flowersbloomuntiltheyrot

[flowersbloomuntiltheyrot]

Flowers Bloom until they Rot and Fall Apart

Chapter 8 (PAST): All the Happiness you Lost

Another bit of happier past that sadly did not last, this time from Thomas' POV. ChoT Thomas inspired me for this as well as ChoT Eugenia, who is a gremlin. Enjoy!

Thomas sighed in defeat as he let out another coughing fit. He’d told Alastair he was recovering . He’d said he was sure he would feel well enough to meet him tonight. He cursed himself for making promises he now couldn’t keep. What would Alastair think? For a moment, Thomas considered going out anyway, but he did not think Alastair would like it much if Thomas spent the evening coughing over him. 

Pneumonia, the doctor had concluded. An old friend he had not seen in many years. Why it had come back now of all times, Thomas did not know. Perhaps it was that time he and Lucie had gone swimming and Thomas had accidentally inhaled some dirty lake water after a cannonball.

Thomas had thought they were past this, but his family had gone all the way back to protecting sick little Tommy mode, even though he was not so little anymore. And not even that sick. Going out on a date might be a bit much, but he didn’t need the coddling, his mother making him tea every hour, nor Barbara stuffing him in blankets or Eugenia watching him like a hawk to see if he might attempt to leave his bedroom.

He took his phone from the desk beside his bed, he’d missed a text from Alastair. 

Alastair: Are you feeling any better?

Thomas considered for a few moments before texting back.

Thomas: Not really. I have pneumonia apparently.

Alastair’s response was faster than Thomas could have anticipated. 

Alastair: Oh that sucks, get well soon.

Thomas: Maybe we can move tonight’s date to my place? We could watch a movie or something. I’d like the company.

They’d planned to go out for dinner, had set this date two weeks ago before Thomas had gotten sick, and he regretted having to cancel on Alastair. This was a nice enough alternative, right? Alastair always seemed to like it here. 

Alastair: If you’re sure you feel up for it. I’ll ask my mother.

After several minutes, Alastair texted again. 

Alastair: I’ll be there around six,  does that work?

Thomas: Sure! We usually eat around seven,  I’ll let my mom know you’re joining.

Thomas got up from bed and changed into a clean shirt and pants. He was about to leave his bedroom,when Eugenia grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. 

“Oh no, you don’t,” Eugenia said. “Back to bed with you.”

Thomas sighed. “I’m getting too old for this, Genie. Lying in bed all day has never done anyone any good. Also, even with pneumonia I’m stronger than you. You can’t stop me.”

“And where do you think you’re going, then?” Eugenia demanded. “Not on your date with Alastair. You always refuse to take proper rest when you’re sick. But if you won’t listen to me, I’ll call Alastair to come over and take care of you instead.”

This had to be difficult for Eugenia. While she was a gremlin who would stop at nothing to keep Thomas from going out while he was sick, she also championed his and Alastair’s relationship from the sidelines. 

“I already asked him to come over,” Thomas said. “And I was about to tell mom so she’d make enough food for all of us. And I might as well rest in the living room.” 

The reason Thomas had retreated to his bedroom to rest was that it offered a little more privacy, and when he was in there his parents did not bother him. Barbara and Eugenia not so much, Thomas didn’t think either of them had any clue what boundaries meant. 

Thomas desperately hoped he could teach his sisters to knock before Alastair spent the night here for the first time. That sort of thing would have to happen here. Alastair wasn’t out to his parents yet and he preferred to meet at Thomas’ house. Besides, Thomas didn’t think Alastair’s father liked him very much. Thomas had the sense something was not quite right there, with Alastair’s father in particular, but he’d never been able to get Alastair to talk about it. 

He found his mother outside in the garden, watering the blue roses. Those had always been among Thomas’ favorites. 

“Tom, how are you feeling?” 

“Could be better, could be worse,” Thomas said. “Alastair’s coming over for dinner tonight. We were going out, but since I’m not feeling well we’re going to watch a movie at home instead. Is that alright?”

“Sure. I’m making cauliflower soup tonight, there should be plenty.”

His mother always made more soup than they needed. If he’d been feeling better, he would have helped with the cooking, he loved to cook. Now, he returned inside to the living room, folding himself into a blanket on the couch. He’d asked Alastair to bring him his homework so he could at least keep up somewhat. While it was a bad idea to try magic when he could be interrupted any moment by  a coughing fit, he should at least try to keep up with the theory. He needed to keep his grades up if he wanted to be accepted into a magical botany programme at university. 

Thomas jumped up from the couch as the doorbell rang, but Eugenia had long beat him to the front gate. It always felt impractical, to have to open the front gate and then the front door, but there were too many deadly plants in the garden to not put a big fence around it. 

Eugenia was talking loudly about how Thomas was still sick, how he’d been coughing all day and how Alastair should make sure he didn’t move too much from the couch. Thomas wondered if it was possible to die of embarrassment. Then he realized he’d gone out with no shoes on and was still wrapped in a Mickey Mouse blanket. 

“Alastair. It’s good to see you.”

Alastair was dressed nicely in a black blouse and matching trousers, his hair styled to perfection as usual. Thomas didn’t think Alastair ever had bad hair days. It had grown out a little, he used to keep it short but now it had grown past his ears, falling in soft locks over his forehead. He looked at Thomas through the thick lashes circling his dark eyes. He often did that, eyes just a little closed, and Thomas couldn’t help but wonder if he did it on purpose. If Alastair knew how seductive it made him look. 

“You’re not contagious, right?” Alastair asked.

“No,” Thomas said.  “It’s a bacterial pneumonia, so you can’t catch it from me. I’m taking antibiotics for it.” 

“That sounds serious,” Alastair said. “I’m sure the antibiotics will help, but my mother and I also made some remedies. They’re haoma based. This should lower the fever, this one helps with the coughing, and the last helps you feel less tired.”

“I think I could use all of those,” Thomas said. 

Alastair explained how to dose the different remedies, and Thomas took a little bit of everything. There wasn’t an instant effect he could feel, but Alastair explained he would likely start feeling better after an hour or so. He should take his next dose the next morning. 

“Don’t mind my sister too much,” Thomas said. “I’m not sure they know what boundaries are. Fortunately, it’s only Eugenia, though I’m sure Barbara would have been here if she didn’t have an evening shift.”

His oldest sister had moved in with her boyfriend Oliver not long ago, and while he’d had to get used to her not being around, he was glad she was not here while he was sick. It was just Eugenia today.

“I think she’s just protective,” Alastair said.

“She is, but do I look like I need protecting?”

Thomas barely finished his sentence before breaking into another coughing fit that took a good several minutes to stop. 

“No offense, but right now  you kind of do,” Alastair said. “The Mickey Mouse blanket looks cute on you though. Good thing I brought my mother’s remedies. You’ll feel better soon, I promise.”

Thomas sighed. The Mickey Mouse blanket had been one from his childhood, and it just so happened to be one of the bigger blankets in the house. The only one, in fact, that he could still wrap himself in. 

“What movie did you have in mind?” Alastair asked. 

@life-through-the-eyes-of @astriefer @justanormaldemon @ipromiseiwillwrite @a-dream-dirty-and-bruised @all-for-the-fanfiction @amchara @ddepressedbookworm @wagner-fell @imsoftforthomastair @queenlilith43 @stxr-thxif @lifewouldbebetteronmars @littlx-songbxrd @sheisbeautyweareworldass @ikissedsmithparker @bookswitchcraftandcats @jamesherondaleofficial @livingformyself @anarmorofwords @sapphic-in @fortheloveofthecarstairs @tessherongraystairs @thewarthatsavedmylife-blog @grace-lightwoodd @rainingpouringetc @thomastaircompassrose @kiwichaeng @yozinha-z @skirtsandsweaters @goodoldfashionednerd @have-a-holly-jolly-angstmas @who-beingloved-ispoor-blog @lightwoodsimp @americann-idiot @thomaslightwood @cant-think-of-anything

[flowersbloomuntiltheyrot]

Flowers Bloom Until They Rot and Fall Apart

Chapter 8 (PRESENT): When you're steps from winning back

Happy COT eve eve! It's crazy that we've been working on this fic on and off for over a year now! We've had this written for a while but life got a little hectic, whoops. Enjoy the next bit of this AU! We're really in it now... Title is from "flowers" by marina

CW: childhood cancer, discussions of mind control

Read on AO3 | Masterlist

Thomas came home just in time to start cooking lunch. He’d always loved to cook. His mother had taught him when he was young, and he loved trying out new things, improving recipes and such. He was the only one of his mother’s children who had much of an aptitude for cooking, Eugenia was more likely to set everything on fire because she was so impatient. 

Thomas made a spiced tomato soup which he paired with some bread. Tomato soup was one of Rosa’s favorites and he made a batch of it at least every week, varying with the spices and added ingredients such as vermicelli every once in a while. 

“How’s Rosa been?” Thomas asked when his mother entered the kitchen. 

“She’s played all morning, and she’s napping now,” Sophie said. “I’ll get her when you’re finished. She’ll always come for tomato soup.”

“I have another favor to ask,” Thomas said. “I, uh… am seeing someone. Tonight. I’ll still be here to put Rosa in bed, but if she wakes up or anything…”

“I’ll take care of her,” Sophie said. “Oh, Tommy, I’m so happy for you. Is he nice?” 

“Uh, we’ll see? I don’t really know him that well yet,” Thomas said. “I’m not getting my hopes up this early, but I think I’m ready to try.”

Thomas felt far from ready to try, but it was the best excuse he could come up with for why he’d be gone for the evening. If his parents asked for more details about what his date was like… he guessed he could describe Haoma. Not that that would ever happen, he reminded himself. Haoma was a criminal. Thomas didn’t think he was a bad person. Haoma had his own set of morals for sure, but it hadn’t escaped his notice how protective he was of that girl Clara. But that didn’t mean he was someone he wanted around Rosa. But what if it really was Alastair, a voice in his head whispered. 

“Tell me everything tomorrow,” Sophie said. 

There were downsides to being an adult living in the same house as his parents. Mainly that they had a tendency to be protective of him even though Thomas was a parent in his twenties. But the positives far outweighed the downsides, and Thomas didn’t think there was any shame in living with his parents as an adult.

He was divorced with a young child, and if he were to live alone then he’d have to find a babysitter or take her to a daycare when he had to work and couldn’t watch her. Now, between his parents and him there was always someone who could keep an eye on her when Thomas was working. 

“I will,” Thomas said. “I’ll tell Rosa I’m away for grown up business, I won’t tell her about anyone I’m seeing until it’s a relationship I’m sure about. She is still struggling to adjust to Emilio’s new boyfriend.”

It had stung, finding out about Emilio’s new partner. Mostly because Emilio had entered the relationship when he and Thomas had still lived together. It wasn’t cheating, at least not according to Emilio. By the time he’d entered that relationship, Thomas and Emilio were already sleeping in separate bedrooms and had decided to get a divorce. But they had still lived together. And Thomas… he’d assumed Emilio would wait. He’d moved back into his parents’ house the same day he’d found out. 

“Yes, I think that would be best,”  Sophie said. 

“The soup is almost finished, could you wake up Rosa?” he asked. 

Thomas poured the soup into bowls and toasted some bread alongside it. They would have plenty of soup for several days. 

Sophie came downstairs, carrying Rosa in her arms, who was still wearing her pajamas. She looked drowsy, and wasn’t wearing a wig. It was painful sometimes. At her young age she was already insecure about how she looked, because she didn’t know any princesses who were bald and Rosa wanted to be a princess. He was grateful to Lucie who’d written a story about a bald princess going on an adventure. 

“Are we eating soup?” Rosa asked. 

“Yes, mija. I made tomato soup. Are you very tired?”

“I’m not tired,” Rosa said. 

Unfortunately, she always said that. Rosa tended to get frustrated with how little energy she had sometimes and like most children her age she wasn’t very good at feeling when she’d become too tired and getting rest. Thomas often had to stop her early, if she exerted too much energy, her fatigue would get worse. 

“Okay. We’ll go play after lunch, alright?”

Thomas figured he’d get some work done in the gardens after playing with Rosa, she’d be tired again and he’d put a movie on for her. Lots of parents hated it when their children watched too much tv, but for Thomas the invention of streaming services was a gift sent from heaven. Rosa could still handle watching something when she was tired and it was easier to convince her to go watch a movie than to take a nap. Not to mention there were a lot of educational tv programs out there. 

At seven, Thomas put Rosa to bed and sang a Spanish lullaby for her until she fell asleep. Then he left to go meet with Haoma. They met at an abandoned warehouse not far from where the Shadow Market would be. It resembled  something out of a crime show he sometimes watches with his mother, and Thomas felt awfully out of place. 

“This is the potion,” Haoma said. “For your face and body. Best to drink it in one go.” 

The potion didn’t taste great, but it could be a lot worse. The sensation in his body was the worst part, like things were changing. Was it truly a shift, or more of an illusion? Thomas assumed the first when he was looking Haoma right in the eye. From a completely different angle, because he’d just shrunk at least 20 cm. His clothes had somehow adjusted to his new body, not only had he lost his height, but also some of his muscles. He hoped he wouldn’t have to do any heavy lifting because neither of them were appropriately built for that sort of thing. 

“This feels weird.” 

“You’re short now,” Haoma said. “Since you don’t want to be recognized or associated with the Shadow Market. Nobody’s going to see you at this height and think, that must be Thomas Lightwood.” 

“Fair point.”

“Of course it is, pipsqueak. Now, come on.”

Pipsqueak. It had been a long time since he’d been called that. It had been a long time since he’d been appropriately short for such a nickname. It had been something Alastair had called him before his growth spurt. Could it be…? Thomas sighed, there was no way of knowing, he could hardly ask Haoma. 

“Alright, show the way.”

Spending time with Thomas was a bad idea. Alastair knew that every moment they spent together risked outing his true identity. Unfortunately, they did need intel, and Alastair couldn’t think of a convincing excuse to revoke the invitation he’d extended. 

“Try to keep up, will you?” Alastair started quickly through the streets, weaving seamlessly from alleyway to alleyway, market stall to market stall, trying his best to remain in the shadows. He stopped abruptly, Thomas nearly crashing into him. 

Thomas was looking around wildly, taking in everything around him. “Is it always like this?” 

“Yes. Now try to look less like a first-timer to the Market. We’re almost at the location Clara gave me. The plan is to scout out the area, find a way to get Clara and I safely in and out with the thorns in hand, then leave. Keep low, keep quiet, and pray to whoever is out there that no one sees us. I don’t know how dangerous these people are.” 

Thomas nodded quickly. “I understand.” 

Alastair cursed himself for asking Thomas to join him. He had too much to lose. He had a family that needed him. What kind of person was he to put him in this sort of danger? Even a recon mission could go sour if you made the wrong move. 

They continued down an alley, slower, more careful this time. Alastair held out a hand to instruct Thomas to stop. There were too many people at the head of the alley to creep forward undetected. They stood there for a few moments before Thomas whispered, “What are we doing?” 

“Waiting.” 

And the waiting took a while, but it always did, regardless of how much time truly passed. Looking back at Thomas, he couldn’t help but feel pride in his potion work. Such a significant change in stature was no easy feat, and he couldn’t have accomplished it a few years earlier. Every time he turned around, he expected to see that towering, gorgeous buffoon behind him and felt a jolt of surprise when he saw disguised Thomas instead. 

He wondered what it was like to know him as Haoma, never sure what to expect when you turned to look at him. It was true that many people had different faces, that they had different personalities that came out with different people, but most didn’t display their different facets so plainly. No one could feel like they knew the true Haoma, but how often did anyone actually know someone’s true self, anyways? 

A couple of voices echoed through the alley. They were mainly talking business, passing back and forth names that sounded familiar but Alastair didn’t fully recognize. These weren’t the kinds of people he liked to associate with. 

“You think the girl will fill the bargain?” one of them asked. 

“‘Course not. I have no idea where he even found that thing. It’s probably hundreds of years old. I’d be surprised if she could even get it to sprout,” answered the other. 

“A shame, but I guess that’s life.” 

The sentiment lit a fire behind Alastair’s stoic gaze. He’d heard it all his life. He’d heard it on the news every time a new tragedy had befallen someone who didn’t deserve it. He’d heard it in his home every time he began to question his family’s toxic dysfunction. He understood why. It was easier than confronting the real issue. But that didn’t quell his anger at the fact that life wasn’t supposed to be this painful. It wasn’t supposed to be dangerous, especially not for a child. And he was tired of power-hungry bastards who seemed to disagree. 

Alastair took a few steadying breaths as they waited for the voices to dissipate . Then, he peered out, surveying the area, making note of the exit points. They wouldn’t be in his area of the Market, so they were at a disadvantage. 

After taking a few moments to take in their surroundings, they both retreated back into the shadows. 

“There are at least some alleyways that you could use as a getaway route,” Thomas commented. 

