Everyone was gathered in the room.

Wow. That was something.

It had been so long since he had seen everyone together like this.

If he had known that his dying would have brought everyone back here, he may have thought to do it sooner. But then, it wasn't like he could blame them. They had all grown up. They had their own families. Besides, it wasn't like he never saw them anymore—he did—it had just been several years since it'd been all of them at the same time like this. He sat in his wheelchair and laughed along with Jace and Clary, Simon and Isabelle, and Magnus, as they talked about long since past memories. Memories that had seemed so embarrassing at one time, and yet seemed so petty now. But that was before their hair had turned grey and their bodies had grown old.

Alec let out a deep painful breath—something he couldn't help as he was always in pain these days—and Magnus's face shot to him with the speed of a rapidly fired arrow. He could see the worry and fear written in his husband's eyes as he watched him. Alec wished he could take it away. This was always going to happen eventually . . . they had both known it—a knowledge Alec had once severely struggled with. Now he couldn't imagine this any other way. He knew it would be soon. Knew that he didn't have much time. But he was also just so grateful that he had gotten to spend his life with him.

Magnus stood just as Max came out of the kitchen, and halted, staring at his father. Alec looked at his husband and son—both who could easily be confused for being the same age—and smiled, before nodding silently. Magnus bent down and whispered to Jace as Max moved forward and took the handles of Alec's wheelchair, guiding him out of the sitting room.

As his son rolled him down the hall, he felt strong pressure on his shoulder, and Alec reached up to place his pale hand over his son's light blue one. "I love you, Max," he said softly. "I hope you know that."

"No two sons have ever been loved more by their fathers, than Rafe and myself," came Max's voice behind him.

Alec's chest swelled, his eyes swimming. "Have you heard from Rafe?"

"He is trying to get here as fast as he can." Max replied softly. "The Clave has Brazil on some kind of lock down right now—not that that will stop Rafe. He just has to figure out a way around it."

"If anyone can, it would be him," Alec smiled. "He has your Uncle Jace's flare for that kind of thing."

Sighing, Alec leaned back in his chair. Max's hand still rested on his shoulder as he pushed him slowly down the halls, and Alec couldn't help but think back to the day that Max had come into their lives. So young and sweet and innocent . . . and blue. Alec had never expected to grow as emotionally attached to the abandoned warlock baby all those years ago. Now he couldn't imagine his son not being apart of his amazing life. His only fear was knowing that his son might be afraid to fall in love when it may not last forever. He hoped that him and Magnus had shown Max how much it was worth it.

Inside his room, Catarina turned around, her blue skin and blue eyes a slightly lighter hue than his son's. She had been hooking up the IV, and Alec sighed internally and shook his head. No, he would not be using that this time. Understanding, she moved around the bed, her white hair bouncing behind her, and helped Max transfer him into bed. Once she was sure he was comfortably propped against his pillows, Catarina backed away—though, not before Alec saw her squeeze Max's hand silently. He looked between them curiously. He could see it—the two of them together. And Catarina would understand what his son was feeling better than any other warlock could—having lost a loving parent, herself. There was quite the age difference between them, though . . . but who was he to remark on that? And then he smiled and closed his eyes.

He heard someone whispering, but he didn't open his eyes. It wasn't until he heard his son take a breath and speak his name that he finally looked up. Max stood there staring down at him with his arms crossed, his jeans and dark grey sweater reminding Alec so much of himself at one time. Catarina, meanwhile, had moved to the other side of the room and had her back to them. He knew she was getting his medication prepared, but he would not be taking those either.

"Max," Alec reached out for him, and his son took his hand without hesitating as he dropped to his knees next to his father's bed. "Is there something going on between you and Catarina?"

Max choked on surprised laughter, shaking his head at the same moment that Cat went stone still behind him. "No, Dad—I mean . . ." His tone dropped to a whisper as he glanced behind him. "I don't know."

