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It’s a scream that finally tears Isabelle away from Max. It’s an odd, choked off sound, a cry of anguish softened to the point where it can’t even be called a scream, but she doesn’t know how else to refer to it. Maryse watches her daughter’s face go ashen, sees her lips forming the letters to her older brother’s name, and then shadowhunter speed is carrying her out of the room in seconds. She takes one look at Max, at the way his eyes are already drooping in exhaustion once again, and presses a kiss to his forehead before following Isabelle out into the hall.
She’s standing next to Alec, who keeps letting out these tiny sobs, but he’s not moving at all except for the rapid rise and fall of his chest that quickens with each second, eyes on the elevator doors right in front of him. There are tears tracking down his cheeks, and his eyes are red and puffy – it tugs at Maryse’s heart; she wonders how long her son has been out here crying alone without making a sound. “Alec. Alec, please, Alec…” His sister’s hands make to grab at his face, but Alec takes one, two, three steps back until his back is against the wall and he slides down to the floor, shaking his head uninterruptedly.
“He left- he left, Izzy, he left, it’s not… I can’t.” His eyes are wide and unfocused, and he runs his hands up to bury them in his hair before tugging hard, his tone dropping as his breathing gets shallower.
“Alec-”
“I need him!” He raises his voice for the first time, sounding out of his mind, enough to make Isabelle take a cautious step back. Maryse hears Robert get up inside, holds out a hand to stop him; their son is breaking, and she doubts he would appreciate being seen like this. She herself feels like an intruder, and finds herself retreating to the threshold. Alec’s dropped his head onto his hands, his voice coming out muffled and in between regular sobs now. “I need to- he can’t… he can’t leave, he’s… he said- Fuck, please, please make it stop.” The last few words are jumbled together in obvious pain, forming an almost childlike whine, and Maryse takes a faltering step forward because whether she’s intruding or not that’s her baby, and she’s never seen him like this, but then Isabelle finally makes it close enough to wrap her arms around her brother; he doesn’t push her off, but he doesn’t respond either. His sobs slowly begin to fade, however, as he listens to whatever Isabelle keeps whispering in his ear while petting his hair back soothingly.
After a minute or two he pulls away, wrapping his arms around his knees so he can rock himself back and forth. Maryse watches his lips form the warlock’s name, over and over again, before everything stops. Alec sits so still she’s afraid he’s went into shock for a moment, but then he gets up swiftly. His eyes are still unfocused, and he doesn’t look like himself, but he runs a hand over his face quickly to dissipate the tear tracks and then turns to Isabelle. “You’re wrong. It is my fault.” He whispers, turning away and walking mechanically towards the door.
The next day Alec is all business as usual – well, as Alec’s usual used to look like before Magnus. Maryse wonders how many times Alec’s reset himself like this; wonders how many she failed to notice.
Suddenly her efforts to reconnect with her children seem all the more overdue.