Alastair thought for a moment. “It’s true, but we can’t be sure where they’ll have guards posted. The Market is always busy on a full moon, maybe it would be best to take to the crowds, try to blend in that way.” 

“There’s also far more people who could try to stop you in a crowd.” 

“Also true. I…” Alastair approached his next idea cautiously. “I hate the idea of mind control probably even more than you do, but don’t you think, perhaps, it could be useful in this situation? If things go sideways?” 

“You’re suggesting that I give you thorns to make a mind control potion?” 

“Are you opposed?” 

Thomas thought for a moment, then shook his head. “Of course I’m opposed. How do I even know if I can trust you? Even if I can, what’s stopping that from ending up in someone else’s hands? What if they turn the potion on you, and you end up mind controlled?” 

“Those are all good points, but I’m good at what I do, Thomas. I’m good at protecting myself, and I believe that I’ll be good at protecting Clara, too. I prefer to deal with my problems through more traditional means such as sharp objects and illusory magic, but if we end up in a corner we can’t get out of, don’t you think it would be useful to have?” 

Thomas still seemed unconvinced, but before he could respond, they were interrupted. 

“Is someone there?” a woman called. 

Alastair flattened against the shadows, staying as still as possible while motioning for Thomas to do the same. 

It didn’t work. The woman was coming down the alley. 

Thomas looked ready to bolt, but that would only raise more suspicion. Alastair did the only thing he could think of in the moment. He crouched down against the wall of the alley, dragging Thomas by the collar with him, pulling him into a sloppy kiss. Thomas’ surprise eased as he fell into the kiss. Alastair did his best to play his part until a crack against the brick above his head sent them flying apart. 

“What do you kids think you’re doing?” The woman demanded. At a closer look, she looked to be getting on in years - 60s or 70s, perhaps - but she was by no means frail. She held a cane, but Alastair suspected it was as much an arcane focus as a mobility aid. 

Alastair giggled as if he were drunk. “So, so sorry, ma’am. We were just-” 

Her cane rapped against the brick again. “Yes, I know what you were doing. You shouldn’t be here. Get out.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Alastair answered. Without another word, he grabbed Thomas by the hand and started running down the alley, stumbling slightly, trying to keep up the act. He kept running until he was certain they were safe, and then he realized he was still holding Thomas’ hand. He promptly dropped it. 

“What was that?” 

“I- I’m so sorry about that. I needed to do something to get us out of there. Otherwise, we would have been made. At best, they would have known we were spying. At worst, well… I made a promise to myself that you’d get home safe tonight.” 

Thomas seemed a bit flustered. “I do suppose it was a clever move,” he admitted. 

“We should get out of here. We got what we needed. There’s no reason to push our luck.” 

Thomas only nodded. He was silent as he followed him back out of the maze of market stalls. When they finally reached the warehouse where they’d begun, Alastair pulled out another vial. “This is the antidote to the potion you took earlier.”

Thomas took it quickly, still not saying anything. He must be eager to get back to his normal self. 

“Are you alright to get yourself home from here?” 

Thomas nodded. 

“Thank you for your help tonight. I’ll see you soon.” 

Alastair began to walk away as Thomas called out, “Wait. I’ll give you the thorns. I’m sorry, I was shaken, but… You’re right. You should have a failsafe if you end up in a situation you can’t get out of. I trust you to use the thorns properly. Stop by tomorrow around 2:15.” 

“Alright,” he replied. Perhaps nearly getting caught had sparked a change of heart. Alastair wasn’t going to argue. “Thank you. See you tomorrow.” 

Thanks for reading! Send us your speculations on what will happen next :)

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[flowersbloomuntiltheyrot]

Flowers Bloom Until They Rot and Fall Apart

Chapter 7 (PAST): And the funny thing is, I would have married you

This chapter is dedicated to Zia @littlx-songbxrd for surviving her first mid terms in uni! To reward you I give you ✨️pain✨️.

Song title is from "Doomsday" by Lizzie McAlpine. It also takes place directly after chapter 6.

CW: Narcissistic abusive relationship

Read on AO3 | Masterlist

The December chill bit through Alastair’s sweatshirt as he waited at the door to Charles’ flat. The duffel bag over his shoulder was all he had now. He wondered if Charles would think it was childish, him running away, or if he would even let him stay. It didn’t matter; he refused to go back home. He couldn’t look his mother in the eyes knowing what she had hidden from him. He couldn’t bear the anger or the shame. 

The door swung open and a burst of warm air greeted him. It smelled like Charles had been cooking. Perhaps not his mother’s cooking, but it was comforting nonetheless. 

“Alastair,” Charles breathed. “I’m so glad you’re alright. I’ve been so worried since I heard what happened, and you weren’t responding to my texts.” Charles' gaze drifted to Alastair’s bag and then back to his bloodshot eyes. “Did something happen?” 

Alastair felt the tears coming back. He felt so weak and useless. Charles would never want him after seeing this side of him. Yet he welcomed him inside anyway, offering him tea and a kind ear. 

He told Charles more than he’d told anyone, even Thomas. He left out details, to be certain. Anything about his previous relationship or a particular stolen magical plant was cleanly off the table. Still, he told Charles about how difficult his childhood had been, if you could call it a childhood at all. He told him about the responsibilities and burdens that had fallen onto his shoulders. He rambled about how his mother watched him wait all night for Elias to return from his nights out, how she must have known someone was cleaning up the broken glass and refilling the empty bottles of booze but never ever tried to protect him. She only protected him now, now that it was useless, now that he was grown, now that Elias was dead. 

And throughout the entire boring, pitiful sob story, Charles stayed beside him. 

“I’m sorry for dumping this all on you.” 

“Don’t be,” Charles said softly. He placed a hand on Alastair’s back. “I’m sorry you had to carry the weight of this on your own for so long.” 

Alastair had forgotten what kindness and understanding felt like. He loved his family, but he always wore a mask around them. He was a pillar for them to lean on, one that could never, ever crumble. While there may have been love, there was never much time or energy for kindness. 

Thomas had been kind to him. Still, Alastair had hid so much from him, and then he repaid that kindness by betraying him in the most awful way. What would Charles think if he knew about his sins? Would he understand them or would he think him a monster?

Charles slowly moved his hand to Alastair’s cheeks, wiping away his tears. “I wish you could see how strong you are.” 

Alastair leaned in and kissed him then, pushing through all of the pain and the heartbreak. “I don’t want to think about it anymore.” 

Charles eagerly reciprocated his advances. “Then let me help you forget.” 

That evening, as they laid in Charles’ bed, tangled in bedsheets, Alastair’s phone began to buzz. 

Charles found it first. “Why is Thomas Lightwood calling you?” 

“No idea,” Alastair lied. 

When he’d rung him earlier, he’d expected his number to be blocked. In his frantic haze, he didn’t consider the possibility that Thomas would call him back. 

“Weren’t you two seeing each other?” 

Alastair flushed. “Yes, but not anymore. He’s probably just calling out of pity about my dad.” He snatched the phone from Charles’ hand, hitting the decline button and blocking the number. “It’s time I let go of the past, don’t you think? Maybe start something new?” 

Charles grinned. “Sounds perfect.”

***

“You’re going out?” Charles asked. 

“Yeah, I’m meeting Kamala for coffee. We’ve both been so busy with uni, we keep having to cancel.” The couple of days that Alastair meant to stay at Charles’ flat had turned into a few weeks which had now been two months. He couldn’t deny the way Charles’ face contorted at the mention of his friend. “What is it?” Alastair asked. 

“I just didn’t know you were still seeing her.” 

“She’s my friend, Charles. We’ve been friends for years.” 

“I know, it’s only… You said you were putting your past behind you.” 

“I am!” Alastair protested. “It’s different. I’m not- We’re just friends.” 

Charles sighed. “I wasn’t trying to upset you. You can obviously spend your time with whomever you’d like. I’m only trying to protect you. I can see how depressed you get sometimes after spending time with her. She reminds you of your old life. It makes sense, but I’m not sure how healthy it is.” 

Alastair hadn’t thought about it like that. He had gone to school with magically inclined students for so long that it was difficult to transition to an environment where everyone had more mundane abilities and interests. He didn’t make friends easily, so he clung to his old ones. He hadn’t noticed it, but he supposed Charles was right. He always felt a bit sad after seeing her, he felt a pang in his chest that missed potion making and wondered what his life could have been like if he wasn’t so great at screwing over everyone and anyone around him. 

“I think you’re right,” Alastair told him. “If she had it her way, we wouldn’t even be together.” She didn’t know who he was dating, but she knew he wasn’t living at home anymore. One evening, he accidentally let it slip that he was staying with his old TA when he told her he was switching tracks to study politics. She wasn’t shy to express her skepticism about the relationship. 

“I don’t want to make decisions for you,” Charles said. “But she doesn’t sound like much of a friend to me.” 

“She doesn’t mean any harm, but… I think we’re just too different now. You’re right, it isn’t good for me.” He sighed and pulled out his phone, shooting her a quick text that he wasn’t going to be able to make it. And when Kamala would reach out a few hours later to reschedule, Alastair would never respond. “Done.”

Charles tilted his head. “I’m really sorry, Alastair. I know things have been tough. Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?”

“I can think of a few things.” 

***

Alastair hated his job. He hated politics, actually, but it was what he had a degree in and it was the field Charles had connections in, so he couldn’t see any way out of it. Nearly every day since graduation he came home drained and depressed, and he didn’t know how much longer he could go on like this. 

Charles didn’t seem taken with the same afflictions. He thrived in this environment, relying on his charisma and charm and a few carefully placed lies. While it took everything out of Alastair, it seemed to energize Charles. It seemed that the two of them were just built for different kinds of lives. 

Occasionally, the thought of leaving crept up on Alastair. You could do it, a voice would say. Perhaps it was his own voice, but he didn’t recognize it. You could pack up your things and leave. But the thought was quickly thwarted, because where exactly would he go? Back to a family he hadn’t seen in years? To friends he’d long since abandoned? He had nearly nothing to his name that wasn’t tied to Charles aside from the debt he’d acquired getting his degree. Even his job was tied to Charles’ connections. No, he couldn’t leave. He had nowhere to go. That thought only existed to taunt him. 

One evening in late summer, he arrived home to find a small piece of cardstock on the table in the entryway. An invitation. To a wedding. Thomas’ wedding. Suddenly it felt like he was in a dead sprint at 5000 meters high, gasping for breath but so little oxygen filling his lungs. It was dizzying and nauseating all at once, but he bit back the urge to cry. 

It had been so long since he thought about Thomas. At first, it felt like the aching, the longing, the missing him would never end. But then it did. Or at the very least, he forgot about Thomas long enough to forget that he was supposed to be heartbroken. He should be happy for Thomas. Every rational part of him was happy, happy that he moved on and found someone who would treat him well, someone who would marry him. These days, however, it felt like the rational parts of him were melting away, leaving behind something else, something much uglier. 

“I knew it.” Charles’ voice startled Alastair out of his spiral. “I knew you still had feelings for him. Everything I’ve done to love you and care for you and still I’m not good enough.” 

“Did you… leave this here for me to find?” 

“It shouldn’t matter, Alastair! He moved on, and I thought that you had, too. I thought that you loved me!” 

“I do! Of course I do. I love you, I love you more than anything. I was just startled by it, that’s all. I hadn’t thought about Thomas in, like, years, honestly. It just caught me off guard. Please, Charles, I would never do anything to hurt you.” 

“I don’t believe you.” The pain across Charles’ face felt like a stab in the chest. 

“Please,” Alastair begged. “I don’t love him, I haven’t in years. I haven’t since we were kids. What you and I have, it’s different. It’s something I’d never imagined I could have, not even in my wildest dreams. I’ve never met anyone who makes me feel alive the way you do. Please, let me prove to you how much I love you.” 

Charles took a step forward, hanging his head in defeat. “Okay.” 

***

The duffel bag was open on the floor, but Alastair didn’t know how to fill it. His entire body felt numb. 

It’s over, Alastair. I’m done. I can’t do this anymore. 

Every breath he took felt like knives through his chest. He’d never felt pain like this before. He felt empty, lost, confused. Nowhere to go. He was a ghost. He had nothing, no one, not even a home. He knew he needed to start packing, that the longer he stayed in this house the worse it would be, but every movement felt like his body was made of lead. 

Only a fool wouldn’t have seen this coming. You’re exhausting, Alastair, you’re exhausting to be around. I’ve given you everything I can, and what have you given me, huh? Some half-decent sex? The worst part of it is, you don’t even love me. I can see it in your eyes. I’ve spent nearly every day of the past five years with you, taking care of you, loving you, putting up with all of your stupid bullshit and you don’t even love me. 

Alastair tried to protest, but there was no use. 

I have to go out of town this weekend for work. Be gone by the time I get back. 

In truth, Alastair didn’t have much to pack. Most of what he had, aside from a few gifts that he didn’t care to keep anyways, belonged to Charles. Still, it took him the better part of the afternoon. He threw some clothes in a bag and packed the rest of it in a box with his books. Five years and this was all he had to show for it. In the end, he left the box behind. He’d come back for it. It wouldn’t survive the rain pouring down outside. 

He probably should have taken the bus or called a taxi, but he couldn’t manage looking anyone in the eye at that moment. Instead, he simply started walking. He didn’t even know where he was going until he knocked on the front door. He instantly retreated back down the steps. What was he doing?

His soaked and freezing body went still as he looked at his mother for the first time in far too long. 

“You’re early-” she began to say before realizing who was standing in front of her. “Sorry, I thought you were Jem.” 

Alastair could only stare at her. She seemed so calm, so casual, even after everything he’d done to her, to their family. Could forgiveness be that easy?

She stepped out into the rain to greet him, but she didn’t seem to mind the cold or the years of radio silence as she pulled him into a tight hug. 

Alastair could find no words. He simply clung to her as his breathing became ragged with sobs, his tears melding with the rain. 

“It’s okay,” she said soothingly, softly, in a language Alastair thought he had forgotten. “It’s okay, jigar tala. It’s okay, you’re home.” 

For the first time in five years, Alastair felt the warmth of his mother’s embrace. He breathed in the smell of his family’s cooking. He heard the sound of his sister laughing. For the first time in five years, Alastair Carstairs felt hope.

Fun fact! Originally, this ended with Sona telling Alastair he was home, but I added the last bit after today's snippet.

Also, what happens at the end is something called a narcissistic discard. Essentially, a narcissist decides to end a relationship because the other person is no longer useful to them. For example, when someone no longer presents a challenge to the narcissist, they no longer give their narcissistic friend/partner the same satisfaction, so they are discarded. Narcissists often return later to try to pull their friend/partner back into the narcissistic relationship, but in this case, please know that when Charles returns to get back together with Alastair, Risa chases him away with a shovel :)

Thanks so much for reading! Your support means the world :) Taglist: @life-through-the-eyes-of @styxdrawings @justanormaldemon @ipromiseiwillwrite @a-dream-dirty-and-bruised @all-for-the-fanfiction @amchara @ddepressedbookworm @wagner-fell @imsoftforthomastair @queenlilith43 @stxr-thxif @lifewouldbebetteronmars @littlx-songbxrd @sheisbeautyweareworldass @ikissedsmithparker @bookswitchcraftandcats @jamesherondaleofficial @livingformyself @anarmorofwords @sapphic-in @fortheloveofthecarstairs @tessherongraystairs @thewarthatsavedmylife-blog @grace-lightwoodd @rainingpouringetc @thomastaircompassrose @kiwichaeng @yozinha-z @skirtsandsweaters @goodoldfashionednerd @have-a-holly-jolly-angstmas @who-beingloved-ispoor-blog @lightwoodsimp @americann-idiot @thomaslightwood @cant-think-of-anything

[flowersbloomuntiltheyrot]

Flowers Bloom Until They Rot and Fall Apart

Chapter 7 (PRESENT): Doomsday is Close at Hand

The next present chapter, where Haoma, Thomas and Clara discuss their plans from now on. The title is from Doomsday by Lizzy McAlpine! Happy Alastair appreciation month! I'll tastefully wait until October to put him through anything too traumatic (read: I just haven't had time to finish it). @alastair-appreciation-month Content Warnings: Mentions of parental death and addiction

AO3 | Masterlist

Alastair - or rather, Haoma - sat in a bustling cafe, nearly every table filled. Crowd provided cover. He saw Clara enter and flagged her down. She wouldn’t recognize this face - it was androgynous with sharp features and long, straight black hair. At one angle he could present as a man but with a slight turn of his head, he could be seen as a woman. It was one of his favorite creations. 

Clara ordered a small drink and sat down opposite him. “Thank you for meeting me a bit early,” he told her. 

She shrugged. “You said you wanted to discuss something?” 

“I do. I thought it might be wise to discuss what will happen if our friend we’re meeting with does not bear the news you’re hoping to hear.” 

She swallowed. “You mean… if we can’t grow the thorns in time?” 

“It’s a possibility. There’s also a possibility that the thorns grow but the flower does not blossom, or we decide not to use it.” 