Alec nodded and squeezed his son's hand. "I just hope your father and I have shown you how much allowing yourself to fall in love, is worth it." And then he met Max's eyes and held them. "Don't be afraid to fall in love, son. Don't be afraid to let your guard down and trust someone." Closing his eyes, he thought of Magnus. "It is the most amazing gift you will ever give to yourself."

"I love you, Dad." His son's voice cracked painfully, and Alec glanced up at him. Max was looking down, his shaggy dark blue hair hanging over his face.

"You are one of the best things to ever happen to me, Max." Alec responded. "And I love you more than words can ever express." Max looked up, his dark blue eyes a blur of emotions, at the same time that Catarina approached them with his pill cup clenched in her hand. Alec shook his head and waved it away politely. He would endure the pain this time. Catarina's chin quivered but she said nothing. Nodding, she set it down on the nightstand as he cast his tired eyes back to his son.

"Will you go get your father for me, please?"

Getting to his feet, Max nodded, squeezing his dad's hand tightly in his own. And then he stood there, staring at Alec before leaning down and wrapping him in a hug. "I'm going to miss you everyday of my existence."

Alec felt a tear slide down his cheek. "I will be with you everyday of your existence."

Letting go of his father, Max turned and took long strides toward the door where Catarina was waiting. He saw his son take her hand as they walked out and he smiled. Alec was not alone long before Rafe came rushing into the room.

"Father," he breathed crossing the floor in quick steps. "I came as quickly as I could."

Alec looked up at his son and beamed. Rafael was showing signs of age as well, his once dark hair speckled with grey. He was definitely not the wild young boy he had once been, but had grown into a fine Shadowhunter. "As always, you are right on time," Alec smiled, reaching for his son. "How did you get out of Brazil?"

Taking Alec's hand in his and kneeling at the side of the bed, Rafe's eyes sparkled at the question. "Well, first Marco tried distracting the guard for me by running through the street naked. When that didn't work, he kicked the guard in the shin, giving me a chance to jump through the Portal while the guard was preoccupied with howling in pain and living with the shame of a naked old man kicking him in the shin."

And Alec burst out in laughter. Knowing his son—and Marco—he would not doubt that any of this was true. "And how is Marco?"

"He is well. He sends his love." Rafe smiled. But the smile was short lived. "Max says you are not taking your medicine . . ." Rafe hedged, staring intently at Alec. "That you refused it."

"That is true."

"Why?"

Alec nearly laughed. Where Max had always been the type to just accept without question, Rafe had questioned everything. Rafe was headstrong and forceful and could even come across as callous at times, but Alec knew that his son loved deeply and more compassionately than many out there. He and Magnus had worked hard to chip away at the armor their son had built up around himself while living out on the streets at such a young age—but some things, no matter how long ago, can stay with you. And then Alec sighed.

"Because I'm tired, Rafe. Because . . . I'm ready."

"But I'm not."

Alec squeezed his son's hand tighter, swallowing hard. "Those who go on are never ready, son. But you are strong."

"It will not be the same," Rafe insisted.

"My sweet boy," Alec smiled, reaching up and cupping his son's lined face. "Nothing is ever the same. The world is constantly changing. But your father, he will be here—and Max. You will have them."

"I worry for them," Rafe confided. "Soon, I will be the one in bed and they . . . they will have to go through this all over again."

Alec shuddered at the thought of his son dying—of Magnus having to witness it. No parent ever wanted to think about losing a child. But he also knew that what Rafe said was true. "You have many years ahead of you still," Alec spoke softly. "And your father . . . he has lived a long time. He knows that this is the way of things. He will help Max."

"That gives me no comfort," Rafe sighed with blunt honesty, and Alec couldn't help but chuckle.

"Someday it will," Alec smiled. "I love you, Rafe. I hope you know that."

Rafe pressed his head down against their joined hands. "I do father." Lifting his head, Alec saw the unshed tears glistening in his son's eyes, and it broke his heart. "Is there anything I can do for you?" he asked, pushing back his greying hair. "Anything you need?"

