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Chapter Text

Wednesday 8th August 2035, Los Angeles, Earth

Alec knew he was taking a risk just turning up at Bane Industries and demanding an interview with Magnus Bane himself. The man was not just the founder and CEO of one of the leading private companies in the world engaged in aeronautics, he was a legend in aerospace engineering circles. The patents he’d developed, beginning before even finishing his degree, had revolutionised previously cumbersome mechanisms, saving precious commodities like fuel as well as improving the everyday experience of astronauts. Not only had Alec studied his designs in grad school but he’d heard both Izzy and Jace wax lyrical about his innovations, one of which shaved close to 10 minutes off the rigmarole that was putting on their suits. But right now Izzy was 50 million miles from home, trapped on an uninhabitable planet with dwindling supplies and bringing her home was the only thing Alec cared about.

His NASA ID and security pass had been enough to convince security that he did indeed have urgent business with their CEO and gain entrance to the elevator which took him up to the executive floor. Alec knew Magnus’ executive assistant would have been warned of his impending arrival. He was ready with his card and one of NASA’s distinctive red ‘classified information’ envelopes when the doors opened and he found himself face-to-face with not one but three men. Alec knew instantly that the impeccably dressed Latino man at the front was Magnus’ EA, Raphael Santiago. He was as renowned in the field for his protectiveness of his mentor and boss as he was for his own research and his glare seemed even more intimidating when he was flanked by two men who were clearly part of the security team. Glad they’d at least left him enough room to exit the elevator, Alec took the single step they’d allowed him and held out the envelope to Raphael.

“I have an urgent and classified matter which I believe Mr Bane will be interested in,” Alec said holding the other man’s intense gaze as he took the envelope.

“Mr Bane has back to back meetings all day, Mr…” Raphael paused, exaggeratedly checking the card as though he hadn’t already been thoroughly briefed on who to expect, “Mr Lightwood.”

“I’ll wait,” Alec said evenly, standing his ground with implacable calm despite the clawing fear and hope that raged just below the surface. He knew the slightest hint of aggression or desperation and the two goons would have him back on the street before he could so much as draw breath but Alec had a lifetime's experience of hiding his true thoughts and feelings to rely on.

Raphael let the silence hang, the tension thick as he assessed Alec but, at last, he seemed to reach a decision. Alec had a moment of pure terror when the hand not holding the envelope beckoned the security guard on that side to lean closer but the words, when they came, were not to forcibly evict him.

“Mr Lightwood can wait. He is welcome to make use of the amenities but should be supervised and under no circumstances is he to use any form of technology other than to make or receive calls,” Raphael said to the security guard, despite still looking directly at Alec.

Alec nodded once that he understood but suppressed every sign of the relief that was so powerful it threatened to cut him off at the knees.

So he’d waited.

When Raphael had left, the security guards backed off so that they had a clear view of the whole waiting room but still remained firmly between him and the cleverly disguised elevator entrance he’d seen Raphael leave through. Alec had decided to take him at his word and made a beeline for the coffee machine that was set up in the corner closest to him. Despite the fact he’d practically been living on coffee for over a week now, he’d been too anxious even for that when he’d made a brief stop at his apartment to make himself look presentable before heading back out in the early morning rush to ensure he had been standing at the front door of Bane Industries when it opened at 0700 hours. Now that he’d made it this far, the rich aroma of coffee was too much to resist and he’d had to repress a sigh of pure happiness when he realised it was, in fact, an espresso machine with both automatic and manual controls. He could understand the appeal of single button systems and admired their consistency but nothing beat the ability to control each of the elements, to be able to make for yourself a far superior product by understanding how each of the machines worked and adjusting your input accordingly. It was strangely calming to be able to go through the motions of setting the grinder, tamping the grounds and firmly locking the portafilter into the group head, placing a cup underneath, switching it on as he shifted his attention to the milk, filling the jug, priming the steam wand and frothing the milk. Having spent time working as a barista in college, the process was second nature to him and he’d had some of his best ideas while his hands were busy making coffee or cleaning the machines, the problems he’d been trying to solve having simmered away on the back burner. By the time his coffee was ready, Alec had almost forgotten this wasn’t just any other day spent in his office at the Jet Propulsion Laboratory. Pausing only long enough to grab one of the pastries from under the glass dome next to the coffee machine, before transferring everything he needed to the small table next to the couch and taking out his notebook to continue working on the calculation of how to shave precious days off the Hermes’ flightpath without sacrificing any of the essential cargo.  

<><><><><><><><><>

Magnus had been in the middle of reading a complex report for his first meeting of the day when Raphael appeared bearing the flaming red envelope. Only half listening, Magnus had rolled his eyes when he’d heard that it was a missive from Maryse Lightwood, everything was ‘urgent’ to that woman. Fortunately for him, Raphael was even more protective of Magnus’ time than he was himself so it had already been established that it would need to wait but Magnus took a certain amount of pleasure in not even thinking about it again until he finally wrapped up his last meeting of the morning with the European Space Agency. He was glad he always allowed himself an hour and a half break at lunch because, inevitably, one of his meetings would run over. With his next meeting starting at 1.00 pm, Magnus decided that he’d rather stay in and enjoy his 45 minutes of relative peace rather than brave the lunchtime rush at one of his favourite cafes. Picking up his desk phone, Magnus hit 1 to reach Raphael.

“I’m thinking take away from Penang Coffee House, laksa lemak for you or are you going for something different for once?” Magnus said without preamble when Raphael answered.

“Why mess with a good thing? But I suppose we should check if the Lightwood boy wants something. I expected him to have left by now but given he’s hardly moved in the last five hours I suppose he really is prepared to wait all day until you have time for him,” Raphael said with something that sounded like grudging respect.

“I’ve had a Lightwood sitting in my waiting room since seven am?” Magnus asked incredulously. It seemed impossible, Maryse would have stormed into his office (well, tried to) within 10 minutes or else stormed out, so the idea of one of them actually waiting for hours, seemingly without complaint…

“Dios, I told you this morning! He said he won’t leave until you read whatever urgent and classified information is in that envelope. I thought you knew and were keeping him waiting intentionally. But you heard Lightwood and assumed it was Maryse, didn’t you? You haven’t thought about it since.”

Wincing slightly at the accuracy of Raphael’s conclusion Magnus reached out for the envelope, reading the card that came with it aloud, “Alec Lightwood, Astrodynamicist, Jet Propulsion Laboratory NASA.” He was intrigued despite his dislike of the Senior Lightwoods. “What’s he like?”  

“Focused, methodical, patient. He’s obviously working on complex calculations of some kind but he’s keeping whatever it is in neat piles rather than turning the coffee table into a miniature disaster zone the way some people would have by now. Other than asking where the restrooms were he hasn’t said a thing, he’s just - waited. But you want to know what he looks like, don’t you?”

Magnus grinned, humming his ascent as he broke each of the classified seals on the envelope he was holding. Raphael really did know him too well. 

Raphael muttered darkly but complied, “Late 20s, tall and muscular, untamed black hair, wearing more black than a Victorian widow -”

“Raph-” Magnus’ voice was unusually grave as it broke through, “I might have to put you in charge of lunch, it seems for once this actually is urgent.”

“Dios, Magnus just because he’s your type-”

“It’s about the Ares III mission. He’s here for some kind of assistance.” Magnus couldn’t say more, not with the words CLASSIFIED: CATEGORY 1 stamped boldly across the document as well as in the header, footer and margins.  

“Isn’t that the one-”

“Yes.” Magnus sighed. Death was not uncommon in their industry, nor was burying empty caskets, but with each and every announcement, all around the world, they mourned the loss of one of their own. Donne had been right when he’d written not to ask for whom the bell tolled, in this industry they bled and mourned as one.

“I’ll bring him up,” Raphael said and then he was gone.

Slowly Magnus put the handset back onto its cradle and stared again at the missive before him. It was so cold, so bleak and yet, under all of that, it represented the faintest spark of hope.

