Malec Oneshots

Beef Satay Salad

Summary(By Airuna):

Raphael just needed some information from Magnus, so why on earth was he cooking dinner with the Head of the New York Institute?

or

Raphael and his (future) step father bond.

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Whoever said that no news was good news clearly didn’t know Simon Lewis. Things had been really quiet since Valentine’s long awaited demise. Too quiet. Which meant either the fledgling had learned discretion and was sensibly hiding until the heat of the Daylighter reveal died out or that something big, terrible and probably deathly was about to happen. And Raphael was more willing to believe in Shadowhunters as a whole suddenly developing a conscience than in Simon acquiring even a hint of common sense.

So, his only choice was to head over to Brooklyn. Magnus had been saying he was due to visit him anyway.

He knocked on the door entirely out of politeness. If the wards had allowed him in until that point, the door would not be locked for him. Still, Raphael shuddered to think what his mama would have said if he just barged in, into someone else’s house, to ask for help. From inside he heard some cursing and steps coming towards the door. Magnus’ stubbornness on sliding ‘gracefully’ around instead of moving like a normal person made his steps almost soundless. The ones that Raphael were hearing were quick, efficient and resolute. The steps of a soldier.

Shit.

He vaguely considered making a hasty retreat but, really, he was the leader of the New York Clan and an old friend of Magnus’, he had every right to be here. And if the Nephilim didn’t like it, too bad.

He squared his shoulders.

Alec opened the door, looking disheveled and already annoyed which was just great. When he saw Raphael he straightened up, his scowl falling from his face that turned into what he probably thought was a blank expression. “Is Magnus home?” asked Raphael before Alec could open his mouth. Better get this done as quickly and painlessly as possible.

Alec shook his head and Raphael sighed, he had imagined as much. He was about to say his goodbyes (again, his mama had raised him to be civilised) when Lightwood actually stepped aside and opened the door for him. Raphael’s eyebrows shoot up. “He is supposed to return in an hour,” Alec explained. “But he did say that he’d try to be home sooner if possible.”

And this was just awkward. They stood there, in the middle of the room, looking at each other. Alec’s hands were behind his back, his legs slightly parted and looked as much at a loss as to what to do as Raphael felt. He brushed imaginary dust off his jacket but refused to talk. He was not going to initiate small talk. Not in this life and not with the oldest Lightwood, dammit.

“So I owe you an apology.” Alec was looking straight at him and his voice didn’t waver, which made Raphael choking on his own spit that much more embarrassing. But really, since when did Shadowhunters even comprehend the concept of apologies? Much less deigned to offer one to filthy, inferior downworlders.

And besides that…

“No, you don’t.”

“Izzy explained to me what had happened,” Alec proceeded stubbornly ignoring what he had just told him. “You were not more guilty than she was.”

“I enabled her addiction when I should have known better,” Raphael pointed out, wincing at the self-hatred that he could hear in his usually blank voice.