"Would you sing to me?" Alec knew as he asked that it was a long shot. His son had not sung in a very long time, but . . . "You used to love those Spanish lullabies."

But Rafe did not say no. Instead, he leaned in close and began singing—his voice still just as beautiful as it had been back when he was a child. It was a song that was surprisingly familiar to Alec—very familiar—and he looked at his son in surprise. But Rafe only smiled as he continued on. Closing his eyes, his chest heaving with emotion, Alec listened as his son sang him the French lullaby that his mother used to sing to him and Isabelle when they were still children.

"I love you, Dad." Rafe whispered as the song came to an end. Opening his eyes slowly, Alec looked up at his son, who had tears on his face now and had to fight back his own.

"I love you, too," Alec whispered. "And thank you . . . for the song. It was beautiful."

Getting to his feet, Rafe pushed back his hair once more. "I will go get father. I'm sure he is eager to be in here."

Nodding, he watched as Rafe left quickly. But once his son was out of the room, Alec's chest began to heave rapidly, his eyes watering. He tried desperately to hold back the pain and tears, but the more he tried, the worse it became. Gasping wretchedly, his grief dissolved into a coughing fit at the same moment that Magnus swept regally into the room. Alec could see the worry in his husband's cat-like eyes as they darted from the unattached IV, to the unused pill cup on the nightstand, and then to him in the span of a second. Alec only smiled as the coughing finally subsided, and took in his husband's young face.

Husband. That was such a loaded word, wasn't it? A word Alec never thought he would someday use. He had once struggled with his feelings for Magnus—denied them even. And when he had finally accepted them, he struggled with the warlock's immortality—a struggle that would temporarily end their relationship. But that was a long time ago, and they had had many wonderful and amazing years together since. He was his husband, his lover, his everything. He would not have had the amazing life he did, had it not been for the man standing in front of him now.

He reached out for his husband, and Magnus was in his arms within seconds—curling into his side carefully and pressing his face into his neck. Alec ignored the sharp pain in his body but he couldn't stop from flinching—something Magnus noticed right away, and immediately began to pull away. But Alec wouldn't let him—not this time. He held him against his chest until his husband conceded. Neither of them spoke for awhile.

Running his fingers lazily along Magnus's arm, Alec pressed his face against his dark spiky hair. "I love you, you know," he said softly.

"I know."

Alec smiled. "Thank you for giving me such an amazing life."

Magnus did pull away this time and looked up at him—blinking back tears as he did. Alec frowned, his heart giving a painful thud. Reaching forward, he cupped his husband's smooth face with the palm of his weathered hand, watching as Magnus pressed his cheek into it, his eyes closing and his lips trembling.

"I can't do this," his husband exhaled, a tear slipping from beneath his dark lashes and trailing silently down his cheek. "I thought I could . . . but . . ."

"Sweet pea," Alec spoke softly, recalling the first pet name Magnus had ever tried on him. He had hated it at the time. Now, he watched his husband smile through his tears at the words. "You knew this was going to happen."

"I know . . ." Magnus's voice cracked. "But I'm not ready. I have no idea how . . ." He stopped and met Alec's eyes. "I told you once before, Alexander . . . you were the first of many things for me. And it is no different now. I've never loved anyone like I have loved you, nor have I ever been loved in return by anyone in the way that you have loved me."

"And I would have had it no other way," Alec smiled as he guided Magnus forward, brushing his lips lightly across his husband's.

Magnus closed his eyes, breathing painfully, as he reached up and cupped Alec's face in his palms and pressed their foreheads together. "Nor would I, you ridiculous boy."

Alec tilted his chin upward, kissing his husband more firmly now. "You know," he said thoughtfully, capturing Magnus's eyes. Those beautiful eyes that were home. "People everywhere in the Shadow World believe that Jace and Clary had the greatest love story of all time . . . but they're wrong." And then he stroked his finger lightly along his husband's cheek. "I have no regrets, only happiness and love—so much love."