<<< CLASSIFIED >>>

<<< CATEGORY 1: READ AND DESTROY ON RECEIPT >>>

TO: DR MAGNUS BANE.

Isabelle Lightwood, botanist and member of the Ares III Mission to Mars who was presumed dead following the storm on Mars on 25 May 2035 which caused the mission to be aborted is alive. Contact was reestablished with NASA on 13 July 2035. Actions have been taken to prolong the food supply but these solutions do not constitute a secure or indefinite supply. A rescue mission has not been authorised due to risk to remaining members of the Hermes crew, however, options continue to be explored.

The seeking of classified advice and assistance from Dr Magnus Bane of Bane Industries on this matter has been authorised.

The correction of the public record of mission details or the disclosure to any other party of this information is not authorised at this time.

Maryse Lightwood

NASA Administrator  

<<<<<< END >>>>>>

Magnus had always known that Maryse was a hard and unbending figure but to write such an impersonal letter detailing the current policy to abandon her own daughter, that seemed unfeeling, even for her.    

Despite Raphael’s description, Magnus is surprised when Alec strides into his office. The man might be on a mission but that didn’t change the fact he looked more like he’d been carved by Michelangelo than the flesh and blood scientist and engineer he knows him to be. His wide, full lips looked soft and he can see where Alec’s obviously been running a hand through his hair, leaving it sticking out at all angles because of its natural wave. There’s something disarming about the cleft in the tip of his nose and the scar that bisects one eyebrow. Already he can see the darkening shadow across his jaw and throat and he can’t help but be glad he’d come clean shaven, he has a feeling that he’d be downright devastating with a couple of days' growth. But it’s his hazel eyes that ultimately catch and hold his attention. Eyes that widen when he approaches, hand outstretched to greet him. It’s as though he expected to be simply waved to a chair without the respect of a proper greeting. It makes him dislike Maryse just that little bit more.

“We haven’t been formally introduced, I’m Magnus,” he says with a smile as Alec takes the offered hand, trying to ignore the way their hands fit perfectly together.

“I’m - Alec.” The slight pause and the hint of breathlessness in his words don’t go unnoticed and neither does the shy smile that accompanies it making Magnus wish again that this was a social call rather than business.  

“Thank you for waiting, Alexander,” Magnus said, reluctantly breaking the connection and waving him towards two chairs set away from his desk. He waited until they’re both settled before asking neutrally, “I believe you have something you wish to discuss, relating to the Ares III mission and Isabelle Lightwood?”

Instantly Magnus is aware of the shift, his expression shuttering and tension rolling off him in waves but the determination in his eyes remained. He can’t even begin to imagine what he must have been through, first with the funeral and now this. Knowing she’s alive but so far from help must be almost unbearable.

“Izzy -” Alec pauses, swallowing roughly as though the words are stuck in his throat, “My sister survived the storm but she is running out of time. She has achieved the unthinkable and actually cultivated the first crop ever grown outside Earth but even so, she doesn’t have enough supplies for four years, which is how long it is until NASA’s next scheduled visit to Mars. At best she had closer to a two-year supply of food and water.” Alec shifts to the edge of his seat, the hope lighting his expression is heartbreaking. “There is a way we can get back sooner, a way for the Hermes crew to go to her aid. I’ve done those calculations hundreds of times and it checks out. But it relies on the aid of a booster rocket, one which could carry a probe to resupply the Hermes for an additional 18 months, enabling them to return to Mars without returning to Earth, as they’re scheduled to do. There is only one company, one person with a rocket that could launch in time to achieve that - and it’s owned by you.”

Magnus’ heart clenched, that mission had been years, no, decades in the making. It was historic, the first time a private company had rivalled one of the international agencies and launched a solo mission. It was a testament to his life’s work and this would significantly alter and potentially completely destroy its ability to continue on to complete its mission.

“My family means everything to me, Magnus, and I know what I am asking for is - is more than anyone should ever contemplate giving - but she’s my sister and I can’t - I can’t just sit here and watch her waste away. Not while there was any possibility, any chance that I could save her. I will do anything it takes to get her back.” Alec’s voice was rough and his eyes held the sheen of fiercely withheld tears but his gaze never wavered from Magnus’. He held firm where so many would crumble and fall.

Magnus admired his bravery in coming here and asking for the use of a rocket that was worth literally billions and admired his dedication to the sibling he’d lost and regained in such a cruel way. He couldn’t begin to imagine the desperation he must feel but it didn’t change the facts. It didn’t change the personal sacrifice Magnus would need to make if he offered his support. It would likely delay his own plans by close to a decade. Knowing it would likely hurt Alec but needing to know, Magnus asked the question that had been burning in his mind ever since he’d read the official classified note.

“If this plan is so achievable why was it not approved? Why isn’t this a formal request from NASA?”

The effect on Alec was instantaneous, his whole body becoming rigid, a muscle in his jaw working as he looked away. For a long moment, Magnus thought he might not answer but when at last he turned back to face him, his pale face etched with grim determination, he realised he’d underestimated him.

“In the eyes of NASA’s Administrator, our mother, the ‘hard choice’ of sacrificing a single life is justified when the alternative is to take a significantly smaller risk of six lives being lost. She argues that they all knew, all accepted the risks and the possibility they would never return when they chose to get on that rocket and as their families, we accepted it too. That it is bigger than just one person. And yet, she refuses to allow the Hermes crew to be informed, to allow them to choose for themselves whether they return. But I don’t give up on people just because they’re a hard choice and I know that if we could get that rocket to them they’d go back. Believe me, I wouldn’t be pushing for this if I believed it was a suicide mission or posed a significant risk that we’d lose the whole Hermes crew. Jace, our brother, is also part of that crew. But this is my field, I know we can reach her this way two years before we could if we have to relaunch.” Alec paused, drawing in a ragged breath as he stared down at his hands. It hurt admitting out loud the truth that burned like acid in his veins. “But our mother knows that if the rescue mission fails, maybe even if it succeeds, she’ll lose her position as the head of NASA and, when all the rhetoric is scraped away, that’s all that matters to her.”

Magnus wanted to reach out, to provide comfort and to help push away the pain that echoed in every breath he took, but he couldn’t. Not yet. He was not the founder and CEO of a multi-billion dollar corporation because he got carried away by his feelings. This was not like buying the houses and refinancing loans of employees facing foreclosure during the financial crisis that followed the short-lived Trump presidency - this was hundreds of millions of dollars and years of development and testing which could not be so easily replaced. The only real comfort Alec wanted, could accept, would be his full support and Magnus still had so many unanswered questions. So it was a relief when Raphael’s precise knock sounded and he entered, carrying a much-needed distraction in the way of food. Raphael shot a dark look at Magnus when he saw the young man looking so cowed, somehow managing to look small and fragile despite being well over 6-feet-tall.

“Come, Alexander,” Magnus said gently, resisting (barely) the urge to touch him. “Eat and then you can show me your calculations and we can discuss exactly what you are asking for.”   

Magnus was startled when Alec’s head snapped up, glassy but determined eyes meeting his with what looked an awful lot like hope. It was at that moment that Magnus realised that although Alec was here, asking for help, he did not truly expect that it would be offered. Which put the fact that he’d waited so long and so uncomplainingly into an entirely different context. Had he then expected to be denied a meeting out of hand? But he guessed if a mother was prepared to leave their own child to die alone rather than make a personal sacrifice then it wouldn’t give you high hopes that anyone else would be prepared to lift so much as a finger to save them. In that moment he wondered if he’d ever despised another human the way he did Maryse Lightwood for what she had done to all of her children. The realisation that she would, in choosing to sacrifice one, forever lose the love of them all, did not bring the pity he might have felt for anyone else.

“Eat first, Alexander, then we’ll talk,” Magnus repeated, relieved when at last Alec nodded and they rose to join Raphael where he was busy opening lunch containers and setting out bowls, serving spoons, chopsticks and a single set of cutlery, which could only be intended for Alec.