His suggestion lit a fire behind her eyes. “Why would we ever do that? It’s not a we, anyways, that flower’s mine!” 

“The flower of a seed you can’t grow in a potion you don’t know how to brew? I don’t intend to cause offense - it’s only that your mother has made it clear that this isn’t what she wants.” 

“My mother doesn’t know what she wants! It’s not like she’s been the picture of good decision-making, anyways. She’s sick and dying, and she doesn’t know what’s best for her, but I do!” 

Alastair knew this would never be an argument he could win. “You’re right. I apologize. I didn’t mean to overstep. I only meant to ask - do you have a plan for what happens if you’re not able to cure her in time? Where you’ll go, what you’ll do?” Alastair had still had his family when his father passed, even if he pushed them away. To his understanding, Clara had nothing. No father, no extended family. If he had to guess, she probably didn’t have many friends to speak of either. She hadn’t had much of an opportunity to be a teenager. He knew what that was like. 

“I don’t see how any of this is your business,” she said finally. 

“I suppose it’s not,” he admitted. “I only wanted to tell you that you have a place with me, if you need it.” 

Her head snapped up to meet his eyes. “What?” 

“Not with Haoma, of course. But in my civilian life, if you want to call it that. I will not allow you to join me in the Shadow Market, but you would have a safe place to live. You could finish school.” 

She shook her head. “I still don’t understand why you’re even helping me. And this - why?” 

Alastair spoke softly. “I lost a parent myself when I was a bit older than you are now. I’d spent so long taking care of him, then resenting him… When he died, I- Well, let’s just say I trusted the wrong person. I might not have sworn a blood oath to him, but…” His mind felt foggy, weighed down by memory. He took a breath and centered himself. “It nearly killed me nonetheless. I wish I could say I have the answers, that I could give you some magic piece of advice that would make everything so much clearer, but it doesn’t exist. So if there’s any way for me to make this a little bit easier, to give you one less thing to worry about, I want to try.” 

Clara didn’t respond for several minutes. “What’s going to happen to me if we don’t get the thorns?” she asked hesitantly. 

He wanted to tell her not to worry, that he was confident in Thomas’ abilities and they won’t let anything happen to her, but that would be a lie. “Failure to fulfill a blood oath results in death. Of course, you could void the blood oath if you and the other party came to an agreement. It would normally involve some sort of payment.” 

“A payment? Like money?” she asked, but Alastair’s expression stilled her. “Like… servitude?” 

“Perhaps,” he admitted. 

“I’ll think about it. If I make it through this, I’ll think about it.” 

“You’ll make it through.” 

Clara exhaled. “You don’t know that.” 

“I don’t, but I have hope. And I have faith in our friend. I’m fairly sure he could make a water lily grow in the desert.” 

Alastair saw Thomas enter the cafe out of the corner of his eye, as if on cue. His expression was neutral, which was both concerning and confusing. Thomas was never one to spend much energy hiding his emotions. If he’d been successful in producing the thorns, he should be smiling. If the news was bad, he should be frowning, maybe even panicked. Instead, Thomas’ face was stony, unreadable. He didn’t know what to make of it. 

“Speak of the devil,” he said, standing, waving Thomas over. 

“Good afternoon,” he said, greeting them both. His composure softened at the sight of Clara. 

“This is Clara, the young lady I told you about.” 

Thomas extended a hand towards her before sitting down. “It’s nice to meet you, Clara, I’m Thomas.” 

Thomas smiled at her and the tension in her shoulders visibly relaxed. Tom was always good with kids in the same way he was good with everyone else. It was another reason why their relationship never would have worked in the end. Alastair couldn’t stop his chest from tightening. What was he doing, offering to take Clara in? How could someone like him, a criminal creature of the night, ever be a parental figure for her? How could he ever give her the kind of home she deserved? She belonged with someone like Thomas, not him. Someone kind and compassionate, selfless and brave. He was just a coward who couldn’t even bring himself to tell his mother what he truly did for work. 

Alastair swallowed, pushing aside his thoughts. They were here for a purpose, and the end of the month was very quickly approaching. There was no time for his self-doubt. He was Haoma, not Alastair. He was confident and skilled and always got the job done. “Do you have any news for us, Thomas?” 

“Were you able to grow the thorns?” Clara asked more directly. 

“I was,” Thomas said, “But I’m afraid I can’t give them to you.” 

\* * *

“What do you mean?” the girl, Clara, asked.

She was so young, it pained Thomas to see her. She was a child and she should be in school or going to the mall with her friends after her last period. Not here, making deals with people from the Shadow Market out of desperation, risking her own life in the process. 

“I grew the thorns, and in doing so I found out what their purpose is,” Thomas said. “Mind control. Very potent, too, brewed into the right potion they could make people do anything. So I cannot in good conscience give them away. The damage they could do is simply too great.”

Both Haoma and Clara looked concerned. Haoma was wearing a different face today. Long black hair, sharp angular features, brown skin. From one angle, Haoma appeared masculine while from the other he appeared more feminine. Thomas wondered if that had been on purpose, and if so, why? Perhaps he just found it difficult to imagine, changing your face as often as you changed clothes. Did Haoma seek to stand out with his faces, or blend in? Thomas imagined he wouldn’t want to be recognized, but with how often he changed his face, no one would even with a face that drew attention. 

“That is concerning,” Haoma said. “But if we do not give the thorns, and Clara cannot renegotiate with the people who gave her that seed, she will die.”

Thomas fell silent. That was true. It was an impossible dilemma. Give the thorns, and accept any consequences mind control could bring. Or let a teen girl die for her mistakes.

Haoma showed more concern on his face than Thomas would have expected. It was still rather subtle, but this face seemed a little more expressive than some of the others. 

“The people who made the deal, did they expect her to succeed in growing the plant? Would they be willing to renegotiate if she claims to have failed?”

Thomas couldn’t imagine they had expected her to succeed, they would have known she couldn’t grow it herself. 

“Likely, but for a price,” Haoma said grimly and Clara turned pale with fear as Haoma spoke.

Also not an option, then. Thomas wasn’t sure what such people wanted from a teen girl and it was not something he was eager to find out.

“What if we gave the thorns, and fulfilled Clara’s end of the bargain, and then stole them back?” Thomas said then.

A small smile appeared on Haoma’s face. “Now that is a plan. I didn’t knew you had it in you, Lightwood. But before we gave the thorns we’d need to be sure of a way to steal them back. As you said, the consequences of a mind control potion going in circulation could be bad for all of us.”

Thomas would be able to resist it due to his poison resistance, but his was a rare ability and this potion could be used on anyone. Politicians. Powerful magic users. 

“Do you know anything about these people? Their hide out, where they might make their potions?”

“They wore masks,” Clara said. “And I met them at the Shadow Market. Do you think they’ll come after me if someone steals the thorns? Even if I do fulfill my end of the bargain, they could still blame me.”

“Perhaps,” Haoma said. “But you must agree that it is the safest option, right?”

Clara nodded, defeated.

“I’ll do what I can to keep you safe,” Haoma added. “That means you need to lie low for now, and stay away from the Shadow Market. And I think Thomas and I should go to the Shadow Market tonight and find out more about these people, so we can work out a plan. Would that work for you?”

“My parents just returned from their trip, they can watch Rosa,” Thomas said. “But they do not know what is going on, and I don’t think they should.”

Thomas considered what excuses he could make to his parents for his absence. He remembered a conversation he’d had with his mother a couple of weeks ago. She’d told him he was doing amazing for Rosa, but he was allowed time for himself too. She would have no issue watching Rosa if he needed a night off. She’d encouraged him to try dating again. He guessed that would be a decent excuse.

“I could help at the Shadow Market,” Clara offered, but Haoma soon cut her off.

“No. I need you to stay safe. Thomas and I can handle this. And if you need, I can brew you a potion to give you a different face too.”

“Yes, thank you.”

Thomas’ main reservation about this whole business was that his involvement might put Rosa at risk. If he visited the Shadow Market wearing a different face, they might never connect that man to Thomas Lightwood. After all, Haoma had thrived for quite some time on the Shadow Market and as far as Thomas knew no one had figured out his real identity. Thomas suspected. But he couldn’t be sure.

“What about the flower?” Clara asked. “Will it bloom?”

“It will,” Thomas said. “But I cannot make any promises as to when. There is a small bud, so I suspect it will be soon. Do you have a prognosis for the person you wish to save?”

“The doctors say she has two more months. It could be more with chemo, but she doesn’t want that.”

Thomas didn’t think Clara understood her mother’s choice to stop the chemo. He guessed it was a difficult and sometimes hard to understand choice. But Thomas had seen the harm done by chemo, he’d seen how sick Rosa had gotten. They’d given her chemo anyway because her chances of making a full recovery were high with the treatment. But if there was no chance of recovery and all chemo could give was a slightly longer life span, he wasn’t sure it would be worth the side effects. It might be better, then, to enjoy the time you had left with what remained of your health.  

“I think it is likely the flower will bloom before then,” Thomas said. “But it is not something I have any control over. It will bloom when it’s ready and no earlier.”

Thanks for reading! Taglist: @life-through-the-eyes-of @styxdrawings @justanormaldemon @ipromiseiwillwrite @a-dream-dirty-and-bruised @all-for-the-fanfiction @amchara @ddepressedbookworm @wagner-fell @imsoftforthomastair @queenlilith43 @stxr-thxif @chaos-and-starlight @lifewouldbebetteronmars @littlx-songbxrd @sheisbeautyweareworldass @ikissedsmithparker @bookswitchcraftandcats @jamesherondaleofficial @livingformyself @anarmorofwords @sapphic-in @fortheloveofthecarstairs @tessherongraystairs @thewarthatsavedmylife-blog @grace-lightwoodd @rainingpouringetc @thomastaircompassrose @kiwichaeng @yozinha-z @skirtsandsweaters @goodoldfashionednerd @have-a-holly-jolly-angstmas @who-beingloved-ispoor-blog @lightwoodsimp @americann-idiot @thomaslightwood @cant-think-of-anything

[flowersbloomuntiltheyrot]

Flowers Bloom Until they Rot and Fall Apart

Chapter 6 (Past): And I'll love you to the end

I had this one finished for a while but wanted to wait with posting it so you wouldn't have to wait too long for chapter 7, which we are currently working on.

This past chapter is from Thomas' POV again and continues directly after the previous Thomas past chapter, which was posted ages ago so if you need a refresher I'd recommend reading past chapter 4 first.

The title is from The End of the Earth by Marina. CW: death, hospital setting

Thomas didn’t know what to do. The flower was gone, and he had no idea who had taken it. Barbara was very sick, and her chances without that flower weren’t good. Who could have known about the flower anyway? Thomas had always made sure not to let it slip as his parents had told him, he’d known people would try to steal it. 

Defeated, he returned to the hospital. The least he could do was be with Barbara. The graduation ball would be tonight, but Thomas didn’t think he should be going. 

Thomas followed his father’s instructions to get back to Barbara’s room and texted uncle Henry that they would not be needing his help anymore as he’d lost the flower. Uncle Henry knew about the flower, but he was one of the very few. He tried to remember the last time he’d seen the flower. It was the day before Alastair had come to sleep over, he’d gone to care for the flower, water it and add some fresh soil. It had been there, thriving, ready to be used if they chose to. 

“What happened, Tom?” his father asked.

Barbara was asleep, lying in her bed, tied to many monitors and IV lines. She’d been moved to the ICU, which Thomas knew was where the very sick patients went. She was shivering in her sleep, covered in sweat. The purple spots were on her arms and neck too now. 

“The flower is gone.” Thomas could barely get the words out. “I don’t know what happened… Someone must have broken in and taken it.”

“That’s not possible,” his father said. “The estate is protected with spellwork. If someone had broken in, the magic would have detected them and an alarm would have gone off.”

Thomas’s breath hitched. No one had broken in. Which could mean only one thing: the thief had been invited onto the grounds. There was really only one person who could have done it. Alastair. 

But why would he? What did he need the flower for? Alastair was a skilled potion maker, but Thomas wasn’t so sure he would risk death making this potion himself. And why?  If he had a real reason to need it, why hadn’t he just asked? He would have given it. Thomas guessed maybe he had sold it rather than use it. It would fetch a nice price on the shadow market.

“I need to go,” Thomas said.

“Are you sure?” His father asked. “Wouldn’t you rather stay with Barbara?”

“Alastair must have taken the flower. Perhaps he hasn’t used it yet. Perhaps it is not yet too late.”

Even as he said it, Thomas realized it was unlikely. He must have taken it a week ago, and the flower would not survive that long on its own. Unless he had made the potion himself, he must have sold it already. There was no way he could get it back. But even then, he wanted a reason. Alastair owed him that. 

***

Thomas had thought threatening Alastair would make him feel better. He’d thought he could get a reason out of him, an explanation for what he’d done. Instead, Thomas had realized Alastair had been after the flower all this time, long before Thomas had told him about it. Alastair had never truly loved him, and Thomas felt awful. He’d trusted him, he’d loved him. And now his sister was going to die. 

When he returned to the hospital, Barbara was still asleep, and his parents, Eugenia and Oliver were sitting at her bed. 

“The flower is gone,” Thomas said.

He hadn’t asked if Alastair still had it, if he could have it back. But if he still did, surely he would have given it back once he realized Barbara was dying? 

“The doctor from the evening shift just left,” his father said. There were tears in his eyes. “They increased the dosage of morphine, the best they can do right now is make sure she’s not in pain.”

“Is there nothing else they can do?” Thomas whispered.

“They said it’s already too late.”

Thomas collapsed onto a chair. How could it be too late already? 

“She was fine this morning. She said she had a headache, but that was all. We went to the hospital just she became feverish and we noticed the spots. How can it be too late already?”

“You did the best you could, Tommy,” his mother said. “The doctor said there’s nothing any of us could have done.”

Except he could have, if only he hadn’t lost the flower. That potion was supposed to cure everything, it would have saved Barbara. 

Thomas took Barbara’s hand. She still felt so warm and feverish, she was still holding on to her life. He couldn’t believe that she wasn’t going to make it. She was going to pull through, fight off the infection. He still didn’t quite understand what was wrong with her, why she had gotten so sick so fast. It didn’t make any sense. 

They ended up staying with her all night, and Barbara didn’t wake up anymore. Apparently the doctors kept her asleep. Thomas wished he could say goodbye while she was awake to hear it, but he didn’t want her to die scared and in pain either. He knew this was for the best. 

And yet he kept expecting her to wake up, a bit better and a bit stronger. He still expected her to recover. Barbara was twenty three, and you weren’t supposed to die at that age. She had a boyfriend, she had her whole life planned out. She’d wanted to get married and start having children. She would have been an amazing mother.

Barbara died just after six in the morning. Thomas ran out to find a nurse, a young woman around Barbara’s age who broke down crying and left instead. Of course, this was the hospital where Barbara had worked. This girl might be someone who knew her. She looked around Barbara’s age, perhaps they’d even gone to nursing school together. Not much later a different, older nurse entered the room alongside a doctor. To check if she was really dead? 

Both offered their condolences, and Thomas didn’t know what to do. He still couldn’t quite believe it had happened so fast, so sudden. She couldn’t be gone. And it was all his fault. He’d trusted the wrong person and had lost the one thing that could have saved her.

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[flowersbloomuntiltheyrot]

Flowers Bloom Until they Rot and Fall Apart

Chapter 6 (Present): Tell me, why do we fight?

Sorry for the wait, but I think this chapter is also longer than the average chapter and features a museum date (sort of) so I hope that makes up for it. The title is from The End of the Earth by Marina.

Alastair saw the time on his digital alarm clock and cursed, jumping out of bed. He’d returned from the Shadow Market a few hours ago and had intended only to sleep an hour or two but had severely overslept. He had less than an hour before he was meant to meet Thomas downtown. Luckily, Bob was taking his late morning nap, so he wouldn’t need to worry about jumping over him.

He attempted to quickly style his hair and freshen up. He even added a bit of make-up, covering up the circles under his eyes and making himself look a bit more put-together. It was far from his usual routine, but it would do. He decided that it was for the best that he woke up so late. If he hadn’t, he would have spent much longer trying to choose his outfit, fretting over whether he would look too formal or too casual. In the end, he threw on a nice shirt and tight black jeans and rushed out the door.

He would have exactly enough time to get there using the metro. When he was younger, he’d show up to any appointment incredibly early. Unreasonably early, if he was being honest. Looking back on it, he attributed it to a mix of anxiety, a need to feel in control, and simply wishing to spend as little time at home as possible.

Now, it was less that he’d grown out of his habit, and more that he now had an increasing list of hurdles he needed to jump over in order to go anywhere, nevermind get there early. Thomas was also religiously early to everything when they were teenagers, and though it had worked well for them back then, he hoped that he’d also fallen into slightly more tardy habits.

