(A/N- Ok! So this is my first uploaded story with my new account, so hopefully it's not too horrific. I had an old account where I wrote a lot of Sherlock Fanfiction, but I never really got into it. So, take 2!

While I'm going to be basing 95% of this story on Malec, I'll probably go into details on some of the other ships like Clace, Simobelle, ect. Hopefully I'll also pick up the courage to write some lemons, but that all depends on whether or not people like what I write.)

Disclaimer: I own nothing. All credit goes to the rightful owner of the Mortal Instruments series, Cassandra Clare.

If Magnus were to describe the feeling of walking into Morgenstern Legal, Tuesday morning, he would probably compare it to the feeling of having every inch of your skin pricked and prodded at by nasty, insufferable little imps. There wasn't much difference at all, when he thought about it. Brushing lint off his new suit – Westwood, and the greatest article of clothing to ever grace his wardrobe – he straightened his shoulders and picked up his pace, gliding through the lobby towards the main desk, hoping not to run into any trouble.


Oh, fuck.

The walls practically vibrated at the sound of his boss's low, intimidating growl. Valentine Morgenstern was scary, on a good day, but this was downright terrifying, and Magnus new without a second thought that he was in deep shit. But, of course, he had known that the moment he had acted without thinking in the courtroom yesterday. Sighing, and sneaking a glance at Sophie, the receptionist, he turned on his heels and followed Morgenstern down the hall, into his office.

"Sit." Morgenstern barked.

Magnus sat.

Valentine leaned back on his chair, tapping his fingers furiously against the prissy mahogany desk he's obviously mistaken for a throne. Magnus felt that some eye rolling, and perhaps a snappy comment from Camille was in dire need. The Morgenstern's ego was typical gossip in the firm, as well as the lengthy list of illicit activities he threw himself into, bribery and alcoholism at the lead. Perhaps at one point Magnus would have appreciated the man's prosperity and business ingenuity, but Valentine's power-hungry attitude made that impossible. There was a fine line between political workers and politicians, and Valentine was most definitely the latter. Magnus, no matter how exceptional he was at his position as Defence Attorney, was not all that interested in the technical side of his job. For him, it was all sexuality and glamour, power and pleasure. He knew his boundaries, which separated him entirely from his employer.

That, as well as not being a self-satisfying dickhead.

After a long, torturous length of silence, Morgenstern stopped tapping his fingers on the wood long enough to run them through his silvery hair. At this point, Magnus's fear was equalled by his irritation. Which, admittedly, was usually the case when it came to his boss.

"You've got some serious nerve." Morgenstern said coldly.

Magnus exhaled. "Thank you."

"That was not a compliment, you miserable, aggravating son of a bitch."

Magnus raised his eyebrows, and smirked. "I take it I'm not in here to discuss the terms of my raise, then."

Morgenstern threw his hands into the air. "What is wrong with you, Bane? Do you have any self control? Any at all? Because I didn't see it in that fucking court room yesterday!"

He was pacing at this point, his hands folded behind his back, probably in an attempt to keep himself from wrapping them around Magnus's neck.

Magnus leaned back in his chair. "I don't believe I know what you're talking about."

"Mortmain. You said he was guilty. You stood up, in front of a full jury and a judge, and said he was guilty."


"And you're a Defence Attorney! His Defence Attorney, might I add, and thanks to you and your obnoxious desire to be a smartass, we're now facing a lawsuit. I hope you're fucking happy, Bane."

Magnus laughed. "Oh, I am. Immensely. Positively thrilled, actually."

Valentine stared, seething at the man before him. Magnus had always had a reputation for being outrageous, especially in the court room, but his actions on Monday had beaten his previous behaviour by far. "I would fire you right now."

"No, you wouldn't." Magnus replied.

Valentine sighed. "You're right. But if I had even a tiny bit of sense, I would. The thing is, Bane, I don't like you. I don't particularly hate you, but you're arrogant, antagonizing personality makes me want to stab myself in the face."