Magnus was relieved to see Alec regaining his composure as they ate. It was a mostly quiet meal with Raphael not being one for small talk and Magnus rejecting just about every topic of conversation he thought of because everything seemed to lead back to why they were here now. He ended up telling stories of his travels. The time he and Ragnor had been thrown out of Peru for refusing to allow the government agency to take credit for their discovery of a new meteorite, the fact that they’d managed to successfully smuggle a sample of it out from which they published a number of papers ensured they were now permanently denied entry. And the time he’d managed to convince a Canadian university to allow him to teach a series of lectures outside at night under the Northern Lights, purely because he loved seeing them but he’d managed to convince the head of the course he was delivering that the outdoor location had actual academic significance. It surprised him when Alec huffed out a laugh at that, going on to tell them about the time when Jace and Izzy had managed to stow away in his car when he left on one of his hiking trips out of town. They’d managed to convince him that it was better to call their parents and explain they’d all be back in three days time than go back now, seeing as they’d be grounded the moment they returned and this way Alec would still get to go hiking. Of course, neither Izzy nor Jace were actually equipped for hiking or particularly good at it so, in the end, Alec had set up camp in the foothills and resigned himself to eating s'mores (the only supplies they’d brought with them other than sleeping bags) and stargazing instead. His parents had, of course, been furious and grounded him for the rest of the summer for not managing to prevent Jace and Izzy from coming with him - something that Alec seemed to accept without question as being his responsibility rather than their parents’ but now was clearly not the time to dig into that particular quagmire.

With lunch done and Raphael having left to reschedule his next meeting, it was finally time for Alec to present his theories and calculations. Magnus couldn’t help but be impressed as Alec quickly set about laying out the key documents and explaining thoroughly but concisely the three main parts of the problem: where Izzy was and how long she could stay there; how the Hermes could get back to Mars and how long it would take them; and what Izzy and the Hermes would need from the rocket for the plan to work. His methodical nature showed in the neat way he laid out his calculations, which at close to twenty pages in length could easily have been almost impossible to follow. Magnus had certainly had times when he’d been developing something in a hurry and fallen into using his own version of shorthand, unintentionally encrypting his work so that only he could read it. He also hadn’t worked alone, taking input from a number of people Magnus knew and whose opinions he respected, keeping note of their contributions to give credit, even when the plan had since changed and rendered it irrelevant. Alec was intelligent, dedicated, loyal to a fault and positively gorgeous when he got started on Astrodynamic, a topic he was clearly still completely in love with despite its current unhappy association.

“So in summary,” Alec said, pointing to the overview diagram he’d put up in the middle, “rather than the Hermes decelerating in preparation for the intercept with Earth they’ll accelerate, preserving velocity and gaining even more. It won’t intercept with Earth at all but will come close enough to get a gravity assist and adjust course. While they’re so close we'll use your rocket to enable them to intercept the probe carrying supplies. Meanwhile, Izzy will have to trek 3235km to Schiaparelli - it's not ideal but the NASA Ares IV MAV is there and if anyone can do it, it's her. The Hermes will be going too fast to fall into orbit but it can do a flyby and Izzy can use the Ares IV MAV to intercept, then all of them head home.”

Magnus had to admit it was a thorough, well thought out plan that had a good chance of succeeding - which was the best anyone could ask for in this industry, where there were too many volatile elements for there to be absolute certainty of success. But it also confirmed that taking part in this mission would mean abandoning all of his own plans for the rocket. It would be headed to Mars and loaded exclusively with the supplies needed by both the Hermes crew and Isabelle Lightwood in order to survive. As devastating as it was, losing his dream, he couldn’t see any other option. Not when he himself had lost friends and colleagues on missions which had failed and would give anything to have the chance to turn back the clock and prevent each and every tragedy. Meaning, the main thing he needed now before he committed to it absolutely, was to ensure he was going to be adequately compensated by NASA for his part in the mission.

“I’ll admit, it’s a solid plan. I’d like to go over your calculations myself-” Magnus began only to be interrupted by Alec.

“Oh, um, yeah - of course,” Alec fumbled, quickly scooping all the pages up and shuffling them into a neat pile again before presenting them to Magnus with eagerness more fitting of a child than a grown man. But there was self-criticism resting heavily on his shoulders too, “I mean you might have changes, I hadn’t - I should have -”

“I understand,” Magnus said holding a finger up to his lips to stem the flood of self-doubt as he took the calculations from him. His finger tingled as Alec released the breath he’d been holding and began to relax. He knew it was time to remove it as Alec’s lips tilted up in the beginning of a smile but he was strangely reluctant to do so. Taking a step away to place the papers on his desk provided the space he needed to get his head back in the game. This was, after all, about far more than a pretty face.

“It seems I might be able to be persuaded to allow NASA to use my rocket for this mission, for the right price, of course,” Magnus said, a clear challenge in his eyes as he met Alec’s, curious to see just how far ahead Alec had thought.

“I discussed it with Luke - I mean, Dr Garroway, Head of the JPL. You did your PhD with him, I think? Anyway, he said he’s done NASA requisition paperwork before and said to tell you the compensation would cover not just the physical rocket but the R&D side and significant support to enable you to reproduce it for your own mission as soon as possible. He wrote an outline for you with a detailed breakdown of what’s usually covered and an estimate but he felt confident, given what was involved, that you’d be able to negotiate if it wasn’t - sufficient.” Alec paused, taking heart from the way Magnus had smirked at the mention of negotiations, making him remember the mischievous gleam in Luke’s eyes when he had given Alec the paperwork to take with him. His casual warning, that very few people were able to deny Magnus something he truly wanted rang in his head even as he prepared to make his other offer. “But NASA wouldn’t be the only ones indebted to you. I - I meant it when I said I was willing to do anything - everything it takes to get her back.”

“Anything?” Magnus challenged his head tilting as he appraised Alec, his eyes running down and back up his figure in a way that had Alec blushing and gulping. He knew it was an intimidation technique, that Magnus - despite being very open with his sexuality - was unlikely to actually be interested in him like that but still, he couldn’t fight the foreign thrill that rolled through him at the idea.

Taking a deep breath, Alec nodded, “Anything.”

He let the word hang between them for a beat, making sure Magnus could see the conviction in his eyes before he spoke again.

“I - uh - took the liberty of asking one of the department heads in the Legal division at NASA, Raj Chambal, to set out in detail the finer points of the anti-competition clauses in my own and my siblings' contracts and how they might be - beneficial to your company if you were to agree to assist us,” Alec said picking up the white folder he’d brought with him and offering it to Magnus.

Magnus raised an eyebrow as he pulled the folder towards him. He was already well acquainted with NASA's standard agreements but was curious to see just how they thought they could be beneficial rather than obstructive. NASA had some of the most restrictive clauses he’d come across in the entire industry and it made it very difficult, if not impossible, for anyone to move into the private sector. 

The familiar phrase was printed in bold about halfway down the first page:

‘Active technical staff cannot, for a period of 5 years, receive monetary or in-kind remuneration for providing substantially similar services to a private company as the work they were trained or employed to perform in their current role at NASA. This includes not being able to accept a compensatory salary after that five year period which would account for lost earnings.’

The paragraph below set out the current annual salary of each of the Lightwood siblings. He noted with interest all of them were in the highest earning bracket of their respective field, which put their combined earnings in excess of half a million dollars each year.

The offer set out under it had Magnus's head snapping up to look at the young man in front of him in amazement. The fierce determination in those hazel eyes had the witty repartee dying on his lips. Unlike every significant contract he’d negotiated in the past 10 years, to Alec Lightwood this was no game. He doubted it had even crossed Alec’s mind to try to dodge making any personal sacrifice and instead rest comfortably in the knowledge that NASA would foot the bill.

“You want to work for me, for free, for the next ten years?” Magnus asked sceptically.

“Longer, if that’s what it takes,” Alec replied with a shrug, as though it truly was nothing unusual. “Considering I am effectively paying off my sister’s life, you could insist I stay for the rest of my career and I’d still be getting a good deal out of it.”

“And your siblings?”

