imbroglio 

noun | im - brog - lio | meaning - an intricate, confusing, and complicated situation. 

chapter three

Beckett would've been far more then willing to start a one-man war against the vampires at Hotel Dumort if Luke hadn't advised him otherwise. Pointing out that his evidence was all circumstantial, and rushing into things had never been good for anyone, Luke had talked Beckett into finding a different way to get to Clary and Simon. 

Being someone who liked bashing heads together to evade his own personal problems, Beckett wasn't a fan of waiting around for a new plan. Finding a new plan didn't keep Clary and her best friend out of danger, it only kept Beckett safe. Keeping himself out of harms way was a concept Beckett didn't give a damn about, but right now Luke was all he had, so he'd decided it'd be best to listen to the older man for the time being. 

Therefore, when Magnus called him up and said he'd gotten something that could be of significance, Beckett was more then happy to agree to meet up with him. As soon as he got off work, he drove as fast as he could through the streets of New York to get to where Magnus had said he and the other warlocks were hiding out. 

The building was in a fairly secluded part of the city. Surrounding it were tall, industrial looking brick buildings. Beckett immediately knew how serious Magnus was taking Valentine's threats, because this place was nothing like Magnus' usual style and he wouldn't be here unless he had to be. 

The inside of the building was nearly just as barren as the outside. The only real difference was the abundance of warlocks hiding out on the inside. There were a handful of warlocks that Beckett recognized, and about three times as many that he didn't. 

Finding a warlock he knew, Beckett asked to be taken to Magnus. The three-hundred something year old warlock was found in the upstairs, staring with intense unamusement at the plain brick wall in front of him. His hands loosely gripped a piece of parchment paper, its edges ever so lightly charred. Beckett involuntarily thought of all the times he'd received a fire message, which he was sure was what Magnus was holding, and suddenly found himself frowning at the bitter memory. 

Waving away the warlock who'd brought him up, Beckett stepped towards his friend. "Magnus?" 

Magnus did a complete one eighty on the heels of his feet, his face flickering with a smile. "Beckett, my dear lycanthrope. Tell me, don't you think this wall could use a large painting? Maybe a banister." 

Beckett shrugged, not even bothering to look at the wall. "Sure, Mag." 

"Now this is why I'm glad you never fell in love with me," Magnus sighed, shaking his head in disappointment at Beckett. "I would've had to do all the major decorations decisions by myself, and you wouldn't have even noticed." 

Beckett shrugged for the second time, but his impatience made the action look more like a quick spasm. "So? You love making decoration decisions. Now can we get to the point of you calling me here?" 

"We could, but I love when we banter like lovers," Magnus teased. When Beckett's frown deepened, Magnus rolled his eyes and held out the letter. "Your no fun to play with when you haven't had anything to drink. Read this." 

Not bothering to utter a response to Magnus, Beckett quickly snatched the paper away. His eyes scanned the page rapidly, his head tilting downwards as he brought the paper closer to his face for further examination. The mess of curling black strands Beckett called hair fell over his forehead, nearly covering his eyes, making it so Magnus could just barely see his eyes flying from one end of the paper to the other. Magnus began to wonder if he was actually even reading it all. 

"Shadowhunters want to meet with you?" Beckett questioned, looking up to Magnus for clarification. "Just for some damn necklace." 

"You know, if you'd ever listen to me while we were in bed, you'd know it's not just some damn necklace," Magnus took the paper back from Beckett, who still looked like a lost werepuppy. "I've been looking for it for centuries, and that's not even an exaggeration. It has great sentimental value, I gave it to my lover, that vampire Camille, before she became so vindictive, of course. Also, it's quite expensive, and I do adore my riches." 

"I listen to you plenty in bed." Was all Beckett said in response. 

Beckett collapsed down on the nearby couch. A winded breath escaped his chapped lips, and suddenly, Magnus realized how exhausted the werewolf looked. There were dark shapes like half moons under his eyes, tugging his heavy skin downward. His cheeks didn't hold the same color as usual, and the frown marks that etched along his face like perfectly fractured marble seemed to have been engraved even deeper. Beckett blinked once, and his eyelids seemed to hesitate before cooperating with the rest of his body and opening back up. One of his hands raised up to rub over his face, like it was trying to massage life back into it.

None of the weariness made Beckett any less ruggedly handsome then usual, though. In fact, there'd never been a moment that Magnus had known Beckett where the child of the moon hadn't looked utterly attractive. 