"Oh come now, that doesn't sound like me at all." Reprimanding bastard.

Valentine ignored him, and seemed completely oblivious to the telepathic tsunami of profanities Magnus was sending across to him.

"Honestly," Morgenstern continued, shaking his head. "The only reason you're still here is because, as much as I hate to say it, you're one the best. You are the best, actually. I'm seriously considering having you for the new D.A if you keep it up. "

Magnus blinked. "D.A? Seriously? What about Jocelyn?"

"Jocelyn is good at her job, but she's no Magnus Bane, and you're exactly what this firm needs. The amount of client's you've saved is unbelievable, and the way things are going, you'll be the name on everybody's lips in – what, a year? The last thing you need right now is a reputation for being unprofessional."

At this, Magnus sat up. "How the hell am I unprofessional? I spent over six months of work on this!"

"You're unprofessional, Bane, don't even try to deny it. You stood up yesterday in front of a court and jury and agreed with the prosecutor. You had one job. Obviously, one job is a little too much for you."

"Mortmain's a murderer," Magnus snapped. His hands balling into fists. "He killed three girls, nearly a fourth. If you expect me to defend that piece of trash – "

"I do expect you to defend him, Magnus, and I expect you to do it brilliantly, because I know you can. You just won't, for God knows what reason."

"I refuse to be the one to let that man walk. It's not right."

Valentine said nothing. He didn't have to. He was gaping at Magnus with amazement, and Magnus could practically hear the man's thoughts. "But you're a lawyer", "that's your job".

Magnus had mixed feelings about his career. Even as a child, his charisma and his talent at never shutting up baffled his friends and his family. Politics was a natural path for him. Going through school, when asked what he wanted to be, he would always reply, in a firm, strong voice, "a lawyer" unlike his peers, who would constantly change between wanting to be a firefighter, or the president, or an astronaut, or countless others that Magnus thought were all ridiculous.

His whole life he'd known that this was who he was. This is what he wanted. And he did want it. He enjoyed the power of being able to move a court with the strength of his words. His adored the pressure, the understanding that everything depended on him, and one slip could be fatal. To him his job was more than a profession – it was a dance; a swift, sensual, fact pacing dance.

Except, recently, he thought otherwise. The dance was only fun if the partners are tolerable. Magnus learnt that sometimes the people he had to help were not always people he felt he should be helping. And he disliked the guilt he felt, knowing he allowed a man to walk free, to get away with whatever crime he committed. Guilt was disempowering to him, and he hated it.

As much as it shamed him to admit it, Magnus's main reasons for questioning his position in the firm were far more petty than his feelings of guilt. Truthfully, his sensual dance was not quite sensual enough. Standing in a court with a fancy suit and some nice words was good enough, but lately he found it less exhilarating than he had previously. It lacked the rush of adrenaline he needed, the intoxicating state of highness he usually found himself in, and he needed it like a junkie needed their fix. The problem was, he had no idea where to start in order to find it again.

Valentine snapped him out of his thoughts with a long, deep sigh. Magnus shook his head to clear his thoughts. He had almost drifted off . . . had he done that, he would not have been at all surprised if Morgenstern decided to fire him.

Valentine moved back around to sit down again. He buried his face in his arms and moaned. He looked up again, looking exhausted.

"I admire your morals, Mr Bane," he said. "But I don't pay you for your morals. I pay you to do the work. If you can't do that –"

"'Mr Bane'" Magnus scoffed, leaning forward in his seat to grin at his boss. "I don't believe you've ever called me Mr before, Mr Morgenstern. Why the formality?"

"Because calling you a disobedient asshole isn't going to help me bribe you into behaving." Valentine answered simply. He smiled briefly, and it didn't reach his eyes.

Magnus's grin widened "Oh? And what did you plan on bribing me with, bar pathetic flattery. I don't want or need your money, so don't bother."