“I have complete financial powers of attorney for both of them, it was something we agreed on when they decided they both wanted to be astronauts. There are copies of the POAs at the back of that folder. You can read it yourself later but, in essence, it covers the ability to make decisions and sign contracts regarding property, employment and investments. There is a specific clause regarding instances where it was necessary to sign contracts which would enact NASA’s restraint of trade rules. It’s both legal and binding. And, given it is potentially going to save Izzy’s life, I think you can be secure in the knowledge that neither Izzy nor Jace would fight it.”

“And yet your siblings’ contracts would be shorter than yours, half the length in fact. Is their freedom more valuable than yours?” Magnus asked raising an eyebrow.

Alec blushed, glancing away as he tried to gather his thoughts. If Alec hadn’t agreed, if he hadn’t let them follow their dreams to be astronauts, none of this could have happened. He felt like he was back on that morning after the camping trip, but instead of expecting him to take all the responsibility and receive all of the punishment for their joint actions, Magnus seemed to think it should be equal. But this time he was also weighed down by the knowledge that, after more than five years out of active service, neither of them would be allowed to return to the program - not even as teachers. And as much as he didn’t want either of them to go back, the idea of signing away their ability to follow their dreams broke his heart.

 “I’ve always wanted my feet fixed firmly to this planet,” Alec said at last. “But they’ve always dreamed of being up there, amongst the stars. So, while I hope to God this cures them of it-” 

“Ah, yes, NASA’s golden six-year rule.”

“Exactly.” Alec sighed, closing his eyes for a moment and gathering his strength. Opening them he set aside his pride and hoped with every fibre of his being that they’d forgive him. “But if that’s what it takes - they are after all, no doubt more valuable to you - I’ll sign.”

Again Magnus marvelled at the lengths Alec was willing to go to, the sacrifices he was willing to make, but he knew now wasn’t the time to discuss that. Nor was it the right time to challenge the fact he seemed to place so little value on his own talent and none whatsoever on his personal happiness.

“And if, despite everything, the mission fails?” Magnus asked, doing his best to keep his tone as neutral as possible. If anything broke him, it would be this question but, somehow, even before Alec answered, he knew it wouldn’t.

“The agreement between you and I will remain unchanged,” Alec said firmly. “No matter what the outcome is. Whatever terms are agreed on before the mission, I will honour. No-one can guarantee that anyone else will live, whether they’re on Earth or Mars, but if we do nothing I can guarantee that she will die. As for Izzy and Jace, they can only individually honour their contracts if they’ve returned safely but, like me, if only one of them returns then the other’s contract would be enacted in full. In short, the only way you won’t end up with at least one of us would be if we all died and I can promise that’s my least preferred option.”

“You do realise, Alexander, this is the opposite of how contracts are supposed to be negotiated,” Magnus said shaking his head, unsure whether to admire or curse his unwavering dedication to making this deal work.

“Those people clearly don’t have as much to lose as I do,” Alec said quietly. “I also can’t personally repay the cost of the rocket and my life, while meaningful to me, does not hold a financial value that can be traded the way it could in medieval times. The only asset of genuine value I have is that my qualifications align with the work your company does, work you would otherwise have to pay someone else to do.” 

“You are quite the knight in shining armour type aren’t you, Alexander,” Magnus said with a smile, picking up on his reference, “Pledging your life and life-long-service in exchange for the welfare of your family. I’m almost sorry I don’t have a castle you could guard or a handkerchief for you to take on your crusades.”

Alec felt his cheeks heating and bit down firmly on his lip before he made a total fool of himself by offering to be there any time Magnus needed rescuing. He needed to forget about the fact that he'd swear Magnus Bane was flirting with him and focus on Izzy. He was here for Magnus’s rocket - the literal titanium and aluminium kind with a payload of life-preserving supplies... He was so fucked. He’s an astrodynamicist for Christ sake, he can't spend the next ten years of his life blushing every time he thought about Magnus and rockets in the same sentence. It's not like it's the first time he's realised that every part of his job is a minefield of innuendos and phallic-shaped objects. He’s heard more terrible pickup lines and put both feet in his mouth more times than he can count but this, developing a crush on Magnus Bane when you’ve literally just offered to work for him for the rest of your life? Definitely, the worst possible version of events if he was to have any chance of surviving with some modicum of pride intact.

Chapter Text

Wednesday 8th August 2035, Los Angeles, Earth

Alexander Lightwood had been a surprise from the moment he’d sat down in Magnus’ waiting room and actually waited. Now that Magnus thought about it, that was quite possibly what was so extraordinary about him; he sincerely meant what he said and proceeded to demonstrate that over and over.    

When Magnus had taken the folder from Alec to look at whatever ‘advantageous’ offer the other man thought he was making, he’d been certain there was no way around the anti-competition clause. He knew it well. Too well, if he was honest. It meant he’d often had to take people fresh out of grad school in order to prevent NASA getting them first. Because no one was desperate enough to get into the private sector that they’d forgo five years worth of pay just to do it and, if they moved sideways - not using their exact training to bypass the clause, they were immediately less valuable to Magnus. The only people who benefited in any way from NASA’s anti-competition clause were NASA. Which is why, when he first saw Alec’s offer, he’d been completely incapable of taking it seriously.

A ten-year slavery sentence for himself and five years for each of his siblings. That was what Alexander’s offer had boiled down to.

When Magnus had started Bane Industries, he’d promised himself that he’d never sink to the level of filling his company with unpaid interns, all desperate to get experience so they could one day get a paid job in their chosen field. He knew from his own internships that fear of a bad reference did not inspire people to do their best work. Employees who are scrimping and starving just to get by were more likely to be tired, run down and unwell, which were death knells for productivity. So he’d set up the first paid internships in the industry and suddenly he had the best students clamouring to work for him. More annual leave, better healthcare, better work environments for all his employees meant that not only did people want to work for him, but they were more productive and extremely loyal. Financially it was one of the best decisions he’d ever made. So while NASA apparently encouraged their employees to glorify slavery, he did not. He found it abhorrent. But the biting question about just what Alec would be prepared to do for his master while he was Magnus’ slave had died on his lips when he looked into Alec’s eyes and realised he was deadly serious. He’d bet every cent he had that Maryse had done everything in her power to prevent this meeting taking place, which meant Alec knew exactly what he was signing up for and apparently considered it a fair trade, his own happiness and wellbeing for his sister’s life. Which made the offer, as honourable as it was, reckless.

There was something amusing about the fact that in the 2030s, in one of the most progressive industries, he’d manage to find a medieval history buff who was prepared to slay dragons as part of his quest to stage a daring rescue. Maybe he should go back to having a pocket square after all. It would be interesting to know whether Alec was biting his lip to stop himself offering to defend Magnus’ castle or to stop him telling the man whose help he needed to take a swim in his imaginary moat.

The fact Alec muttered ‘need his rocket’ under his breath and blushed deeper still suggested that perhaps he was trying to resist Magnus’ charm because he needed him. A refreshing change from people trying to use attraction as a sweetener for business deals. But now was not the time to consider his growing interest in the man before him, not when so many of the details of the larger picture were yet to be defined. Not least whether, when Alec played his hand laying out his plan to use Magnus’ rocket to save his sister, Maryse allowed the mission to go ahead. Because, despite everything Magnus could offer, without NASA’s approval there would be no rescue and Isabelle Lightwood would remain on the honour roll of those who have given their lives in the pursuit of knowledge of the universe that surrounded them.

“So tell me, Alexander, just how do you plan on getting NASA to agree to this when they are so very opposed to it?” Magnus asked coolly, leaning back in his chair to create some much-needed distance.

“I imagine that given you’ve chosen not to work for NASA, you’re at least a little bit cynical about the extraordinary levels of bureaucracy?” Alec correctly interpreted Magnus’ derisive expression as assent and continued, “I can leverage that.”

