Bloody Lining ➳ Alec Lightwood

chapter two

nugatory 

adjective | noo - guh - tawr - ee | meaning - of no force or effort; futile; vain 

chapter two 

Beckett had woken up covered in blood, some of which was his. Groaning at his aching bones, he'd forced himself off his couch (which was now splotched with blood) and taken a long hot shower. It wasn't until he was standing under the hot water, his hands slowly tracing over the wound in his torso that was almost completely healed now, that he finally allowed himself to remember the events from the night before. 

Most of it was a blur of pain and anger, but Beckett could remember the expression in Jocelyn's eyes clearly. She'd look at him with such raw desperation, her last thoughts being purely of her only daughter, and he knew that even if he hadn't already cared so much about Clary, he would've done anything Jocelyn asked of him to find her solely because of that look. 

Beckett felt a slight wave of nauseous guilt when he thought of Jocelyn. The thought of her drinking that potion rang through his mind time and time again. And now those other shadowhunters had her and were able to do with her whatever they'd wish. Beckett didn't even want to think about what that could mean. He'd tried to help her, to stop Valentine's minions from getting to her, but it just hadn't been enough. 

Valentine. Now that was a name Beckett had heard many times. Every time it was said, it was said in the same tone. Hushed and quick, as if the name could some how enact some horrible happening if were to be dwelled on. 

Beckett's water began getting cold, he knew it was time for him to get out. Making sure the last of the blood had been washed from his body, and the shampoo suds from his hair had been taken care of, he stepped out of the shower. Securely wrapping a towel around his waist, Beckett grabbed a smaller towel to help dry his hair, and entered his bedroom. It wasn't until he'd shut the door behind him lazily, his hand shaking the smaller towel through his hair with half-hearted haste, that he realized he wasn't his rooms only occupant. 

"Magnus," He said, with partial surprise. It wasn't the first time the warlock made an unexpected arrival, but it was the first time in an incredibly long time. It made Beckett feel like he'd done something wrong, which in a way he supposed he had, but he didn't think Magnus had taken it to heart. 

"Beckett," Magnus responded in a tone much lighter then Beckett. That's how there relationship had always been, Magnus with a light heart and Beckett with a heavy one. 

Beckett tossed the towel in his hand past Magnus and on to his bed. The warlock didn't flinch, his cat eyes just remained locked on Beckett. A small smirk played on Magnus's, his glittered eyes sparkling with slight amusement. He could tell by the stiffness in Beckett's posture that he was making the werewolf uncomfortable, which he liked to think was his special talent. Beckett had this habit of being completely naked in front of someone, much like he almost was now, and yet still be completely closed off from them, and Magnus constantly called him out on it, which absolutely made Beckett's skin crawl. 

"Why are you here Magnus?" 

"Why the long face, Jackson? Heartbroken that I didn't call you back. Wait, actually, you never called me in the first place, like you said you would." Magnus' tone was joking, like it normally was, but Beckett still shifted awkwardly on his feet at the blunt statement.