Now it was Valentine's time to smirk. He busied himself by sorting up a huge pile of paperwork which had been pushed up against his desk. "Course not. Magnificent Magnus Bane, tamed by the lure of a pay check? Hardly. I'm offering you something much better."

"Which is?"

"A promotion. District Attorney, actually. And I suppose money is in question, since this little deal would also involve a hefty raise in your salary. The hours are longer, admittedly, but this is a real opportunity to prove yourself, Bane, and I know you can do it."

"So we are here to discuss terms of my raise."

"So it would seem, yes."

Magnus inhaled deeply. While he wasn't particularly comfortable with his position at the moment, he wondered if a promotion was even something he wanted. A part of him – the part that still craved the dance – just wanted to change his name, pack his bags and skip town. To start fresh.

But then what?

"So, if I pinkie promise to shut my mouth and do as I'm told, I'm D.A?"

Morgenstern laughed, and Magnus swore internally. Course not. "Not so fast. As much as I respect the integrity of the pinkie promise, I'm afraid you're going to have to do a lot more than that to get me to trust you again."

Magnus groaned. "Fantastic. And what did you have in mind?"

Valentine slid a yellow, official looking file towards the edge of the desk for Magnus without a word, watching intently as Magnus picked it up, pulled out the top document and read it.

It was a case file; one Magnus was well educated on. He knew exactly what the case was about as soon as he glanced at the poor, grainy black and white photo.

It was a picture of a couple. A man and a woman, in their mid thirties, hurrying through the streets of Manhattan. They were familiar to him – he had seen pictures of them on the news and on posters for almost a year now, not to mention how often they were spoken of in the Firm. Robert and Maryse Lightwood; America's Most Wanted, according to the police department, which had been searching hopelessly for the couple for months now, without much luck. It wasn't just them, of course. Allegedly, they had two children; Jonothan and Alexander, although Magnus assumed the latter name was merely a rumour, as he heard next to nothing about him.

Magnus had to hand it to them; they had most likely revolutionised the world of organised crime, dealing in mostly illegal arms dealing, and a little drug trafficking on the side. The Lightwoods were notorious for being near unstoppable. The only disadvantage they had was their son, Jonathan Lightwood. He was skilled, but arrogant, and he had narrowly avoiding prosecution more times than Magnus could count.

"Ah," Magnus murmured. "The Lightwoods. They've been caught, I presume?"

Valentine shook his head. "Not yet. But they will be."

"Oh, well then, I'll just take your word for it." Magnus laughed humourlessly and threw the file back on the desk. Valentine glared at him.

"The police have been tracking the Lightwood's whereabouts for months now. Whilst Robert and his wife remain on the run, the police are confident that we will still catch them, with the help of the boy."

Magnus nodded. "The boy," he repeated. "You mean Jonathan Lightwood. Maryse and Robert's son."

"Wrong again," Morgenstern tutted. "Honestly, Bane, do you live under a rock?"

"If I lived under a rock I would have this case memorised. Thankfully, I spend my rock-free days having a social life, sir." Magnus often wondered how far he could push the boundaries before Valentine fired him. Surely it wouldn't be much more.

Valentine cleared his throat. "Right. Well, anyway, reports have sprung up that this boy – this so called 'Lightwood' – isn't a Lightwood at all." He pushed another smaller file towards Magnus. "Jonathan 'Jace' Herondale; Missing Person's Report. Jace disappeared from his grandmother's house at age ten. Suspected kidnapping, but there wasn't anything to go on until now."

Magnus struggled to keep his jaw from hitting the floor in shock. Jonathan Herondale? But that's –

"Herondale, as in Imogen Herondale? The head of NYPD? He's related to her?" Magnus asked.

Valentine nodded solemnly. "This means the Lightwood's are also responsible for kidnapping, and - we're assuming - some form of brainwashing. This kid's been forced to grow up with criminals, God knows what these fuckers have been doing with him. Right now the top priority is bringing this boy home to his family, and stopping this once and for all."