Magnus opened his mouth as if to say something, when a light knock came from the door. Looking up, his lips closed softly as he settled back against Alec's chest just as it opened. It was Isabelle and Simon, followed by Jace and Clary.

"Trying to get away from the party, Alec?" Jace grinned, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Figures."

"You know how I feel about parties." Alec laughed, tightening his arm around Magnus and trying to ignore the shooting pain in his body.

"Something I never could change," Magnus sighed as if irritated, though Alec knew his husband was anything but.

Jace walked forward, slower than he once was, and sat casually on the edge of the bed as he ran his fingers through his now snow blonde hair. Clary followed, standing beside her husband with a hand on his shoulder. Her own ivory hair still hung in curls, and her freckled skin was still noticeable under the wrinkles that now lined her face. He had hated her once, Alec mused. Now he couldn't imagine her not being in his life any more than he could imagine the others not being there. Behind them, Simon retrieved a chair and sat it next to the bed, offering it to his wife. And Alec watched as Izzy, who looked just as beautiful now as she had been in her youth, moved forward to take it. Her hair was still black, though streaked heavily with grey, and her skin was remarkably unblemished for her age. She looked so much like their mother had. But it was still such a contrast to Simon's receding grey hair and heavily scarred and lined face. He knew that many people . . . mundanes, Shadowhunters, and downworlders, alike . . . had wondered what his sister saw in the boy. Alec was not one of them. Pushing up his glasses, Simon looked down at his wife with worry. Like Clary, he had chosen to stand beside his wife instead of sitting. Izzy had eyes only for Alec, however.

"Hey big brother." She said over a hitch in her throat.

Leaving one arm wrapped around his husband, Alec took Izzy's hand in his other one. "Hey, Iz."

And she immediately burst into tears.

Simon placed a hand on her shoulder, and she turned into him, hiding her face in his side. She did not let go of Alec's hand.

"Hey," Alec said, giving her a light squeeze. "No tears. One of us had to be the first to go . . . I'm just glad we all made it this long. Besides, it's fitting that it's me—I am the oldest, after all." At his words, Magnus let out a haggard breath and Alec tightened his arm around him. Jace on the other hand, simply snorted.

"Always have to remind everyone that you're the oldest, don't you?" he joked. Alec's lips ticked upward as he looked at Jace. His parabatai, his brother, and his best friend. Jace had no tears in his eyes as he looked back at him solemnly.

"We had some good times, didn't we?" Alec asked with a slight grin.

Jace gave a bark of laughter. "Yeah . . . yeah we did."

Alec laughed as well, before it turned into a coughing fit. Magnus looked up alarmed and Isabelle's hands flew to her mouth. But it was Clary who moved forward, pulling her stele out of her pocket in the process. Kneeling down, she took Alec's arm in her slender hands and began to draw on his skin. When she was done, she reached up and wiped away a tear. Alec's coughing subsided instantly and he stared at the rune, one he had never seen before, as all the pain washed away from him. He looked at her curiously.

"Peaceful," she said, her green eyes welling up again. "It means, Peaceful."

Jace let out a grateful breath and pulled her into his lap. Some things never changed. And that was a good thing, Alec decided looking at his brother and sister-in-law. Clary had wrapped her arm around Jace, who laid his head against her as he looked at his brother.

"Thank you," Alec spoke softly as he cast his gaze back down to the rune on his arm. He could feel his final moment approaching, and suddenly he felt like he had so much left to say. He looked back up at her. "And take care of Jace."

"I—" her voice broke. "I will."

"I love you, Clary." Alec said softly. Clary's eyes widened, the green in them still just as vibrant, as she opened her mouth to respond. But she couldn't. Instead, she swallowed hard, her eyes shimmering with tears. It was okay, though—she didn't have to say anything. And Alec turned his increasingly tired eyes to Simon. "You ended up making one hell of a Shadowhunter."