If Magnus had been curious before, now he was intrigued. For all that he had shown he was nothing like his parents in every action he’d taken since walking into his office, in that one look right there, Magnus could see the resemblance to a much younger, brasher Maryse. The Maryse who’d had a cause and an idealism before it had been crushed under the weight of the responsibility for one of the world’s most famous space agencies. He wondered just how Alec defined leverage. As much as he would enjoy the opportunity to sweep in and publicly save NASA, even he had his limits and Alec and his family would be of little use to him if they got themselves blackballed in the industry to do it.

“The thing is, it’s been twenty-six days since NASA discovered Izzy is still alive,” Alec began with a grim smile as he laid out his campaign strategy. “Like it or not, they’ve got five more days then the world will see those photos, realise that my sister is alive and want to know what NASA is going to do about it. NASA has got the report on file that JPL can’t manufacture a new rocket in time for a specific supply run and the early simulations don’t look good for bringing forward and repurposing the launch we have planned next year to take materials to the Ares IV site. A flood of FOIA requests comes whenever NASA make an announcement on this scale. It wouldn’t be unforeseeable for at least some of them to be digging around for just that kind of report. Let’s just say I’m also aware of a way to very subtly nudge those enquiries onto that path if for some extraordinary reason they don’t see that potential opportunity for themselves. Furthermore, Congress will want something they can announce to make it look like they care. Simon, the guy in charge of monitoring the Mars Satellites who made the discovery that Izzy was still alive, he’s an old-school space nerd who still keeps tabs on all the non-professional websites and he’s got an in with that network which is well known for successfully piling on the pressure with local reps anytime there’s a debate on NASA funding. We’ve got a petition ready to go out to every school and organisation Izzy spoke at, all across the country. She signed up to be on the PR circuit the day she joined NASA, she wanted to give back after getting to meet Kathryn Sullivan back in Elementary School. Female astronauts are less rare now but Izzy always said getting to meet the first American woman to walk in space was what convinced her that her dream was possible. And then there’s me. NASA won’t be able to completely prohibit the press from approaching our family. They can limit certain aspects of what I’m allowed to say but they can’t force me to lie. This is going to be the news story of the decade, if not the century, and I intend to use every ounce of that publicity. I want the world to know Izzy’s story.”

Despite his previous reserve, Magnus felt his confidence rising. This was no amateurish cry for public help. This was a coordinated, nuanced and multifaceted attack on the influencers who could push this project over the line. It would also come at a significant personal cost. Those interviews would dig and claw their way through the fresh wounds of having lost and cruelly regained a beloved sister. They’d poke and prod at the very real fear of her dying alone up there. There was a reason most families only made written statements when appealing for the public’s help after a traumatic event but Alec was talking about one on one interviews syndicated nationally. Once again he found himself admiring the unflinching dedication of the man sitting in front of him. Now it was up to Magnus to decide how much he could help.

“Give me a few days, Alexander,” Magnus said, standing and holding out his hand for Alec to shake. “I need to review your calculations and, within the bounds of the confidentiality agreement, there are senior managers I’ll need to take a proposal to before I can give you an answer.”

“Thank you.” Alec’s smile was instant and the way the hope lit up his whole face was glorious. Magnus couldn’t help smile back as Alec clasped his hand in both of his. “Thank you, Magnus. I can’t - I can’t believe you’re actually considering it. If there’s anything I can -” Alec cut himself off with a brisk nod, locking down whatever else he wanted to say. “You’re busy and you know how to reach me. I won’t take up any more of your time.”

As Magnus watched Alec packing up his things, the heat of his hands still lingering, he could begin to understand the will to fight dragons for a man like Alexander Lightwood. And the thought of a decade with Alec by his side was not an unpleasant one. Not at all.

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Wednesday 8th August 2035, Los Angeles, Earth

As the Head of the Jet Propulsion Lab at NASA, Luke Garroway had no shortage of responsibilities and things to think about. But today he’d been checking his watch ever since he’d gotten in, shortly after seven. He hadn’t opposed Alec’s idea to go and see Magnus but he couldn’t help but feel nervous on his behalf. Magnus had a well-documented history of being violently opposed to most things involving Maryse Lightwood and even though Luke would be the first to vouch for the younger Lightwoods being a significant improvement on their parents’ manipulative ways, he knew just getting a foot in the door would be a hard sell for Alec. As the hours ticked by and lunch came and went with no word, he grew more unsure whether he should be doing a welfare check in case Alec was out there somewhere, disillusioned and devastated, or calling Magnus to advise him that any strategy that was based on ‘waiting Alec out’ was doomed to failure and should not be attempted. There’s not a single person who works at JPL regularly that doesn’t have a story about Alec’s ability to out-wait: supercomputers, solar flares, eclipses, power outages, dodgy probes, timezones and bandwidth restrictions. After everyone else had, at some point, reached their limit, given up and gone home, it was always Alec who sent out the message to say they were back online and the problem had been resolved. It’d been better before the launch of the Ares III, at least then his siblings had regularly dragged him out of his hyper-focused bubble and back into the real world.  

In the weeks since finding out Izzy was still alive, he’d rarely seen Alec leave this building for more than four hours at a time. He’d gone so far as to ask the cleaning staff to do Alec’s office last in the hope that it might mean Alec at least got a few uninterrupted hours of sleep before the day staff arrived. Pina, the head cleaner for JPL, had smiled and patted his arm, reminding him that she and ‘Mister Alec’ were longtime friends and she always looked in on him before setting out the night’s schedule for her staff. But he’d been pleased when she’d sought him out the following week (and every week since) to let him know how Alec was going and whether he’d been home. If Alec doesn’t show, he’s gonna have to leave a note for Pina. She always knows everyone’s movements so she’d definitely worry if she saw no sign of Alec since yesterday. Then again, Alec might have seen her before he went to Bane Industries. He was gone before Luke got in but he’d still been there when he’d left the night before. Maybe…? No. If he was going to call anyone, it should be Alec.  

But still, Luke stalled. There was plenty of work to do and he tried hard to focus on it. Just because Alec’s plan was by far the best one they’d come up with it didn’t mean they could stop working on all the other alternatives. One way or another, they’d be sending supplies somewhere as soon as they could.

Hours later when his phone finally does ring it’s Magnus’ name on the screen, not Alec’s.

When Magnus suggests Luke drop by his apartment for a drink, Luke stops pretending to work, scrawls a hasty note for Pina and then another for his assistant and is out the door in under 15 minutes.

Luke wasn’t surprised to see that Magnus had already started his cocktail by the time he arrived. Despite the universally acknowledged truth that alcohol and rockets do not mix, Magnus’ creations could still put the best bartenders in New York to shame. What did surprise him was the giant whiteboard in the centre of Magnus’ otherwise opulent living room. Luke knew, somewhere in this penthouse apartment, Magnus had a home office but he couldn’t imagine he kept something as clunky and old-fashioned as this dry erase board on wheels in there. Which made Luke wonder if he’d bought it specifically for this meeting. It seemed excessive but given the classified nature of the project, he supposed it did make a certain amount of sense. Picking up the Manhattan that was waiting for him, Luke moved closer to study the calculations Magnus was pacing in front of; easily identifying Alec’s work as occupying the left side of the board and, even though he’d never been privy to the full technical details, he could recognise enough of the complex equations and ratios on the right to assume that it related to the pioneering mission he’d been hearing about since the earliest days of Bane Industries. Luke wished he had days to soak in the minutiae of the mission Magnus had planned. It would satisfy a decade-long curiosity about every last bolt and circuit in the rocket which reputedly contained more unique patentable components than the sum total of patents Magnus had registered to date and had the potential to advance so many design areas when at last the designs were publically registered. But the calculations dominating the centre panel of the whiteboard caught and held his attention.

When Alec had been developing his plan, they’d had only the limited information Magnus had released to the industry about his upcoming mission, including the rocket’s minimum capabilities, to work from and the scraps of information Luke had amassed over the years.

In the centre of this unremarkable whiteboard, Magnus had started to rework Alec’s formulas, substituting approximate values for exact ones.