Lost in his thoughts on his walk from the metro station to the art museum, he almost didn’t notice a car quickly turning left onto the street as he started across the crosswalk. He jumped away as the car swerved and its brakes squeaked.

“Hey-” he began to shout until he recognized the person in the driver’s seat.

“Did no one ever teach you to look both- Alastair?” Thomas’ defensiveness retreated as he came to the same realization.

“Hello, Thomas. Did no one ever teach you what a crosswalk was?”

Thomas’ pale skin reddened. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

Alastair glanced down the street. The museum was still a couple of blocks away. “I’m fine,” he said as he approached the passenger side door. He signaled for Thomas to unlock it and climbed in. “You know, I had you pegged as a more responsible driver.”

“I am!” Thomas said quickly and he carefully continued down the road, garnering discontempt from the cars behind them. “I was just nervous about being late. I'd forgotten to pack Osito when I dropped off Rosa so I had to go back for him.”

Alastair glanced at the clock. “Ironically enough, it seems we met right on time.”

“You don’t drive, I take it?”

“Yeah, you know, I asked my dad to teach me, but then he ghosted me.”

Thomas looked absolutely mortified. “I’m so sorry-”

Alastair smiled. “Relax, I’m just joking. I know how to drive, but my flat’s downtown so it’s just easier to walk places. Well, when my exes aren't trying to mow me down in crosswalks.”

"Has this happened before?"

"Ha, no, I'm happy to tell you that you're the first." He watched Thomas' tension begin to ease as he pulled into a parking space. While he was certainly different from the teenager Alastair knew many years ago, he was still breathtakingly beautiful. The type of beauty that could be showcased in a museum like the one they were visiting. It made Alastair's pulse quicken at the thought of it. "What made you want to meet up with me, anyways?"

"Oh... I just thought it would be nice to catch up. It seems we've both been busy since our school days."

Alastair tried to search Thomas' face. Did he suspect that he was more closely tied to Hoama than was let on in the gardens? "You certainly have. Your life seems like something out of a made-for-television movie."

Thomas blushed. "That's not true."

"Sure it is. You’ve got the backstory, now all that’s left is for you to visit a small town, be taken in by the locals, and meet some charming young stranger who teaches you the true meaning of life, far away from the stress of the big city. Or something along those lines. It makes less depressing background noise than the news.”

“It seems as though you’ve got me all figured out.” Alastair couldn’t tell if Thomas was amused or annoyed. “And what about you? I feel like I hardly know anything about you.” 

“Me?” Alastair asked as they walked through the front doors and were ushered through security. He hoped that the distraction would pull Thomas off of the question. "The temporary exhibition is on the second floor. It's about the history of magic usage throughout the ages. Or we could go to the main gallery if you'd like?" 

"Either is fine with me. So, what have you been up to lately?" No luck getting out of that, then.

“Oh… nothing too interesting. I don’t want to bore you. I graduated from university and then started working.” It wasn’t a lie, technically. 

“Where do you work?” 

Alastair smiled. He wasn’t often asked about his work, but he was ready for when he was. “I work in the public affairs department of a non-profit, mostly policy advising with some public relations. It’s nothing exciting, though it gets more busy when we run big events or fundraisers.” 

“That’s so interesting. What is the organization called?” 

“This is starting to feel like a job interview," he said with a small smile. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.” Though Thomas was behaving like his typical, kind self, his words felt empty. Alastair could feel an icy gaze on his skin. Did he ask him here to talk about the flower and was only making small talk? Or did he suspect he was Haoma after all? 

“It’s alright, it’s called Neighboring Hands. We mainly do outreach with immigrants in the community, providing resources and legal advising.” The organization was real, he’d first encountered it when they ran a fundraiser alongside the center for survivors of domestic violence that he and his mother were involved in. He even volunteered with them on the weekends when they needed extra hands. It was the type of career that he thought he could be happy in, were he not so taken with potion-making. 

“That sounds… meaningful. How did you decide to get involved with that?” 

“Well, most of the jobs I could find with my political science degree were truly miserable.” That wasn’t a lie, either. The first year he spent working after graduation when he was still with Charles was the most soul-sucking of his life, for more reasons than one. “This was one where I felt I could be happy, and it’s nice to connect with people.” He paused. “What about you? How is the botany business?” 

“It’s going well. I mean, every year the government passes more and more restrictions on what we can and can’t grow, what we can and can’t sell, but it’s more of a nuisance than anything else. We recently acquired a new client who is… unique, to say the least.” 

Alastair feigned ignorance. “How so?” 

“They wear different faces, never showing anyone their true identity.” 

“How do you even get involved with someone like that?” 

“Well, you would know, wouldn’t you? They go by Haoma now, though you knew them by a different name, didn’t you?” 

***

Alastair had never shown much emotion on his face, Thomas remembered that well. Instead, he’d learnt over the years they’d spent together how to read the subtle changes in his demeanor. He could tell he’d caught Alastair off guard. 

“What are you trying to say?” Alastair asked stiffly. 

“He didn’t mean to, but he betrayed that he’d made a potion out of Light’s Root flower once,” Thomas said. 

He paused and looked away from Alastair. He wanted nothing more than to have answers, an explanation, but was he truly ready for what Alastair would have to tell? Was he brave to ask? Thomas took a deep breath, it was now or never.

He looked Alastair in the eye. “Why did you do it?” 

Alastair evaded his gaze, instead looking at a painting of a historical potion maker. A man, with shoulder length wavy dark hair hunched over a cauldron. Thomas guessed it was the kind of face he could picture Haoma wearing. 

“I needed the flower to heal my father.” 

Thomas frowned. “And did it?” 

“Yes. Not in the way I had expected though.” 

Thomas had no idea what to make of that statement. “So why didn’t you just ask? If you’d told me you needed to heal your father, I would have helped.”

Alastair looked back at him, his dark eyes piercing Thomas’. “If there’s one thing I do not regret, it is that I did not ask for your help. Because you would have given me the flower, and then your sister would still have died.”

Thomas looked away from Alastair, focusing very hard on the painting of a magical garden. The plants looked similar to the ones he had at home, he recognized the blue roses, the glowing peony. 

 “How did you know about the flower?” Thomas asked. “My family always kept it secret, but you knew about it before I ever showed you.”

“My father knew,” Alastair said. “One of my ancestors was friends with a Lightwood and his journal was passed down in the family. He told me about the flower.”

“And was he the one who asked you to steal it?” 

Thomas wasn’t sure he liked the answers Alastair was giving him. All this time he’d believed Alastair had sold the flower for a fortune, that he had no heart or soul and that nothing between them had been real.

“He did,” Alastair said in a tone that indicated he didn’t want to talk about it any more and Thomas wasn’t sure how much more he needed to know. 

While he was curious what Alastair had wanted to save his father from, and how it had not worked the way he’d intended, he wasn’t sure he could ask that. He wasn’t sure it mattered. What mattered was that Alastair had wanted to help someone he cared for, someone in his family, and he’d been willing to steal for that person. 

Did that justify the theft? Thomas didn’t know. He wanted to be mad, because how was it fair that Elias had gotten to live when Barbara had died? He hadn’t even lived for much longer, he’d died in a car accident half a year later. 

Whatever he thought of Alastair’s methods, he would have to reconcile with the fact that Alastair had not acted out of malice, nor for financial gain. He’d wanted to save someone. 

The Light’s Root belonged to the Lightwood family, and his family had always advised against using it. Long before Thomas had been born, his grandfather Benedict Lightwood had used the flower to cure a progressive infection he’d gotten by having sex with creatures he’d summoned from the abyss. For some reason, he’d gotten reinfected not much later. His use of the flower had been in vain.

And yet, Thomas had always felt like the power should have been his. He’d tended to the plant, nurtured it until it had grown the flower. He hadn’t intended to use it if it weren’t for Barbara. But he’d also believed it was meant to be his choice, his flower, to be used when he felt it was right. But did he really have any more right to the flower than anyone else? 

“But why didn’t you tell me? You couldn’t have known I’d end up regretting giving you the flower.”

"Because... it was everything I never told you. I was too ashamed. I'm certain you've heard the rumors by now, the ones about how my father lived and how he died."

Thomas had always suspected Alastair didn’t have a great relationship with his father and the few times he’d  met Elias he’d found him strange, distant, unkind. There had been rumors then. A warrior fallen from glory. And when he’d died in that car accident, he’d heard rumors Elias had been drunk. So that was the ailment Alastair had meant to cure with the flower. Thomas didn’t know what to say. 

“I wish you would have told me sooner.” 

"I was planning to, before Barbara got sick and the guilt just became too much. But if I'm being honest, I don't think I would have been able to do it. It took a very long time to be able to speak honestly about my father. By the time I had it figured out, I didn't know you anymore. I wish I could give you better closure."

Thomas couldn’t imagine what that must have been like, the guilt Alastair had carried with him. Often in his life, Thomas had felt he was too kind, too understanding. Sometimes it was just easier to be pissed at someone even when they had a good reason for what they’d done, but Thomas was always looking for a reason, an explanation, and he had always understood other people too well to remain angry for long. With Alastair, he just hadn’t known and so he’d assumed the worst. To protect himself, he guessed, from the conflict of emotions going through his head right now. 

“I’m glad you told me,” Thomas said. “Although I admit I am curious how you were able to find someone like Haoma to make the potion for you.”

“It’s not as hard as you’d think,” Alastair said. “You go to the shadow market and ask around for a potion maker. People do it all the time.” 

“Can’t say I’ve ever been to one,” Thomas said.

He wasn’t sure if he trusted Alastair’s story. On one hand, it made sense Haoma was older than he appeared, it made sense a skilled potion maker like him had made the potion for Alastair. On the other hand, Alastair had always been exceptional with potions. He was clever, had the drive, the interest. Could he have made the potion himself in his teens? Thomas didn’t know. Who did when it came to Alastair Carstairs? 

He went over Alastair’s job story in his head. He didn’t know how active Haoma was in the shadow market, but if he worked his job part time he guessed it was possible to combine it with being in the shadow markets at night sometimes. He couldn’t imagine the hours, but with a little girl who’d been sick a lot, he’d been through many sleepless nights. It was possible. 

“I wouldn’t have expected you to,” Alastair said. “Nor did I think you’d be willing to work with someone like Haoma.”

“It’s for a good cause, I don’t particularly like or trust him.” 

“No, I guess you wouldn’t,” Alastair said. “I quite like how much detail was put into this statue.”

Alastair pointed to the statue of a tall and muscular man. He was right about the detail, you could almost make out individual strands of hair, a mysterious facial expression. 

“The hair is marvelously done.”

“I was thinking of the detailed muscles, but yes, the hair too.” 

Thomas returned to his Star’s Root plant after his visit to the museum. He had much to think about, but first, the plant. It had grown impossibly fast due to Thomas’ spells, and it wouldn’t be long until the thorns were ready. Days, if that. Some were beginning to grow from the stems, not yet ready to be harvested, but enough to examine its magic. Light’s Root didn’t have thorns, although there were old pictures that showed it with thorns, and he didn’t know what to expect. He carefully brushed his hand past the stem of the plant and if he didn’t have his poison immunity, this could be potentially fatal. As it was, Thomas only felt a soft sting, followed by a relaxation of his mind, almost empty, and he longed to have someone tell him what to do, to follow their orders. He removed his hand and the feeling ceased. He knew what the people from the shadow market wanted these thorns for. 

Thomas could not give those thorns away to someone who meant to do harm. It was too dangerous. And yet there was the girl. She might have made some bad decisions on the shadow market, but she was hardly the first person to trade something important away to save a parent. 

Perhaps Haoma was the kind of man to take advantage of people at their most vulnerable. Except, Clara had not made her deal with him and Thomas couldn’t see what Haoma was getting out of this. No, strange as it seemed, the potion maker cared for the girl. Like he had been as vulnerable as she was once. Perhaps Alastair had never taken the flower to whoever Haoma had been back then to have a potion made. Perhaps he’d made the potion himself and then years later had become Haoma. 

Thomas couldn’t sleep that night. It had been a long time since Alastair Carstairs had kept him up at night, yet here he was. He didn’t know how to process what Alastair had told him, whether or not he should forgive him. Perhaps he had been wrong for claiming ownership of such a flower. Would forgiving him betray Barbara’s memory?  But if someone else had been the keeper of the flower and he’d needed it for Barbara, what would he have done? Thomas wasn’t so sure. 

Whether or not he forgave Alastair, it didn’t mean he wanted him back into his life. Thomas wanted nothing more than to find some stability, to settle into the life of not being married anymore and being a single parent. He didn’t want Alastair to uproot the peace he’d made for himself, he didn’t think Rosa was ready to handle anymore change. Yet he’d also had fun today. And somehow, he found himself wanting to see Alastair again sometime. 

Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! Taglist: @thefoxandthefound @life-through-the-eyes-of @styxdrawings @justanormaldemon @ipromiseiwillwrite @a-dream-dirty-and-bruised @all-for-the-fanfiction @amchara @ddepressedbookworm @wagner-fell @imsoftforthomastair @queenlilith43 @stxr-thxif @chaos-and-starlight @lifewouldbebetteronmars @littlx-songbxrd @awayfrmhome @eugeniaslongsword @bookswitchcraftandcats @jamesherondaleofficial @livingformyself @anarmorofwords @sapphic-in @fortheloveofthecarstairs @tessherongraystairs @thewarthatsavedmylife-blog @grace-lightwoodd @rainingpouringetc @thomastaircompassrose @kiwichaeng @yozinha-z @skirtsandsweaters @goodoldfashionednerd @have-a-holly-jolly-angstmas @who-beingloved-ispoor-blog @lightwoodsimp @americann-idiot @thomaslightwood @cant-think-of-anything

[flowersbloomuntiltheyrot]

Flowers Bloom Until They Rot and Fall Apart

Chapter 5 (PAST): Smell the Jasmine and Remember to Forget Me

sorry for the long wait! I hope it was worth it, this chapter is kind of sweet. or bittersweet. i don't think anyone else here is a mashrou' leila fan but i am very proud of my title choice. also, ftw you're a writer with ADHD and wrote the ending to a chapter that leads really well into the start of the next despite being at different points in time, but no one will notice because they read the last chapter 2 months ago

CW: none except Elias making very questionable parenting choices

Masterlist

Alastair was sitting next to his sister at the kitchen table when he felt his phone buzz.

Good morning :)

"Who's that?" Cordelia teased.

Alastair felt the blood rush to his ears. "No one."

His phone buzzed again.

I'm really excited for today

Me too

There was an international film series happening at their local cinema, and today they were showing a film from the country he and his family were from. When he told Thomas about it, he seemed very interested in the topic, so Alastair invited him to come along.

"Does no one have a name?" Cordelia asked.

"It's just Thomas! We're friends, remember?"

"Oooh, Thomas," she repeated, raising the pitch of her voice. "He is quite handsome, don't you think?"

The urge to throw a spoon across the table at her overcame him, but he resisted. "If you think he's so handsome, perhaps you should date him."

Her eyes lit up. "You're dating?"

"Of course not! I already told you, we're friends."

"Who are you friends with?" Their father asked, walking into the kitchen. Elias' entrance always killed any conversation around him.

"Thomas Lightwood," Alastair answered. 

Cordelia knew better than to continue to tease him with their father around.

Elias made a noise of approval. “Good. He comes from an important, influential family. You’ll do right to remain allied with him. Do you remember the advice I gave you?” 

Alastair nodded. “That I should focus my attention on acquiring acquaintances that are indebted to me, rather than merely trying to make others like me.” 

Elias often spoke in this way, as if other people weren’t, well, people, but instead units on a battlefield, but Alastair believed that this must be a result of his many, many years of combat now ingrained in his mind. He’d shared this piece of advice the summer before, when he began to encourage Alastair’s friendship with Thomas. Before then, Elias never missed an opportunity to speak ill of the Lightwoods or the Herondales, arguing that they were cruel and selfish and consorted with demons. He’d even began to insult the Herondale name during one of Lucie’s visits, but the rest of the Carstairs were quick to save the conversation. 

It began on a hot summer afternoon a few months earlier, while Alastair was running errands. He ran into Thomas downtown, and when he’d invited him to get some ice cream, Alastair didn’t refuse. The summers were long and brutal, and without school, Alastair had few opportunities to get away from the house or see friends. They were sitting outside the ice cream parlour, discussing their summers and their plans for the following year, when Alastair noticed a familiar gait approaching them. It was his father, with a bit of a skip in his step that indicated that he’d already started drinking. It was barely five in the afternoon.

He stood up abruptly. “Father.” He’d been somewhat of a friend to Thomas for years now, but he was careful never to mention that to Elias. 

“Alastair. What are you doing here?” 

Alastair blinked and tried to calm his racing heart. “I- I was just downtown, running some errands for Mâmân, when I ran into Thomas. He goes to the same school as me, remember?” 

Elias nodded slowly, surrounded by a silence so thick that Alastair felt as though he would suffocate. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Carstairs,” Thomas said politely. 

