Chapter Text
Alec would probably be disturbed to know that Magnus has a mental list called, What I Will Do if Someone Tries to Assassinate My Husband.
Magnus has a lot of mental lists, and physical ones, too, scattered about his apartment between the pages of books and under potions ingredients, tucked in the pockets of jackets and in bedside drawers. He’s never been very good at managing his thoughts in any sort of orderly or systematized way. But this list is very important. This list keeps Magnus sane, because he’s absolutely sure that eventually, it’s going to happen.
He knows this because if he were a bitter ex-Circle member wanting to resegregate the world, Alec is who he would assassinate. It would probably be productive to kill Magnus, too, but the problem is that Magnus is one of the most powerful warlocks in the entire world, and any random Shadowhunter who tried to assassinate him would most likely just get blasted into the next century. Alec is a very skilled fighter, but he doesn’t have the power of an entire hell realm at his fingertips, and he’s also constantly surrounded by people who subtly have it out for him. Magnus has seen the way they look at him. He may have secretly given a few of them food poisoning.
Magnus’s list includes such preparatory things as, #12. keep antidotes for all known poisons on hand in the apothecary, and #28. practice shield magic until your fingers bleed from the strain. Then there are the darker entries like, #55. dampen your magic in the aftermath so you don’t explode Alicante, and #72. track down the bastards and string them up as an example. It’s morbid, but then, Magnus has often been morbid.
He will always be grateful that he’s by Alec’s side when it finally happens.
It’s breathtakingly fast. One moment they’re walking down the hall in the Institute, arms brushing, chatting about where they want to go on vacation next month, and the next moment a passing Shadowhunter has a wire around Alec’s neck, pulling him back and choking him, while two others lunge for Magnus with blades alight.
Alec would probably be disturbed to know that there’s an entry on Magnus’s list called, how to boil people from the inside out. It’s #31 in fact.
He throws out a wave of his magic, and the Shadowhunters drop their blades, spasming as fever overtakes them, as the heat rises. They drop unconscious quickly, and Magnus releases them to turn on the third, whom he hadn’t dared attack yet for fear the man’s spasming would hurt Alec. The Shadowhunter still has his wire around Alec’s throat, and Alec’s choking, trying to get his hand underneath it to pull it away from his windpipe.
Magnus lets his eyes glow with molten fire.
The Shadowhunter shakes, his resolve wavering, which gives Alec enough leeway to get his hand underneath the wire and push it away from his neck. It slices into his palm, blood dripping down his wrist, and his neck is bleeding, too, and Magnus fixates on it. Alec, however, pays it no mind, slipping out from under the man’s grip and turning, grabbing him by the throat and bashing his head into the wall. Which is a shame, because Magnus really wanted to be the one to do that.
Alec stumbles across the hall, and Magnus catches him before he can fall to his knees. Alec presses a hand to his throat, and his voice is high and ragged when he speaks. “Damn.” He looks down at the half-boiled Shadowhunters on the floor. “Don’t mess with the High Warlock of Brooklyn.”
Magnus clutches at his jacket. Despite the bruise darkening around his throat, the blood dripping down to his collarbone, Alec looks relatively unperturbed. Perhaps he’d been expecting something like this, just as Magnus had.
Magnus, however, feels very perturbed. So perturbed, in fact, that he’s shaking a little. He can’t quite bring himself to move away from Alec, no matter that they should get out of this hallway, go report this, probably go to the infirmary—
At that thought, Magnus finally unclenches his hands from Alec’s lapels and rests his fingers ever so lightly along his throat, summoning his magic with a shaky breath. It flares, too bright, and swirls red around his fingertips. Magnus wills it to settle, to focus on healing the damage instead of enacting more violence like it clearly wants to. But the magic is vibrating under his skin, and won’t give him the cool flow he needs. It wants to tear and destroy in defense of his Alexander, never mind that the danger’s already gone.
And Magnus can’t really blame it.
“Hey,” Alec says, voice full of sand, and grips Magnus’s wrists lightly. It’s a gentle, loose touch, and he doesn’t try to push Magnus’s hands away. “Don’t.”
The words barely register. Magnus keeps trying to get his magic to cooperate, but instead of gentling, narrowing in on the bloody line on Alec’s throat, it only thrashes more furiously, swirling around them both.
“Magnus.” Alec’s voice breaks on his name, damaged throat not quite able to form the syllables, and Magnus is forced to yank the magic back from where it starts to spin wildly. He’s distantly aware that his eyes are still completely unglamored, and in the middle of the Institute, where anyone could walk by—
“Magnus, don’t.” Alec’s hands tighten like vises on his wrists, like he’s trying to arrest the flow of magic, and that gets Magnus’s attention. He would— Alec would never touch him like that, like he was trying to control his nature—
But even as the magic finally settles back under his skin, Magnus still feels off-kilter, a little bit out of control. Maybe he needed that grounding point. There’s no entry on his list for self-care after almost watching your husband get assassinated.
He finally looks up at Alec, only to find him smiling at him, despite everything. “There you are,” he says, and then immediately doubles over in a coughing fit that has Magnus’s hands rushing back to his neck. He listens helplessly as Alec coughs raggedly, wheezing for breath, and he feels violence stirring within him again. He wants to tear somebody apart.
Once Alec gets control of his breathing again, this time he does push Magnus’s hands away, albeit with a gentle touch, taking them in his own. “You can’t heal it. Not yet. We need to go file a report, we need this as evidence. We need witnesses.”
“I’m a witness. I can testify to what happened,” Magnus tries to protest.
Alec’s gaze on him is steady. “You’re also my husband. Look, we can’t afford to give the Clave even an inch on this. We both know there are still those in Idris who would love to see me—both of us—taken out. I won’t let them undo all our hard work just to spare myself a couple hours of discomfort. I won’t let them throw you in prison. Everything has to be by the book.”
Magnus hates it, but he knows he’s right.
Alec sighs, looking down at the limp Shadowhunters on the floor. “We need to lock them up first.”
Before Magnus can figure out how to do that, Jace comes hurtling around the corner, Izzy at his heels. They skid to a stop, taking in the scene before them. “What the fuck?” Jace says, ever so eloquent. “Alec.”
“Would-be-assassins,” Magnus explains, prodding at one with his shoe. His voice is still shaky, dammit. “Don’t worry, I already boiled them alive.”
“By the Angel,” Izzy murmurs. “Alec, are you okay?”
“I will be. Can you take these guys down to a holding cell before they wake up? We need to go file a report.”
Izzy looks concerned by his matter-of-factness, but she nods. “We’ll handle it.”
Alec nods once, jerkily, then takes Magnus’s arm and marches him down the corridor. Magnus leans into his side. He’s going to have to update his list.
#103. Go home and keep him in bed until the memory’s bled from your bodies. Hold him so the world can’t take him away.