing closer, something that urged him not to leave.

“I can’t find it,” Jace said, storming over on light feet, witchlight swinging wildly with each sweep of his arm. “Whatever this thing is, it’s not in this museum. Why do you think—”

He stopped abruptly, taking in the strange, sluggish look on Alec’s face, the open display case and the mortar and pestle nestled in his hands. Alec tugged it closer, just in case Jace got any funny ideas, and there was a faint, almost inaudible sloshing sound. With a frown, Alec glanced down, but all he could see was moonlight.

Moonlight that looked like liquid, filling the mortar and pestle. Alec tipped the bowl to the side, and the liquid moved to accommodate it.

“Alec,” Jace said, sounding uncharacteristically nervous. Alec didn’t look up. “Alec, put it back in the case.”

“Why?” Alec asked. There was something different about his voice - usually deep, it now had a strange lilt to it, a vastness that sent a shudder through the room.

“This place was glamoured for a reason,” Jace said, still sounding cautious, although his words were coming from somewhere far away, beyond the fog. “The things in here aren’t normal, everyday museum objects. You know that. C’mon, Alec. Magnus specifically told us not to touch anything until we found what we were looking for.”

Amber eyes pierced the fog that had settled over him. Cat eyes. Beautiful. He thought of Magnus, at home, working on his own spells and rituals as he waited for the moment when they would need his portal. Probably making a drink so as not to betray his anxiousness, the way his hands shook lightly. Alec knew he would have come with them, but he was—

It didn't matter. Or it did matter, of course it did, because it was Magnus, but the fog was descending again, and he clutched the mortar and pestle closer. He thought he could hear laughter, soft and kind and knowing, and the thump of large, furred feet.

Jace stepped closer, hands outstretched, and as he reached for the mortar and pestle, Alec staggered back and collided with the display case. The case fell to the ground with a loud bang, and the glass cracked, but did not shatter. Lights flickered to life in the ceiling, and an alarm began to wail.

Jace reached for Alec again, his quiet worry morphing into a panicked yell, and Alec gripped the mortar and pestle tightly, but not tight enough.

The moonlight spilled all down him.

*

Alec woke on the carpet with a crick in his neck. Morning brought a light that was too bright and sour, and the friendly taste of the yellow potion that Magnus had left on the floor, not far from where his left arm had flopped during the night.

He heard noises in the kitchen and stumbled in that direction, following the clatter of pots and pans hitting the stove and the rattle of the spice rack as salt was pulled from the metal confines. Magnus was fluttering about, his strong arms raised above him as things flew all over the place, his magic wild and untamed. He was a contradiction: graceful movement and loving motions and a sense of power that couldn’t be measured. Alec paused in the kitchen and watched. He had an eternity of this, now, and the thought left him breathless, his chest constricting.

“You’re up early, considering my finest bottle of whiskey is suspiciously empty,” Magnus said, not looking at him. “I found it lying on the floor, lonely and abandoned.”

Lonely and abandoned. Alec didn't want to identify with an empty bottle of alcohol. He nodded jerkily, stepping inside the kitchen. His headache had dimmed as the yellow potion kicked in, and the light from the window wasn’t too bright anymore. His mouth was disgusting, but Magnus hadn’t kissed him in three days, so Alec didn't think it mattered much what he tasted like.

“I didn't make it to the bed,” Alec said, heading for the fridge and pulling out a carton of orange juice. “I think we should move it closer to the bar, if this is going to keep happening.”

It was meant to be a joke, but his tone was bitter. The noise behind him didn't cease or stop, but Alec knew Magnus had paused anyway.

“If what keeps happening? If you keep getting blackout drunk with nobody here to look after you if something goes wrong?” Airy voice, unaffected, but somehow tight with tension at the same time. “I’m not one to judge, darling, being an advocate for happy hour myself, but there’s a difference between indulging alone and doing that alone.”

Alec snorted, taking a gulp of cold orange and jamming the lid back on the carton. “You can’t berate me for doing something alone when you’re never here to do it with me.”

“You’d like me to get blackout drunk with you instead?”

“I’d like you,” Alec snapped, turning around to glare at Magnus, “to be here. Full stop, okay? Not with conditions, not to do things for me or with me. Just be here.”

Magnus stared at him, his eyes narrow, his face blank. Alec tipped his chin up and put the carton down, not intending to back down. He thought Magnus might storm out, might disappear through a portal in a flash of violet. He thought they might argue. He thought he might have to apologise when all he wanted to say was that he missed Magnus. He thought a lot of things, but he didn't think Magnus would sag against the counter, his expression creased and full of pain.