Abandoning his cocktail, Luke instinctively reached for a pen and paper as he attempted to follow the lines of complex calculations set out in Magnus’ unorthodox, seemingly fragmented style. With the ease of half a lifetime’s familiarity with the other man’s work, Luke began transcribing key segments, converting to longhand each of Magnus’ common abbreviations until at last, a picture emerged which justified Magnus’ state of agitation. The rocket Alec wanted to requisition to launch a humble probe to save his sister was a masterpiece of aerospace engineering with a reach well beyond anything NASA had in development, let alone production.

If these initial estimates proved correct on analysis by a supercomputer, it could take even more precious weeks off Alec’s already ambitious timeline. But these figures meant it would be an even greater sacrifice on Magnus’ part than even Luke had realised. These revolutionary efficiencies, while patented, would provide the inspiration for the rapid development required for Bane Industry’s competitors to advance in the years of delay caused by the mission to save Isabelle, and had the potential to prevent Magnus’ mission ever getting off the ground by someone else stealing their thunder. There was no acclaim, prestige or fortune to be made by coming second in space races.  

Luke feels his phone vibrate, notifying him of multiple emails but instead enables ‘do not disturb’ mode. Whatever it is can wait a couple of hours. A life hangs in the balance tonight.

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Thursday 9th August 2035, Los Angeles, Earth

“Hello?” Alec mumbles into his phone, having answered it mostly by reflex.

“Where the hell have you been, Alec?” Lydia demands, her voice jarring Alec violently back into consciousness.

“What’s happened? Izzy?” Alec asks breathlessly, panic lancing through him as he sits bolt upright in bed, his head spinning as he tries to take in the darkened room around him.

“It’s okay, Alec, it’s not Izzy,” Lydia says hastily and then clarifies, “Well, not like that. But I’ve been trying to reach you for hours and nobody had seen you since first thing yesterday.”

Alec collapses back against the headboard in relief, turning to look at the clock on his bedside table, surprised to see it reads 4.25 am, meaning he must have gotten close to 13 hours sleep. So much for taking a 2-hour nap before heading back to his office at JPL.

“I finally got approval from Director Lightwood to approach Bane Industries,” Alec explained, fighting off a yawn, “I spent most of the day there.”

“And?” Lydia persisted, sounding every bit like the sharp-tongued political reporter she’d been before joining the media relations team at NASA.

“Well, he didn’t say no,” Alec said quietly. “I left a copy of all my calculations with him, he said he needed a couple of days - but I think -” Alec tried to stifle the words, not wanting to jinx it, but it was such a relief to be able to tell someone, “I think he might actually be willing to help us. Just a few more days and then - then we’ll see.”

“Alec that’s -” Lydia was trying to sound positive but Alec’s heart sank when she cut herself off so suddenly and he remembered she usually delegated morning news to her second in command because she hated having to be up before sunrise.  

“What’s happened, Lyd?”

“Maryse was on the warpath yesterday, Alec, she demanded a Level One meeting with Victor Aldertree, Dot Rollins and I out of the blue and changed all of our plans. We’re making the announcement at six this morning.”

Alec felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over him. The announcement to the press that Izzy had survived the storm had been tentatively scheduled for mid-next week. He didn’t know what his mother was trying to achieve but he had to assume this was yet another attempt to undermine Alec’s negotiation with Magnus and force her plan, NASA sending Izzy enough supplies to last four years, to be the option that was funded.

“She insisted on personally overseeing the arrangements so I was stuck in that briefing room with her until almost nine o’clock last night. I’ve been trying to reach you ever since. I couldn’t bear the idea of you finding out by seeing it as headline news or by having reporters turn up on your doorstep. But no-one knew where you were. I was ready to give up and send out a search party.”

“I went home after the meeting. I’d planned to be back at JPL before the end of the day but I-I-I thought I’d be better if I had a quick nap...” Alec sighed, knowing that now - short of stealing one of JPL’s old MiG-25 fighter jets - there was no way he could get to Washington in time for the announcement. “I guess I needed the sleep.”

Lydia laughed, startling Alec who’d been expecting her to ridicule him for making such a stupid mistake. “Of course you needed it, Alec. When’s the last time you got eight hours sleep? It’s been weeks, I bet.”

Alec actually can’t remember but that’s the last thing he feels like talking about right now.

“Listen, Alec, if you’re sure you still want to go ahead with-”

“I am,” Alec said firmly, not wanting to rehash the conversation they’d been having for weeks where she’d tried to talk him out of it.  

“The fact you can’t be there for the initial announcement might actually play into our hands but it’ll be a baptism of fire for you, Alec,” Lydia said sounding conflicted.

“Whatever it is you’re thinking, Lydia, I’ll do it. Just tell me when and where you need me to be.” Alec held his breath, praying Lydia wouldn’t back out now.

“I’ll get John to book you on a flight leaving LAX at seven-ten heading to Washington. LAX is always crawling with photojournalists all trying to get the latest scoop on one celebrity or another and the announcement is going to be broadcast live on every channel, so being at the airport at six, you’ll be surrounded by it and someone is bound to notice you.” Lydia paused and Alec guessed what she was silently debating whether to say.

“If I wasn’t a friend, you’d advise me to wear my black JPL t-shirt because they’re guaranteed to roll out the same photo pack they used last time,” Alec said flatly, ignoring the ache in his chest as he thought of the photo taken the day they’d announced the Ares III crew. The memory of that moment was so vivid he could hear her laughter. He’d been wearing that shirt when he’d carried her around on his back, her arms outstretched like the wings on a commercial jet as he “flew” her towards where Jace was posing with the portrait of Mars. Izzy loved it, she’d given Alec and Jace each a framed copy for their desks and had even used the photo as the header on the blog she’d kept for the two years of intensive training in the lead up to launch. Of course, that meant when the media picked up the news of her death, her blog had been the first place they’d looked for candid photos of her and it’d been splashed across news sites and tv-stations the world over.

“You don’t have to wear it, Alec,” Lydia said quietly, no doubt guessing which way his thoughts had run. “They’d almost certainly recognise you anyway.”

“Yes, I do, Lydia,” Alec said harshly, resigning himself to his fate.

He’d just have to deal with the emotional fallout once he got Izzy back.  

It’s not until after he hangs up with Lydia that he realises this announcement has the potential to blindside Magnus as well. Cursing the fact he doesn’t have Magnus’ phone number or even a direct email address, Alec pulls out his phone to text Luke and realises that in amongst the 30 missed calls from Lydia are half a dozen from Luke and almost as many texts. There seems to be an even split between concern that no-one’s heard from him and warnings that the announcement has been rescheduled. Relieved that at least Luke knows and tried to warn him, Alec shoots back a quick text.

Alec: Sorry, I accidentally got 12+ hours sleep. Thanks for the heads-up re: the announcement, just spoke to Lydia about it. Can you warn Magnus for me? Don’t want him to be caught off guard by the press. Every space expert they can find will start fielding calls once the news breaks. I’m headed to Washington, dept. LAX 7.10 AM so I’ll be offline till approx 12 PM. Not sure yet when I’ll be back.

Alec knows he probably should take the time to write something more appropriate to send to his boss, the Director of JPL, but right now all he can think about is what he needs to grab before he leaves for the airport. Formalities will just have to wait till he sees him next.

Alec’s already in the Uber, heading for the airport by the time Luke replies.

Luke: Glad you’re okay, Alec, you had us worried. I got in touch with Magnus last night when I heard about the announcement but couldn’t reach you. He knows you didn’t know at the time of your meeting, Maryse caught us all off guard. Just focus on being wherever you need to be, I’ll keep working this end and we’ll catch up once you’re back at JPL.

Luke: And don’t forget, normal humans need sleep every night, kiddo, not once a week. Don’t make me set you a curfew. You know Pina will take my side on this.

Alec snorts, glad that at least Luke seemed to have forgiven him for disappearing without a word to anyone even if it does mean he’s getting all overprotective again. It’s a relief to know Magnus won’t think he’s trying to use the press conference to force his hand. Next, he’d be getting Jocelyn to cook extra food again so he had an excuse to force-feed Alec lunch.