“Yes. Very well, I will see you at home, Alastair.” As soon as he’d arrived, Elias returned to walking down the street. Alastair didn’t know where he was going, and he wasn’t sure that he wanted to find out. 

He sat back down, looking over at Thomas. He could see it on his face and in his movements that he was feeling quite awkward. “Sorry, I know he’s a bit… weird.” 

“No, no, it’s not that, I just… I don’t think he likes me very much.” 

“He’s just a bit distant around new people. You shouldn’t take it personally. I, er, that reminds me, though, I should get going. My mother will worry if I’m not home soon.” 

“Can’t you just text her?” 

“She doesn’t usually check her phone,” Alastair lied. 

“Oh. Okay. Well, it was nice seeing you.” 

“Yeah, you, too. Thanks for the ice cream. Have fun visiting the countryside with your family, I look forward to hearing about it in the fall.” 

“Why don’t you come with us?” Thomas asked quickly. 

“What?” 

“I’m sure that my parents wouldn’t mind. They make trips back to the city at least once a week, anyways, to tend to the gardens, so you could come for as long or as little as you’d like. It would be fun.” 

Alastair wanted terribly to say yes, to get away from the city and breathe the fresh air and simply get away from his father for a few days. He knew that he could not. “I… I don’t know. My parents are pretty strict about us staying away from home.” 

“You could ask?” 

“Okay, I’ll ask.” 

That was a lie, too. That night he carefully crafted an excuse as to how his family had mentioned visiting soon, and his mother didn’t want him going too far. Nevermind that he hadn’t seen any member of his mother’s family in nearly ten years, and his cousin Jem was never allowed past the front door the few times he attempted to visit. 

He’d spent the whole evening fretting, thinking about what might happen when his father returned home, what his punishment would be for consorting with the enemy. However, Elias was not angry when he stumbled through their front door late that night. He was drunk, certainly, but he took Alastair into his study and explained to him that a connection with the Lightwood family would be beneficial to their goals. Alastair didn’t understand his father’s change of heart, and he didn’t have any idea what “goals” he spoke of, but he liked Thomas enough to not want to jeopardise this by questioning it. 

Elias even handed Alastair a book, a botanical encyclopaedia, and advised him to study it. He told him that expressing interest in the topics that his acquaintances were knowledgeable about would leave a good impression and improve the relationship. 

Elias set his coffee on the kitchen table, bringing Alastair back to the present.

“And Thomas Lightwood, is he indebted to you yet?” 

The thought made Alastair’s stomach twist. He understood his father’s reasoning, and there were many boys at school from influential families with whom he’d made acquaintance. Thomas was never just another boy from school. He was kind and beautiful and every time that Alastair spoke, he listened carefully, as if he actually cared about what Alastair had to say. “Not yet,” he answered. 

Elias gave him a look of disapproval. “You’d better get on that, then.” 

Alastair nodded as his father picked up his coffee and exited the room. He and Cordelia passed the rest of breakfast in a terse silence, and when he was finished, he excused himself to his room to wait until it was time to meet Thomas. 

In the end, with all of his impatience, Alastair arrived at the cinema an hour and a half before the film started. He went ahead and bought two tickets. If Thomas tried to pay Alastair back for his, he would insist on paying. He hated the thought of it being a debt to him, but perhaps he could then tell his father that Thomas owed him, and it wouldn’t be a lie. He sat down outside the theatre and prepared to wait for Thomas to arrive, just as he noticed him walking down the street. 

“Alastair!” Thomas exclaimed. “You’re here already?” 

“I was going to ask you the same question.” 

Thomas blushed profusely. “I have to admit, I was too excited to wait at home any longer.” 

“I felt the same way,” Alastair admitted. “I already bought the tickets. Maybe we could take a walk while we wait.” 

“There’s a coffee shop around the corner that I really like. Maybe we could grab coffee?” 

“That sounds nice.” 

They grabbed a table outside the small cafe. “What can I get for you?” Thomas asked. 

“Oh, just a black coffee.” 

“Really? You like black coffee?” 

“Is there a problem with that?” 

Thomas’ ears went a bit red. “Of course not. I’ll be right back.” He returned several minutes later with a tray of their drinks and a slice of cake. “Black coffee for you, and… milk for me.” Looking over, he must have ordered some sort of latte for himself. Thomas must have caught his eyes lingering on the cake. “See, I thought you had a sweet tooth.” He held up two forks, extending one to Alastair. 

He thought about protesting, but instead he just took the fork. “Thank you.” In the end, the sweetness of the cake complimented the bitterness of the coffee well. It wasn’t that he liked black coffee, per say, but it was the cheapest thing on the menu and the simplest to order. It minimised the amount of social interaction while being nearly impossible to make incorrectly. 

“I heard you got detention the other day,” Thomas commented. “What was that about?” 

Alastair rolled his eyes. “It was ridiculous. I was taking my combat exam, and I was instructed to demonstrate which combat technique to use upon coming across a troll, and I very politely, though directly, explained that trolls are peaceful creatures who only become violent after being provoked, and thus I would not use any combat technique at all. Apparently, Mr. Pounceby thought that I was undermining his authority, and he said that if I don’t get my attitude in check, he’ll give me a failing grade.” 

Thomas’ eyes widened in concern. “What are you going to do?” 

Alastair only shrugged. “The whole thing is silly.” 

“Maybe, but you can’t fail a course. We’re supposed to go to Emerald together, remember?” 

Alastair felt his cheeks flush. Emerald University for Magic was the only arcane university in the country, and they’d both expressed a desire to attend, but he’d never thought about it in terms of the two of them attending together. “I suppose so.” 

“I don’t understand why you’re still taking combat magic anyways. I know you want to please your father, but you’re miserable, and I doubt he’ll be happy with failing marks. Did you ask if you could switch into another course?” 

“No, but Mr. Pounceby suggested that ethics in arcane theory may be a better place for me, though I couldn’t tell if he was serious. The issue is that switching courses this late in the term would mean a lot of make-up work.” 

“Well, I can’t help you with ethics, but maybe it’s not a bad idea for next term. What if you switched into one of my courses? You could come over after school when you’re free and I can help you catch up.” 

Alastair felt another rush of blood to his cheeks at the thought of spending so many afternoons alone with Thomas. “You really don’t need to do that.” 

“How about intro herbalism? We haven’t even gotten to the magical section of the course yet, we’ve just been reviewing traditional mundane medicines.” Thomas reached his hand across the table to rest it on Alastair’s. “It would be fun. Besides, my mum’s been asking when you’ll be coming back. She’s planning on cooking something special for dinner since you couldn’t stay last time.” 

Alastair could hear the words Thomas was saying but could only think about the warmth of Thomas’ touch, the gentle flames that ignited at the places their fingers connected and spread through his veins. Thomas stared at him expectantly, but Alastair had forgotten what the question was. “Yeah, okay. Sure.” 

“Really?” Thomas seemed genuinely surprised. “Okay, awesome. I must admit, when my mum invited you to stay for dinner and you said you would next time, I was sure you were lying to get out of the invitation, but I’m happy to be wrong. On the way home after the movie, you can stop at my house if you’d like, and I can lend you my textbook until you get your own. I finished my homework last night, so I won’t be needing it again for a few more days.” 

Alastair paused for a moment, processing what Thomas had said and what he’d agreed to. Thomas was correct, of course, that he’d had no intention at the time to return or have dinner with his family. In general, he tried to keep a safe distance between himself and the other kids at school, but he already seemed to be failing at that with Thomas, and he enjoyed the idea of spending more time with him. If he coordinated his schedule with the days that Cordelia was visiting the Herondales, it could work. “That would be very helpful, thank you.” 

Thomas smiled and squeezed his hand and a shiver shot down Alastair’s spine. 

He thought that the hour and a half long wait for the film would feel awkward, but the time passed in a rush, and as the start time creeped closer, he almost wanted to skip the movie and just spend the next two hours sitting at this cafe, chatting with Thomas. 

In the end, it was Thomas who spoke first. “Should we head back soon? I think we’ll have just enough time to buy snacks and get settled.” 

Usually, Alastair would just leave the snacks his mother gave him in his pockets in an attempt to blend in better with the kids whose parents gave them money to buy snacks, but Thomas was different from most of the people he hung out with. “My mum’s worst nightmare is one of her children paying for overpriced food at a cinema.” He pulled from his pockets two bags of popcorn, some hard candies leftover from Risa’s last trip home, a bag of walnut cookies, and two water bottles. 

Thomas stared at him in disbelief, trying to figure out how he hid all of it in his pockets. “Wow, well, that problem’s solved.” 

“We can still buy snacks if you’d like.” Usually when Alastair’s friends saw the foreign writing on the candy wrapper or a type of food unfamiliar to them, they refused to touch it. Thomas, however, seemed intrigued. 

“Can I try one?” he asked, pointing to the cookies. 

Alastair nodded. 

Thomas’ eyes lit up. “That’s incredible. Your mum made these?” 

“Yeah, it’s a recipe from her childhood. If you think that’s good, you should see the kinds of things she and my aunt make around the spring solstice. They spend a whole weekend just in the kitchen.” 

“That sounds amazing. I didn’t even know you celebrated the spring solstice.”

Thomas’ interest in his family’s culture and traditions was odd but exciting. He’d been surprised that he was interested in seeing this film at all. “Yeah… Anyways, I think the movie’s about to start. We should probably go.” 

They left the cinema two hours later, and Alastair couldn’t recall most of the storyline. Thomas had reached for Alastair’s hand about thirty minutes in, and from that moment on, the only reason Alastair followed the most basic of plot points was because it was in his first language. 

Thomas, on the other hand, didn’t seem to have any issue focusing and had been explaining his thoughts on the film since the lights rose. “This was nice,” he commented as they began their walk home. 

“It was very nice,” Alastair confirmed. It was confusing because he hadn’t been able to pay attention to a film he’d wanted to see since he’d learned about the film festival, which should have been frustrating, but it was the truth. 

Thomas’ ears turned pink as he smiled. “I have to admit, I’d been wanting to ask you to go on a date with me for a while now, but I never found the courage. I’m very happy that you asked me.” 

Alastair narrowed his eyebrows. “A- What?” 

Thomas stopped walking. His whole face turned a deep shade of pink. “What?” 

Alastair thought about it for a moment. Thinking it was a date would explain most of Thomas’ actions, and the touching at the very least. He hadn’t intended to ask him to go out with him, but looking back on it, he figured that his invitation could have been understood as more romantic. 

“I’m so sorry,” Thomas stammered, visibly on the verge of tears. “I misunderstood. I’m so stupid-” 

“No,” Alastair said quickly. “You’re not. I am. I mean, me too. I wanted to ask you to go out with me, but I never knew how.” 

Thomas still seemed upset. “Are you just saying that to make me feel better?” 

“Of course not. I would never lie to you. You’re- You’re the kind of person they tell fairy tales about, someone so handsome and brave and caring that they couldn’t possibly exist in real life. At least, I didn’t think so until I met you.”

Thomas exhaled in relief, wiping away the tears on his cheeks. “I know… I know that you don’t think you’re that special. I can tell that you have this lone wolf thing stuck in your head, this idea that you’re better off on your own, but it’s not true. I’ve never met anyone like you, either.” 

“So, I guess it was a date, then?” 

Thomas looked away, his face still flushed. “It can’t be a date if you didn’t know it was a date.” 

“Then we can go on another one.” 

Thomas nodded. “Okay.” 

“How does next Saturday sound?” 

“It sounds nice.” 

“Then it’s a date.” 

Thomas bit his lip and gave a small smile as he took Alastair’s extended hand. “It’s a date.” 

As they started walking again, Alastair spoke. “I am very sorry, by the way. I feel like I screwed up what would have been a great first date. I never wanted to make you feel bad.” 

“No, it’s okay. I still feel a little silly, but it’ll be alright. I’m sure one day like ten years from now, we’ll have a good laugh about this.”

Thank you so much for reading! As always, we love to hear your thoughts :) I told my friend that I lost the plot a little writing this, and when I told her I'd found it again, she said that they should just keep eating cookies forever. let us know if you agree.

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[flowersbloomuntiltheyrot]

I started with digital art a couple of days ago and I've drawn Rosa from this story with it. Her hair is pink because she likes wearing a pink wig. I hope you like it.

taglist: @thefoxandthefound @life-through-the-eyes-of @styxdrawings @justanormaldemon @ipromiseiwillwrite @a-dream-dirty-and-bruised @writeordie-4 @amchara @ddepressedbookworm @wagner-fell @imsoftforthomastair @queenlilith43 @stxr-thxif @lifewouldbebetteronmars @littlx-songbxrd @awayfrmhome @eugeniaslongsword @bookswitchcraftandcats @jamesherondaleofficial @livingformyself @anarmorofwords @sapphic-in @fortheloveofthecarstairs @tessherongraystairs @thewarthatsavedmylife @grace-lightwoodd @hidethebreakables @thomastaircompassrose @kiwichaeng @yozinha-z @skirtsandsweaters @goodoldfashionednerd @have-a-holly-jolly-angstmas @wheelershara @who-beingloved-ispoor-blog @lightwoodsimp @correctedanddistorted @thomaslightwood @cant-think-of-anything

[flowersbloomuntiltheyrot]

Flowers Bloom Until They Rot and Fall Apart

Chapter 5 (PRESENT): You're in Your House, and I'm in Another

Hello friends! Welcome back! The title for this chapter and the next one comes from the song "Shim el Yasmine" by Mashrou' Leila!

Content warnings: mention of hospital and illness, description of a toxic relationship

Masterlist

The seed looked so ordinary, like many of the magic seeds Thomas had grown throughout his life. This wasn’t unusual, he could differentiate plants by seeds to some extent, of course, but it was difficult. Still, Thomas had a hunch with the information Haoma had given it. It wasn’t much, but he’d decided to keep the seed in the dark shed where he kept the light’s root.

Combined with a couple of spells that would encourage the seed to sprout, Thomas was hopeful for its growth, although a bit exhausted from the effort. After getting Rosa in bed on time when she didn’t want to, Thomas didn’t think he’d be able to get up from the couch again. She always became hyperactive when she was tired, a sign she needed to go to bed, but she believed that meant she wasn’t tired at all.

The seed had sprouted when he went to check the next morning. He had been correct, this plant should be kept in the dark. There was a faint glow to it, just like there was to the light’s root, but it wasn’t quite the same. A similar plant, he suspected, but not another light’s root. Where had Haoma gotten such a thing?

Christopher visited again a couple of days after the seed had sprouted. The plant’s growth was slow, and there were no thorns in sight yet, but Thomas expected that to take time. He wondered what the thorns were for. He wondered for the thousandth time this week if he was doing the right thing. He would save a teenage girl if he succeeded, sure. But just what would the damage be if he gave the thorns of this plant to someone willing to kill to get it? That was something he should discuss with Haoma, he thought.

“How is the plant coming along?” Christopher asked.

“It’s growing,” Thomas said. “I’m confident it’ll grow thorns in time, but I’m still figuring out what they do. Haoma is coming to check on it this weekend.”

Thomas had specifically requested he come on the weekend because then Rosa would be with Emilio, which made meeting with a criminal significantly easier. He didn’t feel secure having Haoma around Rosa, and Thomas didn’t know what to think of him at all. He didn’t trust him, of course. More than once he had considered Haoma might have lied to him about the reason he needed the thorns.

“Fascinating. Do you need to give them all to Haoma, or can I get some for my own experiments?” Christopher asked.

“I don’t think Haoma specified the amount,” Thomas said. “I’d have to ask. And are you sure experimenting with this is a good idea? You just blew up your lab.”

“The risks of science,” Christopher said. “Besides, Haoma might have some ideas on what it’s for. I’ve always wondered where he learnt his skills since I don’t think he went to university. And he’s only really been doing this for five years or so.”

Thomas frowned. “No, that can’t be right. When he was here, he let it slip he made the Light’s Root potion ten years ago.”

Christopher shrugged. “Perhaps he changed his identity sometime five years ago. No one knows who he really is after all. He might have been along for far longer.”

Thomas considered Christopher’s words, considered the inconsistencies in Haoma’s story. No one had sold him Light’s Root. He claimed not to know what had happened to that potion. But he had made it for Alastair. Thomas wished Haoma could have told him more, he wished he knew what Alastair had done with the potion.

“I don’t think you should keep dealing with him, Christopher,” Thomas said. “He takes advantage of people. I know Alastair was fully aware of what he was doing when he took the Light’s Root, but Haoma really should have known better than just make a potion for him. And he doesn’t even know what it was used for.”

“If you really want to know, why don’t you ask Alastair?” Christopher asked.

Thomas stared at Christopher. “You can’t be serious.”

Christopher shrugged. “If it bothers you so much… If anyone knows what Alastair did with that flower, it must be Alastair, right? And since you spoke to him at Lucie’s and Cordelia’s wedding, I’m sure you could speak to him again.”