Magnus knew that the tiredness Beckett displayed was only the result of him relentlessly searching for Clary. That was just the kind of guy Beckett Jackson was. He would run, jump, swim, even crawl and claw his way to the ends of the earth for someone he truly loves, or die trying. He was kind of funny like that, because Beckett didn't really like admitting he loved someone, but you could still see it in what he did. Magnus had learned from countless hours of happily watching over Beckett, the the werewolf would do this thing with his lips, where they wouldn't quote turn upwards, but they'd get wider when he saw someone he cared about. It was hard to find something to make Beckett smile when he seemingly tried so hard not to, but what he couldn't hide was the way his dark eyes would light up, making him look years younger, and almost like he was happy to be alive. 

"Don't you see what this could mean," Magnus pressed on. Letting his hand fall from his hair, which it looked like Beckett had tried and failed to tame, Beckett should his head slowly. "Their are initials for those who signed it, didn't you see? Write next to J.W. there is a small, delicate C.F." 

"Clary Fray," Beckett whispered. Then, realizing what he had just said, he quickly shook his head. "Clary doesn't know any shadowhunters, or even anything from the shadowworld. Jocelyn made sure of that. " Beckett said firmly, refusing to believe that the young girl who's high school graduation he'd gone to not long ago could be involved in the shadow world with the likes of the demon hunters. 

"You know as well as anyone that just because you try to force something to be dormant doesn't mean you can conceal it for all eternity. I'm not surprised Clary found others like herself," Magnus' words caused Beckett to look up quickly, his reflexes apparently being rejuvenated. Emotions splashed across his face like cool water, but his expressions seemed to like sullen the best, because that is the look that continued to weigh the werewolf down. 

"Well, if you really, believe that there's even a slightest chance they might be involved with Clary is, then I'm one hundred percent in," Beckett straightened his posture, leaning forwards so that his elbows were resting on is legs, and his head lying perfectly in the palms of one of his hands. Magnus sighed, wondering why Beckett never followed through with his suggestion that Beckett should become a model (preferably a nude one) for artists.   

"I was hoping you'd say that," Magnus waved his hand around, the assortment of rings on his fingers glimmering as they danced gracefully in the sunlight. "You see, I don't want to put any of my people in danger by going out to the party, but I do like to party, and I wanted my necklace back, so I was hoping you'd be willing to be my guard dog." 

"You did not just call me a guard dog." Beckett looked so completely unamused by Magnus' pun, it actually hurt Magnus a bit. 

"Hush," Magnus brushed off Becketts unhappy stare. "You know, you look like you're ready to pass out, Beckett. When was the last time you actually slept." 

"It-"

"Nevermind," Magnus cut him off. "By the way, I'm picking out what you're wearing to tonight." 

"Why?" Beckett frowned, but Magnus turned away from him before he could get an answer. 

Magnus began to get to work at a high table near by. His hands moved quickly, which wasn't unusual, and Beckett found himself craning his neck to see what the warlock was doing. After a moment, Magnus turned back around with a tall drink in his hands. 

"An Old Fasioned, just how you like it," Magnus offered the drink to Beckett, who reached out carefully to crap the cool glass. "Drink, then sleep, then I'll be waking you up to get ready." 

Beckett didn't bother arguing, because he knew there was no point once Magnus had his heart set on a party. So instead he took a long sip of his drink, the liquid tingling his tongue and sending a friendly burn down his throat with the more he drank. Beckett felt his mind relax, and soon after he'd finished the drink, which hadn't taken him very long at all, he was passed out on the coach. His lanky legs were falling off and his mouth hung wide open, and for the first time in days he'd actually let himself have some peace. 

Beckett shifted uncomfortably in his pants for the upteenth time. This would be the last time he'd let Magnus dress him, because his legs, among other things, felt like they were being suffocated by the far-to-tight material. Magnus had told him repeatedly that they made him look even better then usual, but Beckett hardly cared anymore. 

Waiting around was giving Beckett a headache. All the people were jumping a shouting happily around him, and there were still yet to be any signs of shadowhunters. All the heat wafting off of the energized dancers radiated on to the impatient werewolf, and he rolled up the sleeves to the light grey cardigan Magnus had forced on to him. At least that article of clothing wasn't trying to choke the life out of him. 

"Maybe you should go get a drink," Magnus suggested. He held a mirror up to himself, adjusting the glitter massacre he called fashion. In all honesty, Beckett was sure Magnus was the only person who was capable of pulling off that much glitter. 

"I'm good." Beckett's voice was low, barely even a hurried murmur, as his eyes scanned the room yet again for any signs of the shadowhunters. 

"I didn't mean for you." Magnus looked at Beckett out of the corner of his eye and smirked. 