“Alexander, I’m not trying to leave you alone,” Magnus said quietly. Alec hated when he looked like that, sounded like that, so he stepped closer until they were pressed together, and his hands felt at home on Magnus’s shoulders, resting against his wrinkled blue suit. The wrinkles were enough of a clue that nothing was quite right.

“It’s not like I want you to stay inside the loft and never leave,” Alec said, trying for a smile. “I’m not trying to control what you do, or tell you not to leave, or anything creepy. It’s not - it’s not that. It’s just that it feels like a fight, with you being gone all the time and neither of us talking.”

“It’s not an argument,” Magnus reassured him, brushing one hand over Alec’s lightly. The touch helped more than anything. Words were useful for clearing the air, for letting Alec know where he stood, but touch was something that had always been missing in his life, and having it now just reaffirmed that he was wanted, welcome.

“I know you’re not being controlling, Alec. I find it hard to believe that anyone could succeed at controlling me when I can just turn them into a goat and steal their fortune, but of all the people I’d believe capable of trying? You are at the very bottom of the list. In fact, you’re not even on the list, darling.”

Alec smiled properly, ducking his head slightly.

“You understand that I have to do this, though, don't you?” Magnus asked, breaking the silence.

“Yeah,” Alec said, with a soft sigh. “You’re looking for a cure.”

Magnus shook his head immediately and cupped Alec’s chin with warm, familiar hands.

“I’m looking for options,” he corrected gently. When Alec’s eyebrows went up, Magnus gave a fond, exasperated little laugh before growing serious again. “It’s not something that needs to be cured. I don't have an illness, and there’s nothing wrong with me. But you weren’t born with this. Alec, immortality isn’t something small. It doesn’t just happen. It’s not something to simply be accepted or - or brushed over.”

Alec’s mouth twisted. “You think I don't know that? I didn't ask for this, you know.”

“Exactly!” Magnus’s voice rose slightly, and he pushed away, pacing up and down the kitchen with a look of frustration. “You didn't ask for this at all. You didn't seek it out. You were on a mission, and something went wrong, and the choice was taken from you. Alexander, please don't ask me to be happy about something that you had no say over, especially something as big as this.”

Alec swallowed against the sudden thickness in his throat. He knew what Magnus was saying, and he even agreed, but all he could hear was don't ask me to be happy. Stupidly, it hurt. His hands twitched at his sides, but he pushed aside the urge to cross them over his chest, a defensive tick that Magnus had learned to watch out for.

“I’m not asking you to be happy,” Alec said, quieter than he wanted to sound. “I’m asking you to stay.”

Magnus stopped abruptly in the kitchen and sighed. His eyes were distant, fixed on their usual mugs sitting side by side on the counter, but it was obvious he was somewhere else.

“You don't have to,” Alec said, because he was filled with a sudden fear that Magnus was only off hunting for options because he really, really didn't want this. Maybe he only wanted Alec as long as he knew there was an expiration date on what they had?

Or maybe, Alec thought wryly, that was a fucking horrible thought that was unfair to both of them, and his insecurities were getting the better of him. He stifled a groan. This whole situation was playing with them both, and he hated it. He shook his head, sighing. He didn't really think that. Magnus loved him, and Alec loved him back. It was just a lot to deal with at the moment, and neither him nor Magnus were dealing with it well.

“You don't have to,” Alec said again, stronger this time. “I’m not going to force you to stay here if you want to keep looking for a way to fix this. Like you said, I didn't go looking for this, so it’s not like I’m going to say no to something that might fix it.”

Magnus’s face was curiously blank.

“It’s happened, though,” Alec continued. “I don't think it’s going to change just because we want it to. Immortality isn’t exactly what I had in mind for the future either, but if it’s what I’ve got, then we need to think about where to go from here. But I won’t make you stay.”

The blank look was gone. Magnus moved closer again, clearly agitated. He gave a frustrated sigh and eventually moved until he was close enough to kiss. They didn't, but that was more because Alec was aware of how badly his mouth tasted right now, and because kissing, he had discovered, didn't solve as much as Alec hoped it might. Didn't mean he didn't want to, though.

“One more trip,” Magnus said, brushing a hand over Alec's arm. “Just one more. I have somewhere in mind that I think might have answers. If I don't find an answer to all of this there, then... we do as you say, and we move on. With everything.”

Alec felt his pulse stutter. He swallowed the lump that rose suddenly in his throat. He didn't know what that meant. Move on with their lives, together? Move on with their relationship? Or move on separately? He could ask, but he wasn’t sure that he wanted the answer. Later, perhaps, when he felt like he could handle what Magnus might say in response.

This was the part where touch wasn’t enough, where words were needed too. He didn't have them, though, so he settled for a small condition instead.

“One more trip,” Alec agreed, “but I’m coming with you this time.”

Notes:

Thanks so much! Let me know what you thought! <3