If anything, that conversation had been awkward. Thomas wasn’t sure he could do that again, not when he didn’t know what Alastair really thought or felt, why he did anything he did, really. He didn’t like having to keep guessing.

“I’ll think on it,” Thomas said without any intention to contact Alastair.

For a moment, he considered asking Cordelia, but Thomas wasn’t so sure Alastair would have told her. Stealing that flower for any reason wasn’t something Cordelia would have approved of.

Christopher left as he had an appointment with some builders to help fix his lab, and Thomas returned to the house where Rosa was playing with her Barbie dolls. She had a big collection of them, and they were among her favorite toys. Barbara had loved them too. In fact, several of Rosa’s dolls used to belong to Barbara. His sister had held on to them, hoping to give them to her own children when she had them. She’d never gotten to be a mother, and Thomas believed that Barbara would have wanted Rosa to have them.

Several of Rosa’s dolls were wearing white coats, and Thomas knew playing doctor and hospital related scenarios with her dolls was a way she coped with her own sickness and frequent hospital visits.

“What are you playing, mija?” he asked.

“Barbie is sick,” Rosa said, pointing at one of her dolls.

It was a doll with brown hair and tan skin. An old one, if Thomas remembered correctly this had been one of Barbara’s favorite dolls. One that resembled her greatly. Thomas wiped away some tears from his eyes.

He really thought he’d been able to process losing his sister. It had been so long ago. But this situation with Haoma, it brought back so many old memories. And Christopher was right. He did want to know what Alastair had done with that flower. He did really need that closure.

“She needs to go to the hospital,” Rosa added. “But the doctor is already here, and she’s going to make her all better and then she never has to go to the hospital again.”

“She looks just like aunt Kamala, doesn’t she?” Thomas asked about the doctor doll Rosa was holding.

It was one of her newer dolls, one with deep brown skin and black hair and a doctor coat. It had been a gift from Kamala and Eugenia a while back.

“Yes,” Rosa said. “And she’s a doctor like aunt Kamala, so she can make Barbie all better.”

Thomas left Rosa with her dolls, and took out his phone. He didn’t have Alastair’s number. After typing and deleting several messages, he sent Cordelia a message asking for Alastair’s phone number.

Alastair felt his phone buzz in his pocket as he carried a stack of boxes into Cordelia and Lucie's new apartment. They'd returned from their honeymoon a few days earlier and were now moving into a new, nicer flat with more room than the one they’d been renting since they graduated from university. He set the boxes down in the kitchen as his sister snuck him a mischievous grin.

He pulled out his phone and saw the notification telling him he had 3 new messages from a number that wasn't saved to his phone.

The number wasn't saved, but it was familiar nonetheless. It was one he'd memorized a very long time ago, along with hazel eyes, freckled skin, and messy brown hair.

Hey, Alastair. Your sister gave me your number. It was nice seeing you a few weeks ago. I was wondering if you have some time to catch up?

This is Thomas, btw

Thomas Lightwood

Alastair threw a glare at his sister but she turned her attention towards her wife, completely unashamed.

He typed out a few potential replies before settling on one.

Sure.

"So, what did he say?" Lucie asked. Cordelia nudged her.

"He asked if I had some time to catch up."

"Is that all?" she asked suggestively.

He rolled his eyes. "The ink's not even dry on the divorce papers yet and you're already trying to set us up? I thought you had more respect for the both of us." He turned and began to walk back to where the moving boxes were still sitting outside.

Cordelia chased after him. "Alastair, no! No, that's not what it was about. I thought it might be nice for you both to get some closure, even if I still don't understand what happened between you myself."

He picked up a lamp and a bag and started to carry them inside. The problem was, he wasn't sure any conversation between the two of them could give either any sort of closure. Perhaps he owed it to Thomas to try.

"And I'm not trying to get you and Tom back together," Cordelia continued. "But, Ali, it's been years since you and… your ex broke up. You haven't dated anyone since. I thought that maybe it would be easier for you to start dating again if you found some sort of peace between you and Thomas."

The mention of Charles made Alastair feel vulnerable and with that, defensive and combative. He did his best to push it aside. His trauma was not Cordelia's fault. She was one of the only people who knew that it was Charles who Alastair had dated for so many years. She knew that the relationship had been toxic, but there were many ways and directions for toxicity to present itself in a relationship, and Alastair had never felt the need to share the details of his damage with her.

"I don't need to date anyone, Layla. I am happy with the way things are. I'm content where I am right now. I have Bob, and a job, and a nice flat in the city. I don't feel a need to complicate things."

"I understand that, but I worry it must get lonely sometimes, just you and your cat all the time. You claim you have friends, but I've never met any of them. I just don’t want you to feel alone.”

He did have friends from his work, but none of them knew his true name, nor his true face, and Cordelia would likely never meet them. “I’m not alone. I also have you, and Lucie, and Mâmân, Rostam, Risa-”

“You could have more.”

Alastair hesitated on her words. Charles’ affections had nearly cost him his family, along with the few friendships he had. His chest flooded with regret as he remembered Kamala trying to convince him that the guy he was seeing was bad news, and Charles insisting that she was just trying to drive them apart, that she couldn’t understand their relationship and was only holding Alastair back, tying him to some alternate magical life that was no longer his.

It was true that Alastair was content with the life that he had made for himself, but Cordelia wasn’t wrong either. He did his best to work himself exhausted in order to stave off the insomnia of his youth, but on the occasions where he couldn’t fall asleep, he would lie awake, staring at the light filtering in from his blinds, longing for something that doesn’t truly exist. He ached to be known in a way that no one ever had, and he doubted that anyone ever could.

He set down Cordelia’s things in what was to be her living room. “If Thomas thinks that meeting with him to talk about the past will be beneficial to him, then I’ll do it. But that’s all.” After all, it was Haoma who started pulling out old memories, and it would be Alastair’s responsibility to put them back.

He felt his phone buzz again.

Great. How’s Saturday around 11? I can meet you downtown after I drop off Rosa.

He thought for a moment. Afternoon would be better, it would mean he could get some sleep and start to recover from Friday night at the Market, but he was still worried about Thomas discovering his identity after he let his guard down the other day. Besides, he wouldn’t want to inconvenience him.

Sounds good. Any place you had in mind?

Your pick.

The art gallery has a new exhibit I’ve been wanting to visit.

See you there.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. As always, likes and especially reblogs mean so much to us! Thanks for being such amazing readers <3

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[flowersbloomuntiltheyrot]

Flowers Bloom Until They Rot and Fall Apart

Chapter 4 (past): Fall so Fast and Pass You by

Here starts the story of what happened to Barbara. Her story is mostly based on my medical knowledge and while I try for accuracy as much as I can, I cannot promise there are no mistakes. To avoid too many spoilers, a little bit about her condition will follow at the end.

Content warning: severe illness

Masterlist

“Tommy! It’s been too long,” Barbara said.

He was starting to think Barbara would never let go of that nickname for him, despite him feeling like he was far too old for it now. He guessed, being the youngest, he would always be Barbara’s baby brother, no matter how tall he’d grown. Thomas walked his sister into the house and into the living room.

“I take it the hospital has been keeping you busy?”

Barbara had recently graduated as a nurse and had started working at the internal medicine ward. He hadn’t seen much of her as she’d decided to move to the city with her boyfriend instead of staying at the Lightwood estate.

“You don’t want to know,” Barbara sighed as she sat down in her old spot in the living room.

Today was her day off, and the first time in a few months that Thomas had been able to schedule something with her. Eugenia would be joining them later today.

“I had a couple of evening shifts this week, except yesterday I had a dayshift right after an evening shift, and they schedule me like that all the time. Which means I only have eight hours to go home, get some sleep, get up and go back to the hospital. I might as well just sleep in an empty hospital room to save time. You’d think the people running a hospital would know people need sleep to stay fit and healthy.”

“You’d think,” Thomas said. “I always thought it was ‘you need eight hours of sleep’, not ‘you need eight hours of sleep unless you’re a nurse’.”

Barbara did look rather tired, there were bags under her eyes and she was a little ashy in the face. Thomas assumed it had to be her sleep deprivation, but she looked like she might be ill.

“Tell them, Tommy,” Barbara said. “But how are you doing? How is Alastair? Are you still happy together?”

Thomas flushed red. “I guess so. He slept over here a week ago. But he had to leave early because his mother needed him, not sure why, and he’s been avoiding me. He’s not answering my texts. I think he’s just busy, but I miss him.”

“Oh, that sucks. But you’ll see each other at the graduation ball tonight, right?”

“I think so? I’m not sure if he’s going. He doesn’t like parties, but I think his sister is going to drag him there if he refuses.”

“I’d do the same for you,” Barbara said, smiling sweetly. “So, he stayed the night? What was it like?”

Thomas was pretty sure Barbara understood it was a bit more than just a sleepover, but that was not something he wanted to discuss with his sisters ever. He wondered if Alastair had started avoiding him because it had been terrible. Thomas had quite enjoyed it, and he thought Alastair had too, but perhaps not. It had all been a little awkward and clumsy, but Thomas had thought that would be expected considering it was their first time. Perhaps Alastair had expected better. Knowing Alastair though, if it had really been that bad he would have made that clear.

“It was nice,” Thomas said. “Except for him leaving so early. I woke up to find him gone and a vague note. I hope next time he can stay around for breakfast.”

“Have you invited him over another time?”

“I tried, but he hasn’t responded to anything I sent him,” Thomas said. “I’m not sure what to do. Maybe I can talk to him during graduation.”

Barbara winced and rubbed her head. “Sorry. I’ve been having this awful headache. I thought maybe I should just stay home, but I didn’t want to cancel after I haven’t seen you in so long.”

“Do you need me to make some tea?” Thomas asked.

Thomas knew the basics of homemade remedies with magic plants, he’d learnt from a young age to brew various teas to relieve symptoms.

“That would be great, thank you Tommy.”

Thomas went into the kitchen and went to the drawers to look for the right mixture of dried leaves to relieve a headache. They didn’t work for headaches caused by migraines, but Thomas didn’t think that was the problem as Barbara had never had migraines before.

When he was finished with the tea, he found Barbara shivering on the couch. She’d wrapped herself into a blanket, there were droplets of sweat visible on her forehead.

“Are you alright?” Thomas asked. “You can go home if you’re sick. Or go to your bedroom here.”

Thomas never quite knew what to do with people being sick. He’d been the sick one for most of his childhood, and Barbara the older sister who would hover over him and take care of him. He knew how awful it could be to be constantly hovered over, but just leaving her seemed heartless.

“I’m not feeling well,” Barbara admitted. “I thought I was fine… It started quite sudden.”

“What’s that on your legs?” Thomas asked.

Barbara was wearing a knee length green dress suitable for the weather, and her legs were bare. On them were purple spots Thomas wasn’t sure had been there before. Perhaps he had missed them, but now that he noticed, this looked weird.

Barbara inspected her own legs, pulling up the hem of her dress a little to reveal more spots higher up her leg. She pressed on one with her fingers, and Thomas wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but nothing much happened. The skin around the spot turned pale until the color returned in a few seconds, but the purple spot remained as purple as it had always been.

“Shit. This is… Thomas, don’t panic, okay? But I’m going to call the ER, and I think I need you to take me there.”

Telling Thomas not to panic had the opposite effect. He didn’t have the medical knowledge to know what was going on with her, or why this wasn’t a simple flu she would recover from with enough rest and tea. Thomas had recovered from endless infections in his childhood, this would be no different, right?

Barbara called the ER and Thomas struggled to follow along with what she was saying. It was like people who worked in healthcare spoke a different language. She described the spots on her legs as purpura, and Thomas had no clue what those were. She hung up.

“They told me to come to the ER as soon as I can,” Barbara said. “Can you portal us? You know I’ve never been good at directing that thing, certainly not now.”

Barbara was shivering violently as he helped her up, and walked her towards the portal. One of the main restrictions of portals was that you could not portal inside a building, so theirs was just outside the door. Thomas directed the portal to the hospital entrance and helped his sister walk into the ER entrance.

A nurse asked Barbara a couple of questions of what was going on and when it had started. She decided whatever was wrong with Barbara, it was urgent, and she helped Barbara to a room and into a bed. Barbara put the blankets around herself, still shivering uncontrollably underneath them. She looked very sick.

Thomas took her hand in his. “You’re going to be okay, Babs,” he said. “I’ve been sick so many times, and I’m still here.”

“I don’t know, Tommy,” Barbara said. “I cannot bend my head down, my neck hurts too much when I try. I have purpura on my legs. I think I have meningococcal sepsis. Listen, Tommy, if something happens to me. I love you, alright? And if Oliver doesn’t make it here in time, tell him I love him.”

“No, you’re going to be alright,” Thomas said.

“You don’t know that. Even with proper treatment my chances aren’t good.”

Barbara removed the blanket to check her legs. Earlier, it had been covered in small purple spots, but now the spots had begun to merge into larger patches of purple. Whatever it was, it didn’t look good.

“I do. I know how to fix you.”

“You don’t mean the Light’s Root?”

“Exactly. It will fix you, it has to.”

“We’re the flower’s protectors, we’re not supposed to use it. You know that.”

“Damn it, Babs, I’m not going to let you die! I have to go, but Oliver is on his way, and so are mom and dad.”

Thomas ran out of the hospital while calling uncle Henry. The flower on its own wasn’t enough, it needed to be prepared by someone experienced with making potions. Thomas himself knew how to care for the plant, how to make it thrive, but he couldn’t prepare the potion. One mistake and it could easily kill the person it was meant to save, or the person making it.

“Thomas, I have a class in a few minutes,” uncle Henry said as he picked up.

“This is an emergency. I need you to help me make a potion. Barbara is sick, and I need you to prepare the Light’s Root flower into a potion to save her.”

“Okay. Bring the flower to my house, I have all the right equipment there.”

Thomas was glad Henry didn’t question his decision to use the flower. He didn’t understand why Barbara would object when she thought she was going to die. Thomas didn’t know what her chances were with regular treatment, but it was not a chance he was willing to take.

Thomas ran to the nearest portal he knew, the one at school. It was close enough to the hospital, and he ran there in about twenty minutes before going through and back home. Sometimes it was really inconvenient that not every place had its own portal.

He arrived home and ran into the gardens, to the small shed, opened the door, and found their most prized plant. He would only have to pick the flower and take it to Henry. The plant was in there like it had always been, glowing in the dark. But the flower was gone. Someone else had taken it.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it. Here follows a more detailed explanation for Barbara's illness. Barbara has meningococcal sepsis, as she accurately diagnoses herself with. Meningococcus is a type of bacteria that is named such because it can cause meningitis. It can also cause sepsis, or a combination of sepsis and meningitis. All are potentially life threatening. Barbara's headache in this case was caused by meningitis and a very common symptom of meningitis is stiffness of the neck. Within the context of meningitis, this means being unable to move your chin towards your chest because it is too painful. Other types of stiffness have different causes and are not related to meningitis. Sepsis is a severe and life threatening condition when the body's response to an infection causes damage. The purpura, the spots Barbara notices, are a sign of sepsis and especially common in meningococcal disease. These are purple spots that do not disappear or become paler when you press on them, and are caused by a disorder in blood coagulation. Barbara was right to recognize these spots as a sign of a potential life threatening illness, and the best treatment is antibiotics for the infection and giving someone intravenous stable to keep them hemodynamically stable. Fortunately, meningococcal disease is not common.

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[flowersbloomuntiltheyrot]

Flowers Bloom Until they Rot and Fall Apart

Chapter 4 (Present): Stars that Burn the Brightest

This chapter starts right where present chapter 3 ends, so if it's been too long (sorry about that), you might want to reread that one. Thomas and Haoma meet, but does Thomas know who Haoma really is?

Title is from Numb by Marina

Content warning: mentions of cancer

Masterlist

Thomas decided he would tell Rosa Haoma was here for work. She would probably accept that explanation and move on. He walked back to where Christopher and Grace were sitting, Christopher carefully sipping from his tea whereas Grace warned Rosa it was still too hot for her. Thomas sometimes thought Kit was not only poison resistant but also fire resistant. With his habits, that was probably a good thing.

He turned to Rosa, who was drawing something that looked vaguely like a princess. She liked to draw but struggled with it because she had lessened sensitivity in her fingers due to chemotherapy.

“Rosa, this is Mr. Ehm…”

“Haoma,” Haoma clarified.

“So you took up my advice,” Christopher said to Haoma. “Excellent, I can’t wait.”

Thomas gave Christopher a warning look. Not here, please.

Rosa stared at Haoma, but didn’t say anything. She was often shy around strangers, Thomas sometimes thought her experiences in the hospital had added to that. So many different faces, and often people came to do something she didn’t like.

“I have to talk with this man for work stuff. You can stay here with uncle Christopher and aunt Grace. I won’t be long, I promise.”

“Okay,” she said, her voice so soft Thomas could only understand her because he was used to it.