Beckett sighed, but knew for the time being he didn't have anything better to do. He carefully made his way through the crowd, using his firm hands to lightly push away the bodies that grinded up against him as he walked by. By the time he finally made in to the bar, his cardigan had been completely unbuttoned, and his skin that was exposed due to the v-neck Magnus dressed him in had bright green lipstick on it. He grabbed a small square napkin and wiped away the mark quickly. 

"Beckett!" The Nixie bartender, Faye shouted over the crowd. Leaving the customer she was serving, the spikey haired creature sauntered over to him with an impish grin. "I haven't seen you here since you got a job being a hot shot police officer." 

"Can I get a scotch on the rocks with a twist?" Beckett inquired, ignoring her statement. 

To be fair, he had been one to drown himself in the party scene when he was first accepted turning into a werewolf, and that was how he and Magnus met, but he tried not to reminisce on those days. That wasn't so hard to do seeing as he hardly remembered much of those times anyways. 

Faye got to work on the drink, throwing things in the air expertly and then catching them in her nimble hands. Beckett looked over his shoulder, hoping to finally see Clary, but he still saw no sign of her. He'd given up trying to find her by scent, because when he'd tried he'd ended up getting a thousand other scents he never wanted to experience again. 

Beckett let out an exasperated huff, turning his attention back to Faye. "You know what, make that two." 

"Now there's the Beckett Jackson I remember," Faye shot him a wink. She finished the drinks with a shocking amount of speed, which was usual for her, and cocked her head towards the werewolf. "So, Beck, who's the lucky guy your taking home tonight." 

"Myself," Beckett muttered as he grabbed on of the drinks, downing it at a record breaking pace, and putting it back down with more force then he intended. Faye raised her eyebrows at Beckett, who ignored her as he wiped his mouth the back of his hand. 

Beckett turned towards the crowd, intending on finding a safe route back to Magnus, but instead his eyes caught a glimpse of fiery red hair. His jaw dropped, and his eye sight sharpened, despite the slight buzz his mind was feeling from his drink. Without a second thought, he made a beeline towards the redhead, pushing aside anyone who got close to blocking his line of sight. 

"Clary!" Beckett attempted to shout. He hadn't been expecting it to work, but he couldn't help himself. He was finally so close to her, he couldn't let her slip through his fingertips. 

Thanks to werewolf reflexes and raw determination, Beckett was suddenly behind Clary, who had yet to see him. He reached out to grab her wrist, but just before he could reach her, a hand grabbed the back of his shirt an pulled him backwards. 

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" The hand belonged to a tall boy, slightly younger then Beckett. The lights at the rave would occasionally soak his jet black hair in waves of green and blue, and his light brown eyes seemed to be putting together a threat all on his own, but Beckett didn't find himself feeling the least bit intimidated. Beckett let his gaze fall from the face he hadn't meant to examine to so long and realized the most prominent feature on the boy. He had black ink spiraling up his neck, and, mixing together with a stonehard gaze, and Beckett instantly knew he was a shadowhunter. 

Beckett smacked his hand away, opening his mouth to snarl some kind of response, when Clary suddenly turned around. She must've sensed something was wrong, because on her lips was a concerned frown. Her hand, almost instinctively, raised to touch her necklace, but stopped before it could get there when her eyes found Beckett. 

"Beckett?" She gasped. Her mouth fell open, giving her a look of surprise, but her eyes held a hint of suspicion, as if she wasn't sure what she was supposed to feel. 

"God, Clary, I found you," Beckett let out a breath, pushing past the dark haired guy so he could get closer. "I- I didn't know if I'd be able to but I did. You're here. Valentine hasn't gotten to you yet. 

Clary was shocked by her old family friend mentioning her father, but was even more shocked at the expression on Beckett's face. Normally, his expressions were quite stoic, never conveying to much feeling, and always gave the slightest impression that Beckett was ready to beat something up. Clary and her mother had made plenty of jokes that Beckett could be a greek hero, a powerful and beautiful being stuck in a horrible tragedy but never letting anyone in. 

Clary had drawn Beckett a couple of times, always with a hard set jaw, dark eyes, and taught muscles. He'd always have a blank expression, his eyes gazing off outside of the paper, endlessly searching for something Clary could never put her finger on. She wish she could draw him right now, because he suddenly looked like an different person. His eyes were wide, with life blooming inside of them, his expression, instead of blank or unamused, was a mixture of concern and relief. His entire being seemed brighter somehow, and suddenly how much she'd missed him came crashing down on her. 

She didn't even remember moving, but suddenly Clary was running into Beckett for a hug. She couldn't remember the last time she'd gotten one from him, but for the moment she didn't really care. She wrapped her arms tightly around his waist, her head burying into his hard chest. 