Simon gave a short laugh. "Still surprised?"

"No." Alec breathed with a hint of a smile. "I knew you would. And thank you . . . thank you for making my sister happy." At that, his eyes slipped down to Isabelle. "And you," he said as he captured her gaze. "Don't be sad for me. I lived an amazing life, full of happiness—something I wasn't sure was possible. I love you, Iz. So much."

"You always deserved to be happy," she said as the silent tears continued to stream down her face.

When his gaze turned back to Jace he stalled, his heart giving a jolt. His parabatai had let a tear slip down his face. He had never seen Jace cry. Not ever. And now he felt his own chest constricting. What could he possibly say to him that he didn't already know? That he loved him? That he would miss him? All were true, but there was also so much more. Jace didn't need words, however, as he reached for Alec, taking his hand firmly in his grip. "I'll meet you on the other side, my brother."

At this, Magnus shifted and Alec's gaze moved to him. Instead of speaking, however, he pressed his lips once more against his husband's, putting into that kiss as much love and happiness as he could. When he finally pulled away, he looked deep into Magnus's eyes. "You are, have always been, and always will be, the greatest love of my life. Thank you, Magnus. Thank you for loving me."

And then he looked up at the faces that huddled around him, older and wiser and so full of love.

Closing his eyes one last time, Alec slipped into a peaceful eternity.

.

.

The streets were dark as Magnus turned up the cobblestone road to where the small house stood. There was a light on in the window, but the house was otherwise dark. He pulled his cloak tightly around his white suit.

It had been a week since Alexander passed away, and he could remember the day with such painful and vivid clarity. Remembered how Jace had cried out in both sorrow and anguish, grasping at his shoulder. How Clary had gripped her husband tightly and hugged him as he writhed in pain, slipping to the floor. He remembered how Isabelle had ran from the room with Simon on her heels. And he remembered how he had just stared at his husband, who looked like he could have been sleeping. Laying his head back against Alexander's unmoving chest and unable to speak, he had stayed there . . . wishing for the first time in his very long life, to be able to die.

Later, Jace and Clary would try to get him to leave the room with them—insisting when he refused. Angry, he had used magic to shove them out, slamming the door in their faces and locking it. And that was when he had started praying. . . something he hadn't done in several hundred years. But he had proven himself, hadn't he? He had spent a long time helping the Nephilim, turning many of his own kind against him in the process. God owed him! God, the Angel, someone had to be listening! And then he was begging. Begging someone to listen. To help. To do him this one favor.

No one answered.

Pulling his shoulders back, the memory still painfully clear in his mind, he rapped loudly on the door.

It was only a few seconds before the door opened and he saw Jem standing there, looking no older than he had been when he was made a Silent Brother over a hundred years ago. But he wasn't a Silent Brother anymore—having since been cured of the infliction that had been the reason for his transition in the first place. He had, unknowingly at the time, also retained the immortality of the Silent Brothers. Behind Jem, a soft pair of gray eyes appeared, and Magnus watched as Tessa whispered something in his ear. Nodding, Jem retreated back into the house, leaving them alone.

Tessa watched him disappear into the darkness, before turning back to Magnus and looking at him with saddened eyes before letting out a breath. "I heard."

And Magnus broke.

Reaching forward quickly, Tessa pulled Magnus into a tight hug. He didn't fight it. He didn't pull away. He could only think of Alexander as the agonizing grief he had been desperately trying to hide—torture so severe, so deep, and so very real—wracked his body, a strangled cry escaping his lips.

But Tessa, in all her beauty, wisdom, and agelessness . . . Tessa, who had once sought out Magnus in her own similar grief many years ago, said nothing as she held him. She held him as he cried and screamed with unabashed anger and agony and sorrow so overwhelmingly painful it would surely rip him apart and kill him. Later she would sit next to him as he lay silent—his body numb and his voice gone—staring at the ceiling.

She would stay with him throughout the night and into the morning.

She would stay as long as he needed her.