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Thursday 9 th August 2035, 0558 hrs

NASA Headquarters, Washington, Earth

Lydia Branwell, Director of Media Relations, paced the small office next to the press room. She was about to make the most important speech NASA had made since the fated Apollo 13 mission. Every news network worldwide would be broadcasting this announcement, not just today or this week. Every documentary ever made about the Missions and the astronaut, Isabelle Lightwood, would reference this clip. The announcement of an astronaut’s death was not unfamiliar ground for NASA. It was, to be frank, part of the fabric of space travel. People mourned, of course, but even the public seemed to accept it. But to announce you’d left an astronaut behind?! To resurrect the newly dead and have to admit you only had a rudimentary form of communication with them and couldn’t even confirm if it would be possible to rescue them before they starved to death?! This was unprecedented. This was going to be like presidential impeachment trials and assassination attempts of the late 2010s and the death of JFK rolled into one. There were going to be experts, historians, conspiracy theorists and ordinary citizens from countries all over the world tearing apart and analysing everything they did from this moment onwards for the rest of the century and likely beyond. Sixty-six years on, people were still quoting Armstrong’s “One small step for man” speech. Hell, look at the Assassination of Franz Ferdinand way back in 1914, it’s been over 120 years and they were still talking about it. Sure, one astronaut stuck on Mars wasn’t about to start the very first world war but like that, this event was completely unprecedented and events like that - they stuck like superglue to the minds of generations of people.

The haptic alarm on Lydia’s watch pulsed silently, notifying her that the last of the press had gathered and she had exactly 1 minute 35 seconds to get out to that podium before the live CNN newsfeed began. Not going out any earlier than absolutely necessary was part of the strategy. As soon as she opened that door, the press room would light up like rocket fuel. The press all wanted to know why NASA was giving a Priority One live statement and had scheduled a follow-up hour-long press conference on a seemingly ordinary Friday when Hermes wasn’t due home for ten months and their next scheduled launch was literally years away. It had been decided that Lydia, an experienced spokesperson whose calm authority had doused many a reporter's heated argument, was the best person to deliver the explosive statement and to chair the following press conference with NASA’s Administrator, Maryse Lightwood, and Director of Mars Missions, Victor Aldertree. There would be no questions following her initial statement but she’d hear the top ones yelled out by the reporters and see the initial reports syndicated online and on 24-hour news stations, so she’d have a head start prepping for the conference later in the day. But even with that knowledge, this was a daunting task.

Tap, tap, tap, went her second and final haptic alarm. 35 seconds till broadcast. Time to go.

Steeling herself to tune out the coming roar of sound and flash of cameras, Lydia walked with purpose, opening the door and moving through it without pause, not stopping until she reached the microphones and put her speech on the podium. Not that she needed it. Even if she hadn’t already had it translated into 35 languages to check for common conversion gaffes she would still have known every single word by heart. She waited a moment as four aides enforced quiet in the press room, her expression was impervious to every question that had been hurled at her in the 7-second walk between door and podium. The quiet when it fell was not perfect but it was her cue. The moment of truth had arrived at last.

“Thank you all for coming. I have a brief but very important announcement to make. There will be no questions following the statement but a full Q&A press conference will be held at one pm.” Lydia paused to take a single breath and then continued. “Having monitored and reviewed satellite imagery of the Ares III site on Mars, we can now confirm, despite previous reports to the contrary, that astronaut Isabelle Lightwood survived the storm and is alive.”

There was a moment of deafening silence as though the entire room did not dare move or breathe. Then the true cacophony began, somehow seeming louder and harsher because of the preceding absence of sound.

Lydia closed her notebook and left the podium. Behind her, she could hear the media aids reiterating the scheduled press conference time and key speakers. She would listen to the audio of the press questions later, for now, stage one was complete.

Isabelle Lightwood had been officially resurrected.

Chapter Text

Sunday 27th May 2035, Mars

MARS LANDER HABITAT (HAB) JOURNAL ENTRY #22:  Lightwood, Isabelle 
MISSION DAY: SOL 20
TIME: 03:50

“My name is Isabelle Lightwood and I am still alive.”

“Surprise!” Izzy announced brightly - hoping her forced cheerfulness and the smile she’d pinned on looked convincing on camera, that they somehow helped cancel out the greyish pallor of near-death that she’d seen in the mirror earlier.  

“I know this will come as a shock to my crew, to NASA, and most importantly, to my family but I did not die on SOL 18. I’m guessing they’ve already told the world I didn’t make it. By the time anyone sees this, they’ve no doubt held my funeral. Which, I have to say - I’m going to be seriously mad if I find out it wasn’t fancy. I don’t plan on having my second one for a really long time so I’ll be really unimpressed when I get back if I find out that it wasn’t. Oh, and just in case you, my dear audience, happen to work for NASA - I found out the fatal flaw in this mission design: Backup Communication with Earth . Better yet, if I happen to be speaking to the technical communications team, I have to ask, why the hell aren’t the satellite dishes and comms towers better attached? I’m guessing you’re all opening your mouths ready to try to explain to me all the complicated processes that went into attaching them and how amazing that technology is, just hold that thought - I’ll come back to it in a minute. First, you need to understand that I’m logging this entry for posterity because I have no way to communicate with Earth.” Izzy paused, trying to resist the urge to draw in a full breath knowing it would pull on the staples holding the skin below her diaphragm together. Just sitting upright was making sweat gather on her forehead and run in chilling droplets down the back of her neck. Nevertheless, the fear she’d tried to suppress came tumbling out of her mouth.  

“But I’m also creating these entries so that I don’t forget. I feel like my memory might be different up here without the routines that have governed every minute of my life for the past seven years since becoming part of NASA’s astronaut program. The computer will keep count of the days for as long as it runs and I guess I can make an analogue record - although that does kinda make me think of prisoners in old films making scratches on their cell walls, which is not a great parallel. But the thing is, how will I stop the days and nights all bleeding together with nothing but my own actions to distinguish one hour, one day, one week, one month from the next? I almost don’t want to establish a new routine just in case it accelerates that process. But Alec, my brother, he always says you need just enough routines to stay on track - something to stop the driving forces in your life from becoming destructive obsessions but not so many that you trap your creativity and daring into a corner. I don’t think I ever told him how often I’ve used that scrap of wisdom - or any of the other ones he handed out so freely.” Izzy bit down hard on her bottom lip as it threatened to tremble. She refused to cry - not here, not when she still had so much to say. So she shoved all thoughts of Alec down, forcing levity back into her voice and expression.

“I doubt any of the crew would have been able to see what actually happened on SOL 18 when we were leaving the HAB and approaching the Mars Ascent Vehicle (MAV). You probably think you know or at least have a ‘good idea’ what happened. I bet there are plenty of theories but the visibility in that storm was so poor and everything happened so fast it would’ve been almost impossible for anyone else to have actually seen it. I was bringing up the rear so I’m guessing that for the crew it was like suddenly - I was just gone . 

One thing I want to be very clear about is that my crew had no choice but to leave. I don’t blame them for what happened and trust me , as disastrous as being alone on Mars is - if the MAV had tipped and we’d all been stuck here, that would be even worse.” Izzy paused, letting the tension build just a little bit before leaning in conspiratorially. 

“So, let me tell you about what really happened on SOL 18.”  