It took a moment for Beckett to realize what was happening. Finally, he let his own arms collapse around Clary, pulling her tightly towards him before remembering his own strength and letting his grip loosen. 

When Clary finally pulled away, she looked up at him with a smile, an action that Beckett almost mirrored. "How do you know about all of this." 

"This is my world to," Beckett stated simply. Clary narrowed her eyes at him, and realized she should've known better then to ask him questions that weren't yes or no, because he had a habit to either answer them cryptically or avoid the question all together. 

"Clary, are you going to tell us who this guy is or what?" 

Beckett looked up to see that Clary hadn't been there with one other shadowhunter, but three, one a shorter, dark haired girl and the other a brawny blonde. To make matter even more unsettling, the trio of demon slayers. Beckett's mind naturally went to trying to figure out how to take the three, before realizing that Clary had come with them. They could very well be friends now, and after everything she's lost in the past few days, attempting to fight her friends might not be the best thing for her, emotionally. 

"He's not a threat," Clary said firmly, but then a flicker of confusion flashed across her face as she looked up at Beckett. "Unless... have you been talking to Luke?" 

Beckett frowned. "What?" 

Clary, looking vaguely guilty for assuming what ever it was that'd she assumed shook her head. "Nevermind," She mumbled. Clary turned her head towards the blonde shadowhunter. "He's a friend, I promise." 

"What kind of friend?" The blonde interrogated further. 

Clary opened her mouth to respond but Beckett beat her to it. "The kind that can take you to Magnus Bane." 

Clary looked up at Beckett it shock. She hadn't expected Beckett to know the guy who had stolen her own memories. 

"How do you know we're here for Magnus Bane?" The female shadowhunter asked, her face holding an expression of slight amusement and great intrigue. In her voice there was a slight sultry undertone weaving through her words. 

Beckett motioned to a jewel that was dangling from the blonde shadowhunters hands. "I know that's his necklace." 

The blonde didn't look the slightest bit impressed with Beckett, not that Beckett wanted him to, and nodded once. "Alright, you'll take Clary and I to Magnus Bane," He decided, his eyes flickering to his comrades. "Izzy and Alec, blend in but keeps your weapons ready." 

"I don't take orders from shadowhunters." Beckett found himself saying, his tone harder then he'd meant it to be. 

"Beckett, Jace is not trying to order you around, he's just got a bossy personality." Clary clarified quickly. One of her small hands reached out to touch Becketts arm tentatively. 

Beckett nodded, but not without a meaningful glare in the direction she'd called Jace. Beckett swiftly led the pair through the crowds, occasionally glancing at Clary to notice how much different she looked then usual. As much as Beckett hated to admit it, Clary looked like she'd fit right in with the other Shadowhunters. 

Once they got to him, Beckett was the first one Magnus noticed. The warlock immediately looked at the werewolfs empty hands and then up to his brilliantly structured face to shot him a frown. 

"What happened to getting me a drink?" Magnus inquired. 

Beckett stepped to the side so the warlock would take notice to the two shadowhunters. "I got a little distracted." 

Magnus stood up an straightened his snake skin blazer. "Clary Fairchild," He greeted the girl. "You didn't tell me how beautiful she's grown, Beckett." 

Clary looked at Beckett with unreadable eyes. "Wait, you're close to the guy that stole my memories?" 

"At your mothers request," Magnus interjected, trying to steal the betrayed look Clary had laid on Beckett. "She knew the risk she was taking." 

"To be fair, I never agreed with what she did to your memories," Beckett told Clary softly, but she either didn't here him or ignored him. 

Magnus, too, had taken his attention off of Beckett and instead was extending his arm to Jace. "Show me the jewelry, shadowhunter." 

Jace looked around carefully, as if he was expecting to be watched, and then lifted up his hand. He turned it over, allowing the sliver in cased ruby to fall from his hand and dangle along it's chain. Beckett finally took a long look at the expensive piece and though he'd never was one for flashy jewelry, but he couldn't help but see the beauty in that one. 

Magnus reached out eagerly for the necklace, but the shadowhunter just as quickly pulled back his arm, making it so the necklace was just out of Magnus' reach. Beckett knew that had to irritate Magnus. 

"Ooh," Jace said tauntingly. "Give Clary back her memories, then you can get your jewelry." 

Magnus smiled coyly. "I have to confirm its authenticity." 

He didn't look at all happy about it, but Jace handed over the ruby necklace. Looking pleased with himself, Magnus took what was rightfully his. Magnus turned it over in his hands with great satisfaction. When the ruby was face day, Beckett was able to notice something on that back of it, some sort of engraved word. 

