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There were exactly two things on Alec Lightwood’s mind right now:
- Get out of here (wherever here was.)
- Find Magnus
The getting out of here part, that was easy. The handcuffs around his wrist were laughable - as was the wooden chair. His feet weren’t even tied to the chair legs. He could be back on his feet in half a second by smashing the chair and dislocating his thumb to free himself from the cuffs. The musty black bag over his head was laughable at best.
Really, he expected better from the mafia. He was almost disappointed.
Almost.
He’d been waiting for one of the mafia assholes to rear their ugly head and start taunting him in the way that bad guys did but he’d been sitting in this damn chair for three hours and there hadn’t even been a whisper around him.
He was tired of waiting. He was tired of making Magnus wait.
It was all too easy to shatter the pathetic wooden chair (and who used wood for holding a prisoner) against the concrete and pull his hands to the front of his body.
It was even easier to dislocate his thumb and get his right hand free from the cuffs.
Once he’d pulled the bag off his head, he took a look around. He was in a warehouse (it was always a warehouse, he realized) and there was nothing else in the room save for a lone security camera over the door blinking with a steady, red light.
Pathetic.
As if a mundane security camera could pick him up. He didn’t need to be at his full power to confuse simple technology. The camera simply wouldn’t see him - he’d be nothing more than a fuzzy blur.
There was a single door at the end of the room just off to the left of the security camera - one way in, one way out. At least they had a semblance of intelligence there. He was starting to lose faith in the mafia. On the other side of the door was likely a guard, probably two, and Alec was unarmed.
Unfortunately, there was little that he could do about that. He sighed and grabbed a chair leg. Hopefully, the element surprise and a very heavy metal door gave him a half-second advantage.
He slammed the door open, getting some satisfaction as there was a grunt of pain and resistance from behind it, and immediately turned to his left, smacking the first body he saw with his makeshift club.
Two guards, like he’d expected. One now on the floor from blunt force trauma to the head and the other currently pinned behind the door and screaming his head off. His shouts apparently called others into action and Alec had only a moment to divest the unconscious guard of his knives and guns before more men were pouring into the hall.
He took a deep breath and let himself fall into the rhythm of combat.
He didn’t want to kill them but he wanted them out of his way. A single shot to the kneecap felled one - he’d be in pain but he’d live. Alec dropped to one knee and a knife to someone’s hamstring took down another. There would be some physical therapy needed but if he got help quickly, he wouldn’t bleed out.
Strike. Block. Dodge.
Rinse. Repeat.
It took him a mere five minutes to make his way to the end of the hall - leaving a wake of bodies behind him.
The door at the end of a hall lead to another hallway - this was darker and with a distinctive lack of guards. Alec paused - if he were keeping Magnus here, where would he keep him?
Somewhere in the middle both out of the way and closer to the action.
Somewhere whoever was in charge could have easy access to him.
Alec sighed and turned left and headed deeper into the building. He’d go towards the center and hopefully, he’d get lucky.
He was still shocked at how quiet it was - maybe it was some official mafia holiday and half of the office was off.
He could hope.
An office door opened and two men stepped out - their eyes widening as they noticed them. Alec fired two shots quickly before they had a chance to react and stepped over their bodies as they lay writhing on the ground. Something in the office caught his eye as he passed and he took a step back.
Magnus would kill him if he left it there.
He pulled the painting off the wall and grabbed a (thankfully) loaded gun off the desk. He still had to find Magnus.
After a few more turns he found two more thugs standing in front of a door tucked away at the end of a quiet hallway. It was the perfect place to keep a prisoner, he thought, and he hadn’t seen any other sign of Magnus...it was worth a shot.
The guards seemed to be faster to react than their counterparts he’d encountered earlier. They fired off a few rounds and Alec had to dance to keep the bullets from hitting his precious cargo. He was thankful for his supernatural speed at a time like this. When the men paused to reload, Alec took his chance, firing a shot into the stomach of one and the hand of another. They fell to the ground and he pulled a fire extinguisher off the wall - using the bottom to knock them both out.
After fishing through their pockets, he finally found the right key to open the door.
Magnus was in about the condition Alec had expected - he’s strung up in the middle of the room, shirtless, his hands chained high above his head. He manages to glance up when Alec enters and tries to smile at Alec through a very swollen black eye and a busted lip. “It took you long enough.” His voice is raspy like he’d been screaming or trying to talk himself out of trouble. Alec chooses not to comment.
“I was in Switzerland. Do you know how far Switzerland is from Russia?” He hoped that one of the keys on the keyring he’d lifted from the guard outside opened the manacles around Magnus’ wrists. He could pick the lock, sure, but that would still take valuable time that he didn’t want to waste. He glanced once at the lock and picked the key that he thought was most likely to open them - nearly sighing in relief as the first manacle popped open with a click.
“How did you find me anyway?” Magnus asked as Alec caught him when the second lock opened. They stood there for a moment as Magnus worked the blood through his arms.
“You weren’t exactly subtle, Mags. Everyone’s now heard of the attempted robbery at the Thyssen. As soon as I saw what was nearly stolen, I went there. I just needed to take one look at that painting to know it was a fake which is why you left it. I also knew that you’d be after the original. A little birdy told me where you’d gone.”
Magnus groaned, “Simon?”
“Simon,” Alec agreed. “I suggest next time you go to him for information, you pay him better in the hope that money is a stronger motivator than the look I gave him. He ratted you out pretty quickly.”
“Next time you get the urge to redecorate the loft - try shopping at a home decor store or an art gallery instead. You have money , Magnus. You don’t need to rob a mob boss or a Spanish museum to get what you want. Hell, in this day and age people make prints. You don’t need the priceless original.”
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The next evening when they were both at home in New York, tucked safely behind layers and layers of wards Magnus had built himself with what little magic he had left and Alec was dozing lightly on their bed - Magnus finally had time to appreciate his acquisition. The dark-haired angel clad in red and protected by armor casting Lucifer out of heaven.
Magnus had never fallen like some of his brethren - instead, he’d been born in the pits of hell himself.
The piece he’d gone to great lengths to steal was certainly a work of art but it was nothing compared to the sleeping form of his husband curled up against golden sheets. Like this, he looked innocent in a way that Magnus knew that he was not (afterall, he’d been personally responsible for casting so many from Heaven, after all.)
Even the most devoted soldier faces a test of their loyalty. Alec shifted in his sleep and Magnus tried not to glance at the scars that nearly seemed to glow in the center of Alec’s back.