It was a lovely day to be outside, and so Thomas led Haoma around the house to a different part of the garden where they’d have some privacy. Haoma moved like a dancer, elegant and graceful despite his height. His mannerism seemed familiar. Haoma reminded him of Alastair.

“What do you need me to do?”

“I need this plant to grow before the next full moon,” Haoma said.

That was a short time frame, Thomas wasn’t so sure it was possible to make any plant grow that fast without using growth spells. But if he absolutely had to, there were ways. Thomas rarely sped things up when it came to plants. There were risks with such magic, risks he usually had no reason to take. Plants were slow, they took their time, and he’d always felt he should respect that.

“Why does it need to be so fast?” Thomas asked. “It’s possible with growth spells, but botany requires patience and letting it grow at its natural pace will yield better results.”

Haoma sighed. “I wish it were different, but it needs to be at the end of this month. That’s the deal that girl made to acquire the seed.’

Blood oaths were a bad idea, Thomas had known that all his life. But he guessed not everyone grew up among magic users, and not everyone knew how to be safe around magic. And some people were just desperate. He could understand that.

He could do it if he wanted to. He could speed up the growth of the plant to meet the deadline. The problem was, he only had one seed, one shot at this. If he failed, this girl would die from her blood oath. But if he didn’t try, then she would never stand a chance.

“What kind of plant is it?” Thomas asked.

“I’m not sure what exactly it is,” Haoma said. “The girl told me it was an extremely rare and powerful healing plant, but she couldn’t tell me what kind.”

This wasn’t helpful, but Thomas guessed his best chance was to treat it similarly to the Light’s Root and see what happened. He didn’t think it would be the same plant exactly, that was unlikely, but there were a couple more rare plants that promised a cure all. Thomas had never had his hands on one before beyond Light’s root.

“And I take it this girl was looking for a cure for something?” Thomas asked.

“Her mother’s cancer,” Haoma said and there was a pain in his face Thomas couldn’t quite place.

He concealed it well, but Thomas was excellent at reading people. It reminded him of Alastair, the way he concealed what he felt. Thomas suspected Haoma’s relationship to this girl wasn’t merely professional. He cared for her.

Thomas wondered what he’d done sometimes, if he’d had the flower when Rosa became sick, instead of ten years ago. It only bloomed once in a lifetime, after all, and it had come early this time around. Last time had been when his father was very young, it could very well have bloomed one and a half years ago instead. Rosa’s chances had always been good, a 90% survival rate for her cancer, but she’d suffered so much before she got into remission and even now she was still on maintenance treatment.

As a protector of the flower, their family’s wisdom said it was best not to use it, but why? As a father, Thomas wouldn’t hesitate to use it for Rosa if he could have spared her the suffering.

“I could grow the flower, but it would take a skilled potion maker to turn it into a cure,” Thomas said. “It could easily turn deadly, both for the maker and the receiver.”

“I’ve made it before.”

Thomas stared at Haoma, and the shocked expression at his face revealed that Haoma hadn’t meant to reveal that piece of information.

“Really? Plants like this are rare, almost unheard of,” Thomas said.

“And I made it only once,” Haoma said in a tone that indicated he would not be giving any further information.

Thomas knew when it must have happened though, which flower he must have made a potion of. The one Alastair had stolen. Thomas had always suspected Alastair had stolen the flower to sell it. It made him feel a bit disgusted by Haoma, who had made the potion for money, never once questioning where it had come from and who had died so the recipient could live. He wondered sometimes who had ended up taking the potion from that flower. He wondered if Haoma knew.

.

Alastair attempted to recollect his thoughts. It was foolish allowing something so simple to slip from his tongue. Something about being around Thomas had always muddled Alastair’s careful walls and defenses. He would surely know Haoma’s true identity now, putting the life that Alastair had carefully built - and Clara’s - at risk. He eyed Thomas slowly, trying to glean his thoughts, but his expression and posture were stiff and unreadable. Perhaps Thomas had learnt a better poker face over the years.

“What you’re asking me to do is very dangerous. I want to help, but I hope you can understand that I won’t do anything that puts my family in harm’s way.”

“And I would never ask you to. Your gardens are well-protected. I can promise that I treat my business transactions with the utmost discretion, and your name will not be mentioned to anyone at the Market. Simply name your price. If it’s money, I’ll pay it. If it’s a favor, you may consider me in your debt.”

“I would never take money from someone like you.” Thomas’ voice echoed with a hatred like Alastair had never seen in him before. It wasn’t fueled by anger or grief as it had ten years earlier at their end-of-year ball. It was cold and low in its conviction, molten lava that had hardened in the years past.

Alastair cast his gaze away, unable to look Thomas in the eyes. He knew, then. Would he still agree to help if he knew it was Alastair asking?

“But you must care about this girl an awful lot if you’re willing to risk a personal debt for her. Who is she to you? Your daughter?”

Alastair looked back up as Haoma. Thomas didn’t know, then. He shook his head. “I hardly know her.”

“Then why? I can’t imagine she has much in the way of wealth or treasures to offer you. So what is it?”

“I don’t see how that is relevant to you.”

“How am I supposed to believe anything you tell me? How am I to know that you’re not the one taking advantage of this girl’s naivety?”

Alastair paused. He wasn’t wrong. “It is clear that you have made assumptions about me, but I’m helping her for the same reason I expected you or your family to help in kind: I understand how it feels to be desperate for a cure. The girl has made mistakes, but she’s a teenager, and I don’t believe she owes her life to this.”

Thomas thought in silence for a moment. “I have to be honest, there are very few things on this Earth I’d rather do less than work with a piece of scum like you, who profits off of people’s desperation.”

Alastair had forgotten for a moment how stubborn and hard-headed Thomas could be. “I don’t know how I can persuade you to believe my intentions here are benevolent. Tell me, is your problem with members of the Shadow Market in general or me in particular?”

Thomas didn’t acknowledge the question. “You’re right, though, this girl deserves a chance, and I’m the best shot she has at making this seed grow. I even know what I want in return.”

Alastair hesitated. “And what is that?”

“Nothing too difficult, merely an answer: What did you use the flower for?”

Alastair’s heart began to race. Thomas did know his identity, then? “The girl wants to use the flower for her mother, I-”

“You know that’s not what I asked. I understand that necessity drives the Shadow Market, and I have no problem with that. I know it must have been you who Alastair sold the flower of Light’s Root to. You claim to care about what happens to this girl, but he was just a kid, too. He made his own choices and faced the consequences for them, but he was young and naive, too. Tell me, what business did you have accepting a magic that powerful from a teenager? Did you even stop to wonder what he did to get it? What the consequences of those actions were? At the very least, you could tell me what you used it for.”

Alastair was always careful to separate his head and his heart, his charisma and his emotions, especially as Haoma, but he could do nothing but stare at Thomas, stunned. Thomas believed he’d sold the flower, unintentionally causing Barbara’s death. He believed that Alastair had been young and naive, and he hadn’t understood at the time what the repercussions of his actions would be. He wished that the truth was that simple.

Alastair waited a moment before speaking. He could lie, perhaps admit to working with Alastair and regretting it, but lies were messy things. “Most people don’t come to the Shadow Market with the clearest or kindest of intentions. I’m here asking you for help because someone tricked a teenager into agreeing to what should have been an impossible task, knowing that she would fail and that in a month’s time, she would either lose her life or be forced into doing any bidding he asks of her.

“I am very sorry for what you went through, Mr. Lightwood, and I wish I could give you the closure you’re looking for. No one sold me the Light’s Root. I can’t tell you what became of that potion. Maybe he did sell it, or maybe he- maybe there was something he wanted to cure. I’m sure you can understand that in my line of work, I cannot discuss my clients’ personal information freely.”

Thomas didn’t seem satisfied. “Of course not. You’re in my debt.”

“And there I’ll stay, I suppose.” Alastair pulled out a cheap burner phone and handed it to Thomas. “You can contact me using this. The number’s already in there. Good luck getting the plant to grow, and please let me know if there’s anything you need.”

He expected Thomas to say something more, to stop him and demand answers to more questions, but he stayed silent as Haoma left the property, and Alastair didn’t dare to look back.

Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it, and I'd love to hear theories on where this is going (:

taglist: @thefoxandthefound @life-through-the-eyes-of @styxdrawings @justanormaldemon @ipromiseiwillwrite @a-dream-dirty-and-bruised @writeordie-4 @amchara @ddepressedbookworm @wagner-fell @imsoftforthomastair @queenlilith43 @stxr-thxif @lifewouldbebetteronmars @littlx-songbxrd @awayfrmhome @eugeniaslongsword @bookswitchcraftandcats @jamesherondaleofficial @livingformyself @anarmorofwords @sapphic-in @fortheloveofthecarstairs @tessherongraystairs @thewarthatsavedmylife @grace-lightwoodd @hidethebreakables @thomastaircompassrose @kiwichaeng @yozinha-z @skirtsandsweaters @goodoldfashionednerd @have-a-holly-jolly-angstmas @wheelershara @who-beingloved-ispoor-blog @lightwoodsimp @correctedanddistorted @thomaslightwood @cant-think-of-anything

[flowersbloomuntiltheyrot]

It's funny because I was going to ask Jaimie how the fic is going 🙌

The fic is going great, Nina just has do deal w me ghosting them for like a month at a time 😪🙌

to be clear nina is the ONLY reason this is still moving 😂

-Jaimie

[flowersbloomuntiltheyrot]

Flowers Bloom Until They Rot and Fall Apart

Chapter 3 (PAST): You Don't Have to Know That It's Haunted

Sorry for the impromptu hiatus! I got very busy with life, and then university started again. We'll hopefully have the next chapter up sooner. Also, if you missed it, check out our Spotify playlist for the fic! There's a link in our pinned post :)

content warnings: discussion of alcoholism, mention of death due to drunk driving

Masterlist

I’m here if you need anything.

You can come to my flat anytime you’d like.

Why aren’t you answering my calls? I’m worried.

I miss you.

Alastair reread the messages again and tossed his phone to the side with a groan. He’d met Charles a few months earlier. Despite being in the English Language and Literature course at university, he’d decided to take a class in politics his first semester. Charles had been his TA. Charles’ flirting, all of the comments he left on Alastair’s work, it was thrilling. He just couldn’t seem to understand that Alastair didn’t want to leave his family at the moment.

Alastair’s first semester of university had gone well, despite not being what he planned. There was only one magical university in the country, and he’d wanted to attend with Thomas, but after the previous spring, he’d decided to give up magic and go to one of the non-magical universities instead. That was, his semester was going well, until the middle of finals week when his father drove intoxicated and died in a fatal car wreck.

Alastair had finally finished the last of his work with the extensions that he had been granted, and it was time to go through his father’s study. He hated the idea of it all just sitting out as his father had left it, unkempt and untidy, collecting dust until someone decided it was time to get rid of it all.

He spent his first hour collecting the books scattered around the room and organizing them onto the bookshelves. His eyes scanned a thick, leather-bound book. He pulled it from the shelf and wiped away the coating of dust. It was the Shahnameh, the epic of kings, filled with complex Persian poetry and beautiful illustrations. Alastair could still remember being a young child, him and Cordelia curling up into their father’s arms as he recounted to them the legends of the Shahnameh. Alastair had usually fallen asleep before the story was done. Sleep had come easier to him in those days than it did now, it seemed. It was one of the only times that Alastair could remember Elias being present in their lives, both mentally and physically.

He placed the book to the side. He would read it to his baby brother, one day, and perhaps then he would finally learn the endings to these stories, he would learn what happened after Esfandiyar attempted to arrest Rostam, or when Rostam met Sohrab.

Alastair made his way around to his father’s desks. There were papers strewn everywhere: crumpled up newspapers, letters from the adventurer’s guild, a forgotten permission slip from Cordelia’s school - unsigned. He began to gather them up, throwing them in the bin. No one would be looking for them anymore. In the top drawer, however, he found the medical records. He laid them out on the desk, trying to gather what they meant. The oldest was from a hospital visit, about two and a half years earlier. There were itemized receipts, blood test results, medical scans, letters from medical offices. Most of it he didn’t understand. His eyes found the words cirrhosis, decompensated; end-stage liver failure; ineligible for liver transplantation due to doubts about commitment to sobriety.

Between the medical records was a page that seemed to be torn from a botanical encyclopedia. Before his eyes was a detailed sketch of the silva lux.

Silva lux, colloquially known as light’s root, midnight root, twilight root, and the flower of life, is known for its profound magical healing ability to cure the most grievous of wounds and diseases. The silva lux blooms just once every fifty years and is exceedingly rare, as it was exterminated nearly to extinction at some point during the Era of Destruction. It is said that only one or two plants remain in existence.

Scribbled on the margin in Elias’ sloppy penmanship was a name and a date. Alastair recalled seeing the name earlier in the books he’d organized. He started pulling unmarked books from the shelves and scanning their contents. It took him a few minutes before he found it: Property of Llywelyn Carstairs.

The leather-bound journals took up an entire shelf, recounting decades in the life of Llywelyn Carstairs. He found the appropriate month and year and began to skim the writing. He couldn’t understand why it would have been of importance to his father. The most of it was about Llywelyn and his friend, Oliver Lightwood, going on a series of stereotypical “heroic” pursuits, slaughtering any creature in their path that didn’t look like them. Llywelyn had even managed to find himself his damsel: his best friend’s sister, Dahlia Lightwood, a strikingly beautiful young widow. From what Alastair had gathered, she’d been the most sought-after girl in town before she’d married.

A pit formed in his stomach as he found what his father must have searched for: near the end of the winter, Dahlia had fallen deathly ill. They had hoped and prayed for her recovery, but her life was quickly slipping away. There was only one thing that would save her: the flower of the light’s root, a rare plant hidden within the Lightwood’s gardens. The Lightwood family, barring Oliver, refused to touch it: they repeated to them the adage passed down for generations: “Destruction shall befall any who dares to touch the light’s magic.”

In the end, Llywelyn could not stand back and watch as her family let her die. With the help of Oliver, he took the flower and created a potion to heal her.

Alastair shut the journal, quickly replacing it on the shelf. This must have been how Elias knew about the silva lux. He knew that Thomas had called it his family’s most closely guarded secret, but all this time, he’d just assumed Thomas had only said that to impress him. He thought it was somewhat common, if unspoken, knowledge that the Lightwoods were in possession of the plant. Alastair’s heart ached with the way that he had betrayed Thomas, the way that he had used him.

Returning to his father’s desk, he scanned the documents once more. The first hospital statement was dated the summer before he’d started his second to last year of secondary school. That was the same time that Elias began to encourage his friendship with Thomas. Of course, he’d never learned of the extent that their relationship had gone, but Alastair had always thought it seemed out of character.

Alastair bit back tears. How had he been so foolish? This was the price of trusting his father. The worst part was that he knew why he hadn’t questioned his father more: he wanted to be with Thomas. Even back before he truly knew him, Thomas made Alastair feel safe and comfortable in a way that no one else ever had. He was the most beautiful, bravest, kindest person that Alastair had ever met. He never understood why Thomas would be interested in someone like him.

He felt himself falling down a bottomless pit of guilt and longing that was nearly impossible to pull himself out of. He hates you, he told himself, as he should. You need to move on. He pulled out his phone and dialed Thomas’ number. He had cried for hours the first time he’d tried last summer, about two months after everything had happened, and realized that Thomas had blocked his number. Now, in a twisted way, he felt grounded by hearing an automated machine tell him that this caller was not available.

Thus, the ground fell out beneath him as he heard the line ring, and then keep ringing. He nearly dropped his phone as he was prompted to leave a voice message. He quickly hung up the phone in a panic. Had Thomas heard about Elias’ death and unblocked him? The thought was sobering, if a bit confusing. It had been a month or two since he last dialed him. Was it possible that Thomas had unblocked him before that? Alastair pushed the thought away. Thomas unblocked him because he was a kind person and pitied him, that was all.

He turned his attention back to his father’s records. Him and Thomas were very different people who had frequented very different circles in school. If it wasn’t for Elias’ encouragement, Alastair knew that they would have stayed that way, silently taking notice of the other but never daring to speak on it. It had all been a lie. One big, long game for a flower, for a cheat code to an illness that Elias had brought on himself with his drinking.

He could have stopped drinking when he was diagnosed. He could have slowed the progression of the illness, he could have become eligible for a liver transplant and been cured. He didn’t, because there was never any reality where Elias was going to stop drinking. Alastair was more than a fool, he was pathetic for ever believing that Elias wanted to stay sober, that he intended to.

He gathered up a few of the pages in his hands and left the study. He found his mother in the living room, chatting with Risa. Nearing the end of her pregnancy, Sona was almost always tired, but the exhaustion in her eyes since Elias’ death was noticeably different.

“What’s wrong, joonam?” she asked as he entered the room.

He handed the papers to her. “Did you know about this?”

There was a look of recognition in her eyes, a look of sadness, but not surprise.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded.

“I didn’t want to worry you, azizam,” she said softly. “You already worry so much.”