"Huh." Magnus said. "And you plan to do this by setting up an ambush and arresting him?"

Morgenstern shrugged. "If that's what it takes. It isn't like the police have many more options. They arrest the boy, take him in for questioning, try to find out if he knows where the Lightwood's are. Even if he says nothing, he's still safe, and he can see Imogen again."

"How is she dealing with this?"

"She's furious. All this time, she thought he was dead. She'd lost hope. And now here he is. She wants justice."

"Don't we all?"

"Of course." Valentine agreed, perhaps a little stiffly. He shuffled the papers back into place and set them on their pile, then looked up again. "This is where you come in."

"I'm intrigued."

"When the boy is arrested, he will be charged. I assume your admirable morals are outraged right now, as are mine. So I want you to defend him. You'll be his attorney, and you'll him get of the mess he was thrown into. This kid deserves a life after all this chaos. You need to give him that."

Magnus looked down. It wasn't a big ask. In fact, it was a perfect opportunity. Though he never followed it closely, the Lightwood story had always fascinated him, and the thought of meeting a member – well, in theory – of the elusive family was mouth watering.

"Do you take the case?"

Magnus smirked. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Valentine clapped his hands, rubbing them hungrily as he leaned back in his chair. 'Excellent. And just in time, too – I believe my next appointment is here."

Magnus got up and began walking towards the door, when Morgenstern's cold voice stopped him again.

"Oh, and Magnus?"

Magnus turned around and cocked an eyebrow."Yes?"

"Don't fuck this up."

"Don't you dare fuck this up, Alec."

Alec sighed, pausing in what had to be the most pitiful attempt at robbery he had ever executed. He didn't know what would be worse; being caught stealing and arrested, or being caught stealing porn magazines and laughed out of the shop. He had seen that happen more times than he could remember; courtesy of having Jace as a brother. Or, should he say, step brother.

The phrase brother filled Alec with a sense of crippling dread. Brother. Jace is. Jace, brother, brother, Jace. No matter how many times he rolled the words through his head, they did little to diminish the shameful feeling of longing whenever he was in the room with him.

It wasn't right. Alec knew that. It was wrong, and disgusting, and he hated himself for it. He knew he shouldn't feel this way for boys, let alone his own brother, but despite the lengths he went to in order to stop these raging emotions, the second Jace appeared, all arrogant and charismatic and gorgeous, Alec felt his stomach flip and his knees go weak.

For God's sake Alec, he chided. Can you focus on not being caught stealing porn for the time being?

Blushing furiously, Alec bit his lip and made a grab for the first magazine he could see. He couldn't bring himself to look at the cover, or do anything more than shove it hastily up his shirt and make a speedy start towards the door, with Jace following close behind him.

As soon as the newsagency was a block behind them, Jace started cackling. Alec said nothing, but slid the magazine out from under his shirt, his face still bright red, and handed it to his adopted brother bitterly. "I hope my never ending humiliation satisfied you thoroughly," he mumbled through his annoyance. Jace didn't reply, which was odd, because Jace usually never shut up.

Alec snuck a glance through his dark hair in Jace's direction, and realized with a start that he had disappeared. Heartbeat quickening, Alec turned around, searching through the streets of New York for his brother. To his relief, Jace had stopped walking and was standing only a few feet behind him. He was staring at the magazine, looking confused and crestfallen.

Alec approached Jace, feeling uncomfortable, which wasn't unheard of for Alec. People made him uncomfortable, period. Their emotions baffled him almost as much as his own, and he could never keep up with their hopes and needs and wants and fears and interests and God knows what else people thought about. Jace was one of the few who didn't mind Alec's awkward, shy persona, which was probably why Alec admired him so. Unlike everyone else, Jace didn't pressure him.

"Jace. Are you . . . okay?" Alec asked in a small voice.

Jace scowled. "Sure." He said sourly. Glaring at Alec, he flipped the magazine over, showing his brother the cover. Alec's blush, which had been slowly departing, returned with a vengeance. "Nothing wrong with this at all."