"Le véritable amour ne peut pas mourir," Magnus recited as if it was some kind of mantra. He looked up from the necklace. "True love cannot die. Oh, how I've missed this jewel." 

"Magnus, Clary's memories," Beckett reminded his friend firmly. 

Magnus looked up, but he wouldn't look at Beckett. Instead, he allowed Clary to hold his attention. "I wish I could retrieve your memories, but I no longer have them." 

"What?" Clary looked back at Jace, and then over to Beckett, perhaps hoping that she'd just heard Magnus wrong. "Where are they?" 

"I fed them to a memory demon." 

"Why the hell would you do that?" Jace asked hastily. 

Finally Magnus looked over to Beckett, as if he was the one whom he owed an explanation to. "To protect Clary and the cup." 

Unlike the two shadowhunters, who still looked lost, Beckett quickly caught on to what Magnus meant. "It's for safe keeping, right. If Magnus ever was captured by Valentine, he could have the memories tortured out of him like Dot." 

"Tortured?" Beckett immediately knew he'd said the wrong thing, because Clary was suddenly looking at him in complete horror. "Wait, is Dot okay?" 

"You don't know what happened to her," Beckett realized, exchanging a sour look with Magnus. 

Trying to look as kind as possible, Magnus said, "Dot is dead." 

"What." Clary's voice was suddenly much lower, and Beckett didn't need supernatural hearing to know her heart beat was rising. "How do you know?" 

"I can't feel her magic anymore." 

Clary let out a shaky breath, her head shaking in disbelief. Beckett found himself looking down, a horrible feeling in his stomach as he tried to think of a way to console Clary after yet another loss. 

"Come with me, Clary," Magnus offered the girl, shocking both Clary herself and Beckett. "My lair can offer you protection no shadowhunter can." 

Clary slowly stepped away from him. "No, I'm not going anywhere with you." 

"Don't be a fool, your mother would want you to live." 

"Then help me get my memories back from what ever demon you gave them too."

Magnus held Clary's determined gaze with ease. "Valentine is hunting you, too. And every moment we are outside my lairs protection is a moment Valentine gets closer to finding us." 

Magnus turned away from Clary to the passageway behind him. Flourishing his hands so that they began emitting a blue glow, Magnus swiftly turned the empty space into a shimmering plan. Beckett found himself looking back and forth between the two, trying to figure out how things were going to play out. 

Magnus turned back to Clary and offered her his hand. "Come with me." 

Clary looked over to Beckett, who simply shook his head. 

"This is your decision, not mine," Beckett told her. 

Clary then turned her head towards Jace. The shadowhunter slowly shook his head at the girl. 

"I won't offer again," Magnus said, growing impatient. 

"No," Clary finally said. "No, I won't hide from my problems, and neither should you!"

"Look out!" A voice shouted just loud enouch to be heard over the crowd. 

Clary, Jace, Magnus, and Beckett all ducked just as an arrow went soaring by them. Beckett turned his head to see the arrow lodge it's self expertly into a man he hadn't noticed approaching. The man immediately dropped to the ground, and when he did Beckett was there standing over his body. 

Beckett's instincts said that the man was dead, but still kicked the serpaph dagger out of his hands. With the tip of his shoe, he turned the mans head to the side, only to see two bright red circle burned into the skin of his neck. 

Making his way next to Beckett silently was the first Shadowhunter Beckett had seen, the one Jace had called Alec. 

"Circle member," Alec murmured under his breath. 

"And there's probably more," Beckett retorted, though he was pretty sure Alec hadn't actually been talking to him in the first place. 

Alec looked over to Beckett with his calculating gaze. He waited a moment before responding, ignoring the attention of the crowd they'd drawn. "We didn't see any more." 

"Excuse me if I don't take you're word for it, shadowhunter." Beckett retorted. Now it was his turn to hesitate. He eventually looked over his shoulder, seeing a shocked Clary, and announced. "I'm checking the perimeter. If there's others, I'll find them." 

With that, he attempted to swiftly move past Alec but instead brushed up against him, and found himself hurrying to turn away when he did. He, obviously, didn't care about that, though. All he wanted was to make sure the surroundings were safe for Clary. That was absolutely all he wanted. 

so basically this and gold have been my favorite stories to write bc i've really liked writing male OC's. also, i'm super excited to develop Alec and Beckett's relationship. I hope you guys are too. The last chapter didn't really get a lot of comments though, so please let me know what you're feeling with this story because I'd love to know. 

quick question, what do you think Beckett and Alec ship name should be?