He could feel the anger bubble inside him. “Of everything, this is what you decided to protect me from? This is when you decided to be a mother to me? You must have noticed when he got better last spring, how his symptoms disappeared and he was healed. Did you ever wonder how that happened?”

Tears formed in her eyes. “I- Your father… I knew he had ways, connections… I didn’t ask questions.”

“He also had a son.”

She hesitated. “Alastair… I don’t understand. Did you do something?”

Alastair stood silent for a moment. He couldn’t tell her the truth, that he’d condemned an innocent woman to death. “He told me… He said that he needed to cure his addiction, that he would stop drinking, stop all of it. What price do you think I would have paid for that?”

“Anything,” she said slowly, softly, in realization.

“Everything!” he screamed, his anger forming hot tears on his cheeks.

“Alastair!” she shouted as he stormed up to his room, but he didn’t stop.

His breaths quickened and shallowed as he realized it was true - he knew when he stole the silva lux that the price would be his relationship with Thomas. That seemed like a reasonable price to pay to heal his father, his family. To give his unborn sibling a better life. Some part of him had hoped that Thomas would understand, that he would forgive him. A week or two after it happened, Alastair would have broken down and gone to him and confessed everything he never said about his life at home, why he could never sleep over, why Thomas was very rarely invited to their house. Instead, Barbara had died. And Elias kept drinking.

Alastair threw some clothes into a bag. He unlocked his phone.

Miss you too. I’m on my way.

Thanks so much for reading! Please know that I love you all so much, and I hope everyone is doing well and taking care of themselves in these trying times <3

taglist: @thefoxandthefound @life-through-the-eyes-of @styxdrawings @justanormaldemon @ipromiseiwillwrite @a-dream-dirty-and-bruised @writeordie-4 @amchara @ddepressedbookworm @wagner-fell @imsoftforthomastair @queenlilith43 @stxr-thxif @lifewouldbebetteronmars @littlx-songbxrd @awayfrmhome @eugeniaslongsword @bookswitchcraftandcats @jamesherondaleofficial @livingformyself @anarmorofwords @sapphic-in @fortheloveofthecarstairs @tessherongraystairs @thewarthatsavedmylife @grace-lightwoodd @hidethebreakables @thomastaircompassrose @kiwichaeng @yozinha-z @skirtsandsweaters @goodoldfashionednerd @have-a-holly-jolly-angstmas @brekkcrs@who-beingloved-ispoor-blog @lightwoodsimp @correctedanddistorted @thomaslightwood @cant-think-of-anything

[flowersbloomuntiltheyrot]

Okay for some reason Only love can hurt like this by Paloma Faith makes me thing of the fic 👀

I didn't know this song, but thanks for the suggestion but I think it fits

- Nina

[flowersbloomuntiltheyrot]

Taglist: @thefoxandthefound @life-through-the-eyes-of @styxdrawings @justanormaldemon @ipromiseiwillwrite @a-dream-dirty-and-bruised @writeordie-4 @amchara @ddepressedbookworm @wagnerthedragon @imsoftforthomastair @queenlilith43 @stxr-thxif @lifewouldbebetteronmars @littlx-songbxrd @awayfrmhome @eugeniaslongsword @bookswitchcraftandcats @jamesherondaleofficial @livingformyself @anarmorofwords @sapphic-in @fortheloveofthecarstairs @tessherongraystairs @thewarthatsavedmylife @grace-lightwoodd @hidethebreakables @thomastaircompassrose @kiwichaeng @yozinha-z @skirtsandsweaters @goodoldfashionednerd @have-a-holly-jolly-angstmas @parisakamaali @who-beingloved-ispoor-blog @lightwoodsimp @correctedanddistorted @thomaslightwood @cant-think-of-anything @merry-esfandimas

hello everyone! we're so glad you're enjoying the fic so far :) below is a link to a playlist we made for it! we may add more songs later, but here's a short list of songs that remind us of the fic! have fun!

special thanks to zia @littlx-songbxrd for one of the song recommendations. please send us anything you think reminds you of the fic :)

[flowersbloomuntiltheyrot]

hello everyone! we're so glad you're enjoying the fic so far :) below is a link to a playlist we made for it! we may add more songs later, but here's a short list of songs that remind us of the fic! have fun!

special thanks to zia @littlx-songbxrd for one of the song recommendations. please send us anything you think reminds you of the fic :)

[flowersbloomuntiltheyrot]

Flowers Bloom Until They Rot and Fall Apart

Chapter 3 (PRESENT DAY): Everything's Growing in Our Garden

This chapter title is from "Garden Song" by Phoebe Bridgers. We'll be posting a playlist for the fic soon! I hope you enjoy the new chapter, it's always so fun watching everyone theorize and piece together what's happening.

content warnings: mention of alcoholism and addiction

Masterlist

Alastair was hunched over the counter of his stall at the Shadow Market, fiddling with his seed. It was still a seed, despite his best efforts to make it grow. Clara had come back to him the other day, nearly shaking with fear. The seed’s flower, if it bloomed, had the promise of helping her mother. The problem, of course, was the blooming.

Under most circumstances, Alastair wouldn’t have an issue with a plant like this refusing to grow. He did not wish to hold that type of magic in his hands, the power to save a life but doom another. Clara did not acquire the seed for free, however. She was given it in exchange for a promise that she would return to the seller with the thorns of the plant, and she’d tied the promise with her blood, with her life. If she could not return the thorns by the next full moon, she would die.

Alastair had seen cruel tricks like this before. There were people that walked the Market looking to cause fear and heartache, to draw blood. They saw pleasure in it. Someone had a powerful seed that they could not grow, and they decided to put it to use.

He looked up and saw a familiar face. Christopher Lightwood. He came by every couple of weeks, looking for rare ingredients and inquiring about his latest projects. Interacting with someone so close to his life outside the Market felt risky, but thus far, Kit had proved harmless.

“Kit,” he bellowed. Tonight, he took the form of a broad man with tan skin, a bit lighter than his natural shade but with a deeper olive undertone. “I haven’t seen you here in a while.”

“I’ve been a bit busy,” Christopher told him. “Well, I burned down my lab.”

“Again?”

“It’s very easy to do.”

“And yet somehow, I’ve managed to avoid it.”

“Not all of us can be Haoma, now, can we?”

“I come from a long line of potion makers, Christopher, and none of them seem to have had the same inclination towards fire and explosions that you do. You’re truly one of a kind.” Alastair’s mother, at least, used to be a skilled potion maker, and she’d never had any issues with her potions exploding, either.

“Thank you. So what have you been up to?”

“I’ve been here,” he answered. “I have a bit of a dilemma at the moment. I probably shouldn’t be telling you about it, but I need to make a stubborn seed grow. I’ve thumbed through every book, spoken to nearly everyone in the Market, but it refuses to sprout.”

“Have you tried speaking to a magical botanist about it?”

“Do you see many magical botanists around here?”

Botanists were a rarer breed of magic users, and most didn’t have much use for a Shadow Market. There was one in his market, a rotten fellow that Alastair didn’t care to work with. He’d gone anyways, though, and the botanist had only laughed at him when he saw the seed.

Christopher pushed up his glasses. “I can give you a recommendation, if you’d like. The best botanists in the country. Of course, I am related to them, but I promise I’m not biased. If anyone can grow that seed of yours, it’s them.”

Alastair held back a sigh. Of course Kit would recommend he go to the Lightwoods. He felt silly not thinking of going to Sophie in the first place, but historically he was not very good at asking for help.

A few years earlier, after he’d finally left Charles, he’d moved back in with his mother. At the time, he’d felt ashamed about it, but now, he knew that it was a necessary step for moving forward. With Charles, he’d been so isolated from his family. Despite living in the same city, he rarely saw them. With Alastair’s own interpersonal issues with Sona after Elias’ death, it was all too easy for Charles to convince him to shut them out. When he left their relationship, Rostam was already four years old, and Alastair had known hardly anything about him.

When he returned, much had changed in their household. Elias was long dead, Alastair long gone, and they’d adapted. One such adaptation: Jem.

Before, Alastair could count on his fingers how many times he’d met his cousin. One of them was at his father’s funeral. He understood now that Jem was a recovering addict himself, and a psychiatrist to top it all off, and he would have seen through the shoddy mask Elias had worn over his addiction in a heartbeat. Elias had alienated and estranged himself from his nephew to keep him from learning the truth. Instead, Jem learned his uncle had a drinking problem only after Cordelia had called him, sobbing, telling him that Elias had died in a car wreck, and that he’d been drunk. That according to Alastair, he was always drunk.

After Alastair returned home, however, Jem was a common face in the Carstairs household. He visited for dinner every Friday night. He was there for every holiday, every birthday. At first, Alastair felt uncomfortable around him, a likely holdover from all of the nights he’d listen to his father rant about what a rotten nephew he was. He remembered one night, Cordelia had asked why they never saw him, shortly after beginning to spend more time with Lucie and her family. After picking up the aftermath of that disaster, Alastair swore to himself that he wouldn’t so much as think about his cousin ever again.

With time, Alastair grew more comfortable around Jem, though it was sometimes unsettling how clearly he could see right through him. He was always one to keep his secrets closely guarded.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” Jem had realized one afternoon.

Alastair couldn’t read if the expression on Jem’s face was disappointment or pity. Perhaps both. “What?”

“It’s not your fault, you know, that you didn’t know what was really going on. You were just a kid. Did you ever tell anyone?”

Alastair had considered denying it, simply saying that he had no idea what Jem was talking about and ending the conversation there. Instead, he shook his head. “Never. Not about that.”

“That’s a lot of weight to carry on just one set of shoulders,” Jem told him.

Alastair couldn’t bring himself to look his cousin in the eyes. “It’s my burden to bear. I made my decisions.”

Jem was silent for a moment. “Well, there are things you could have done differently. You could have asked for help, for one. Gideon and Sophie, they would have helped you in a heartbeat, without question. They would have understood. But asking for help is difficult, especially when you’re young and there’s not been many trustworthy people in your life. You can’t change the past, and there’s no point in dwelling on it.”

Jem’s words rang again through Alastair’s ears, years later. There was never going to be anything that he could say or do to prevent Clara from endangering herself for her mother. He couldn’t stop someone else from repeating the past, but perhaps he could keep himself from making the same mistakes he made ten years earlier.

He looked back at Kit. “I would be happy to take your recommendation, Christopher.”

***

“Uncle Kit is coming over for tea this afternoon,” Thomas told Rosa.

It had been three weeks since the wedding, and Lucie and Cordelia had left for their honeymoon. They’d sent several pictures, and Thomas had promised he and Rosa could look at them together later today. Thomas hoped he could take Rosa on a vacation once she was well enough to travel again. She liked looking through travel guides to decide where she wanted to go. She couldn’t read them yet, but loved looking at the pictures.

“Can we have a tea party? Is Aunt Grace coming too?”

“I think she’ll be there,” Thomas said.

Kit and Grace were both licensed potion makers, and although they were good at what they did, Kit in particular was also good at setting things on fire. Last Thomas heard, he’d burnt down his lab and they were busy rebuilding it so Kit could continue his research.

Rosa liked them both, Grace in particular because she made the best flower crowns. They were not his first choice when he needed a babysitter though. Grace was fine, but Thomas wasn’t sure leaving Kit alone with a child was such a good idea.

The weather was nice and soft, late spring was Thomas’ favorite time of the year. He had never been fond of the cold of winter or the wetness of autumn, and the scorching heat of summer could be a bit too much too. Right now was perfect, and Thomas set up the table outside. Rosa sat at the smaller table, she had gathered her dolls and plushies, and had all put them on different seats as she was drawing something. From a glance, it looked like Rosa was trying to draw Grace and Christopher. Grace’ skin was a bright pink though, since Rosa didn’t have a pencil to match her pale skin tone.

Thomas sometimes wondered if Christopher had any decent clothing at all. Today, he was dressed in a red short sleeved shirt with a few burnt edges at the bottom. Grace was dressed up enough for the both of them though, wearing a cotton, knee length white dress.

Rosa looked up. “Aunt Grace! Look, I made this for you!”

Rosa handed Grace the drawing, and within moments, Rosa was dragging Grace around the garden to show her favorite flowers. Thomas sat down with Christopher, staring at the burnt edges of his shirt.

“Please tell me you still have some clothes that have never been set on fire.”

“This one isn’t so bad,” Christopher said. “It still covers everything. I have something to tell you, you’re going to find this interesting. So, last night I was visiting Haoma at the Shadow Market.”

Thomas stared at him. “Haoma. As in, the illegal potion dealer?”

Thomas was by no means an expert on what happened in Shadow Markets, but most people would at least have heard of the name Haoma. An elusive potion dealer. Changed faces like they changed clothes, few even knew what their real gender was. Thomas had never met them, of course, he didn’t go to the Shadow Markets where Haoma could be found.

“Exactly. Anyway, he showed me this seed he’d been trying to grow, some sort of magic plant.”

“You mean to say you’ve been to the Shadow Market?”

“So I told him, he needs a botanist, and I recommended you and your parents, of course.”

“Kit, you are telling me you’ve been to the shadow market. You went there to talk to Haoma.”

“Yes, pay attention. Since your parents are traveling, I imagine Haoma will ask for your help with the seed. I’m not sure what kind of plant it is, but I think it’s important to him. Her? I don’t actually know, Haoma looks different every time. You know what, let’s go with them for now.”

“You realize what Haoma does is illegal, right?”

Kit stared at him blankly.

“It’s a bad idea to go to the Shadow Markets and deal with him,” Thomas said. “You could get yourself in trouble.”

“Thomas, where did you think I got the ingredients for my potions?”

“My gardens?”

“The plants, yes, but there’s more I need and not everything is easy to get in regular stores. Going to the Shadow Market is faster and they have a much wider variety of ingredients.”

Grace and Rosa came back to the table set up, both of them wearing a flower crown made of the daisies that grew on the grass. Thomas made them all some tea, and added some sugar for Rosa.

“Wait until it’s cooled off,” Thomas warned her.

“Osito also wants tea,” Rosa said.

Thomas poured some tea in a small cup for Osito as well, and hoped Rosa would drink that cup as well and he wouldn’t have to throw it away. He was still surprised she actually liked to drink tea, he’d hated tea until he was about twelve and he’d developed a taste for it.

The doorbell rang. It worked through a convenient spell, ringing wherever people were at the time, since the estate was so big he would never hear a regular doorbell if he was working in the gardens.

“Were you expecting anyone else?” Grace asked.

“No. I’ll go see who it is. Probably just someone trying to sell something. Make sure Rosa doesn’t burn herself, okay?”

Thomas headed to the gate. It seemed a bit elitist, to have a gate to protect your house, but it was to protect other people as much as it was to protect their plants. A thief looking for a particular plant could easily get himself killed in the wrong part of the gardens. There were fences, locks on the greenhouses of course, Rosa couldn’t walk into any of the dangerous sections by herself, but a thief would be looking behind the locks.

When Thomas was young, his father had found a thief in one of the greenhouses once in the middle of the night. He’d passed out from the poison, and his father had barely been able to get him to the hospital in time to save his life.

On the other side of the gate was a man. Thomas had never seen him before. He had long brown hair tied up in a ponytail and he was nearly as tall as Thomas himself, although far more wiry in built. His hands were covered in burns and scars, the signs of a potion maker. Looking to buy magic plants, perhaps? Usually Thomas sold their harvest of ingredients to ingredient stores or pharmacies, but occasionally potion makers sought something that wasn’t as easily found in stores.

“I’m looking for Sophie Lightwood,” the man said.

“She’s not here.”

“That’s unfortunate. Do you know when she will be back?”

“She and my father are traveling, they won’t be back for another two weeks. Who is asking?”

“You can call me Haoma. I’m looking for a magic botanist.”

So this was Haoma. It wasn’t much like Thomas had pictured him. In his head, Haoma was small, with dark hair hidden underneath a dark cloak, face concealed as he strode through the Shadow Market. Of course, this likely wasn’t Haoma’s real face and body. It made Thomas wonder about the scars, had he not bothered to cover those up? Or were they part of the look?

“No,” Thomas said. “Whatever schemes you’re up to, I don’t want to get involved.”

Haoma grimaced. “I have a seed I need you to grow. A girl I know made a blood oath to acquire this. If I fail, she’ll die.”

Thomas hesitated. He didn’t know this girl, what decisions she’d made, or what had possessed her to take a blood oath on a seed she couldn’t grow. It would be easy to judge her, he guessed, someone who had gone to the Shadow Market, dealt with shady figures such as Haoma. But he didn’t know her, nor her story, he didn’t know how desperate she’d been. And he wasn’t one to let someone die.

He guessed he understood why people went to Shadow Markets. Magic was strongly regulated, and perhaps if he’d had more time he would have gone himself when Barbara had gotten sick. He’d been desperate for any magic to save her, and perhaps this girl was not so different.

“Alright,” Thomas said. “You can come in.”

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