The model on the cover was of the male variety. He was wearing a zebra striped thong, and his perfectly toned six-pack was sparkling with what Alec could only assume was sweat. The model's hands were cupping playfully around the bulge between his legs. If Alec wasn't so mortified, he might have even been aroused.

He ducked his head, refusing to meet Jace's eyes. Of course, this would ironically happen to him, Alec Lightwood, closeted gay extraordinaire.

How miserably, humiliatingly, painfully typical.

"Oh," Alec groaned, still avoiding his adopted brother's eyes. "I . . . I grabbed the wrong one . . . I didn't really look. Sorry."

Alec looked up after a moment and saw, with a rush of relief, Jace's amused smirk. So he wasn't angry. "Oh, yeah sure. You totally picked the wrong magazine, Alec." He winked knowingly and handed the porno back to Alec. "Secret's safe with me, big brother."

Alec spluttered, much to Jace's delight, and made a point to storm across to the nearest bin and all but hurl the stupid magazine into it.

"Oh, come on, Alec, I was kidding. You're straight as a skyscraper, happy?" No. Because you're wrong.

"It's fine. I just . . . I don't like stealing."

Jace scoffed. "Uh, you realize your names Alec Lightwood, right?"

Alec folded his arms around his torso awkwardly. "It's just a name, ok. I'm not by parents. You know very well I don't want to get into that stuff. That's the reason why I stayed when they asked me to skip town with them." Well. It was one of the reasons.

Jace chuckled. "You're too cute, Alec. You need to up your game a bit. Which is why you're coming with me tomorrow night."

Alec glanced at his brother, his brows furrowing. "What's tomorrow night? Jace, if it's a party, you know I don't like th – "

"It's not a party," Jace said seriously. He wasn't smiling now. His expression had turned calculative, considerate; it was the face he had when he was thinking of a plan.

"So . . . what is it?"

"It's a . . . a delivery. I guess. IfyouknowwhatImean."

"I – no. I don't know what you mean."

Jace sighed. "Drugs, Alec. It's drugs. There's a dealer, he's friends with Mother and Father -he says he'll give it to me for next to nothing."

Alec ran his hands through his hair. He couldn't believe it. Jace had been into the drug scene since he was about fifteen, but Alec assumed he was over it, since he hadn't been taking anything for about five months. Apparently, Alec had been mistaken. "Jace, there's no way I'm letting you –"

"There's no way you're stopping me, either," Jace pointed out. "So, either you come with me and watch my back, like I've always trusted you to do, or you stay home and let me go by myself. There's no way you're going to talk me out of this, Alec. You, of all people, should know that."

Alec bit his lip and looked down. God. What did he say to this? Jace was right. Alec was hopeless at talking Jace out of anything, and Alec couldn't risk staying behind. What if something happened?

Alec already knew what he was going to do. He was going to accompany Jace, because he loved him, because he feared for him, because it was what he did every single time. Jace had a bad track record when it came to drug deals. They always tended to go awry. And, naturally, it always seemed to be Alec who suffered the most. Whether that meant being beaten to a bloody pulp by an angry dealer, and arrested by the cops, it always happened to him. And Alec would gladly do it again and again if it meant protecting his brother.

"Fine." He muttered.



Jace flung an arm around his brother's shoulder and chuckled. "Trust me. I've got this. Nothing is going to go wrong."

(A/N – Of course, Jace had to jinx it ;) Hopefully you didn't completely despise it, because I'm really not too sure about how I feel about it at the moment. I would really appreciate reviews; they'll influence my decision to actually keep going with this, or sink into the earth out of humiliation.

One last note, I have not forgotten about Isabelle or Max, don't worry. I didn't mention them because I was only writing the information that Magnus is aware of. I fully intend to write about them later in the story.

Thanks so much for reading and don't forget to leave a review! Thanks!)