“What most people don’t realise about being an astronaut is that we’re working from the minute we touch down on the planet to the moment the order is given to prep for evac. This isn’t a holiday and you don’t have time to explore Mars. Every waking minute of the mission time is precious. In daylight hours, that meant my job was to be outside marking out areas and collecting samples. I spent ninety percent of SOL 17 pegging out the grid on the west side of the HAB so that I can analyse the soil within each area and study the range of material within our zone. NASA sends most of our equipment out ahead of us on an unmanned mission because things like mallets and stakes aren’t exactly breakable and extra weight brought on manned missions means extra fuel and higher risk for us. That means the super fancy carbon fibre stakes they sent me and the special string that’s designed to withstand all kinds of things - they come in one colour - black. When I asked why they couldn’t just powder coat it something even slightly less boring, do you know who the technician misquoted at me? Henry freaking Ford, telling me I could have ‘whatever colour I wanted, so long as it was black’.” Izzy rolled her eyes. “Fortunately, I managed to convince another department to send coloured tape so I had some way to glance across and quickly identify which row I’m working on rather than constantly having to keep count. But suffice to say - even before the storm and Maia’s order to prep for evac - it had been a really long day. Anyway . Jace went out first, as the pilot his job was to stabilise the MAV, making sure it didn’t tip too far and get damaged before we could take off. By the time the rest of us had gotten everything locked and stowed as best we could and left the HAB for what I thought would be the last time, the visibility was almost zero. The dust storm was so intense that you could only see the outlines of the rest of the crew - the light of their helmets and the light of the MAV we were heading towards. The dust was like huge static on your TV brought to violent and immediate life before your eyes, as well as being a physical force that you were almost wading through and fighting against to see. Maia - sorry, I’m not used to calling her ‘ Commander Roberts ’. We never used titles unless we were at one of the official briefings or events - but anyway, Maia was telling us to hone in on her suit’s telemetry if we started to stray because - despite what they taught us at the academy - it was just too hard to move as a chain when you’re walking in eighty-six-hundred newtons of winds and debris. I heard her exclamation. Maia, Meliorn, Alaric and Gretel all either ducked or dodged when they saw something huge and circular flying out of the dark at them - I wasn’t so lucky. The dish and this length of the primary communication antenna,” Izzy held up the 5-inch long rod that was the same diameter as the average pencil, “smacked right into me. The impact with the dish in gale force winds was enough to send me flying and this pierced straight through my suit’s biomonitor and into me, meaning that even if by some miracle the crew had been able to locate where the storm deposited me, over two hundred meters from the HAB, as far as they knew - within a minute of that type of breach I was dead. Actually, the blood and the piece of antenna that stayed lodged in place managed to seal my suit which kept me alive. There was still a very slow leak though. So I woke up to the blaring oxygen alert, helmet-first in the red Martian dirt. Do you know how hard it is to stand let alone walk when you’ve got a metal skewer in your gut and low oxygen? Honestly, if it hadn’t been for the fact that I had less than ten minutes of oxygen left , I’d probably still be out there inching my way back in. So yeah, it wasn’t pretty but - obviously, given that I’m talking to you now - I did make it back to the HAB. Gretel better be impressed that I removed this and even managed to put in the staples all by myself. I could really have done with our resident doctor. If she was watching this she’d probably be muttering under her breath all the ways I can still die from the internal injury but fortunately, I can’t hear her because I’m pretty sure there’s nothing more I can do without actual medical training except hope it heals. If I get any say in it - it’s gonna heal.”

“So, there you have it,” Izzy concluded with a smirk. “Now you’ve got the real story. Well, that’s all we’ve got time for today so, until next time folks.”

Izzy kept the teasing attitude up as she hit the escape key, closing the diary screen and waiting until the red recording light blinked off. Then she slumped back into her seat, allowing the weight of everything she hadn’t said hit her. The sharp pain in her stomach at the sudden movement brought tears to her eyes and this time, she didn’t fight them. 

The only thing worse than sustaining a potentially life-threatening injury that prevented her from boarding her flight home, was knowing that without the piece of metal she’d been skewered with, she had no way of letting anyone know that she’d survived. Which meant...Izzy winced, forcing herself to think it through in black and white.

“I have to survive for four years, cross half the planet and be ready and waiting for them at the Ares IV site.” Izzy felt the remaining blood drain from her face as she considered the awful reality that it wasn’t enough… “I have two and a half years to figure out how to get in contact with them to make sure they build all of the vessels with a spare seat,” Izzy whispered aloud. 

Shaking herself out of the spiralling feeling of panic, Izzy forced herself to focus on the immediate problem: food. She wasn’t going to starve to death, Izzy promised herself, because no matter what, Lightwoods got back up when life knocked them down. 

<><><> <><><> <><><>  < ><>< > <><><> <><><> <><><>

Thursday 9th August 2035, 0600 hrs
Los Angeles International Airport [LAX], Earth

Alec’s standing in line for coffee when it happens. Airports are noisy places, hundreds of separate conversations competing with the constant clatter of rolling suitcases, crying babies and hangry diners. Which is why it’s so unnerving when silence falls. Alec, like all the other people around him, turns his head, following the fingers of the dozens of people pointing open-mouthed at each of the twenty television screens placed around the cafe and surrounding departure gates. 

BREAKING NEWS: ISABELLE LIGHTWOOD STILL ALIVE - TRAPPED ON MARS. 

The banner scrolled across the bottom of every screen and the words hit Alec like a sucker punch to the gut. Every single channel had interrupted normal programming to bring their audience the story - just as Lydia had predicted. Into the silence came Lydia’s voice, its volume rising as attendants anxiously rammed the buttons on the bottom of the screens, forcing them out of mute. 

“...reviewed satellite imagery of the Ares III site on Mars, we can now confirm, despite previous reports to the contrary, that astronaut Isabelle Lightwood survived the storm and is alive.”

As they watched, Lydia turned and walked away from the podium, seemingly deaf to the cacophony of questions shouted in her wake. The screen Alec was watching cut back to a pair of stunned-looking breakfast hosts, the sudden change breaking the blanket of silence that had covered the entire airport. Whispers broke out and Alec was amazed to see tears rolling down the cheeks of more than one face as some screens began to play the all too familiar set of photos and videos of Izzy, while on others, hosts tried to find words to process the announcement they’d just played. Alec didn’t notice the queue moving in front of him - too focused on the seemingly endless flood of images and words, every bit as overwhelming as it had been months earlier when they’d made their last dramatic announcement about Izzy’s death. He’d avoided live TV for weeks, never knowing when a channel would feel the need to roll out the photo reel again, unable to cope with the clawing grief that came each time he saw photos of the sister he’d loved and lost. 

“Sir?” Alec flinched at the light hand on his arm, turning as the man behind the counter continued. “What can I- Oh! You’re...oh God...” 

Alec watched as the server’s eyes bounced from his face to the TV screen and back, his mouth hanging open, and knew his reckoning had begun. Glancing down, Alec swallowed nervously, trying to clear his throat around the lump forming there.

“You’re Alec Lightwood! Isabelle Lightwood’s brother,” the man blurted out, the words spreading, repeating like a ripple through the crowd around them. Alec could feel all the eyes turning his way and forced himself to remain where he was. This is what they’d wanted after all, what they were counting on. But even though he knew he needed this, part of him longed to run, longed to hide away from all these prying eyes.

“Yes,” Alec forced out as he looked up, stunned to see tears welling in the other man’s eyes only to spill over at Alec’s confirmation.

“She’s alive. I can’t believe she’s actually alive,” he whispered, leaning heavily on the til as he stared back, pale and wide-eyed, seeming to share some of the same gut-wrenching horror Alec had felt on learning she’d been left behind. 

“Hey! Excuse- OOF!” The loud angry voice behind him cut off with what sounded like a solid elbow to the gut. Alec did his best to tune out the people behind him as his and Isabelle’s names echoed down the line again. 

“I’ll just - um - a tall Americano, please,” Alec said, suddenly keen to get out of the line.

“Sure, sure, anything,” the guy said, clicking back into service mode but physically recoiling when Alec held out cash. “No - no, man, it’s on the house. Sure I can’t get you something to eat? No? Seriously, you come let me know if there’s anything you need. One hell of a day. But you gotta celebrate. We gotta celebrate...”

Alec nodded awkwardly, letting out a long breath as he moved across to where the orders were dispensed from. At least the barista kept her thoughts to herself even if he could see her darting glances his way out of the corner of his eye. It was a lot, coming face to face with other people’s emotions and with total strangers openly pointing and staring at him. He wondered if this is what it’s like to be famous? If so, he’s really not cut out for it. 

Izzy needs this, Alec reminded himself firmly as yet another camera flash went off. This only works if I get noticed. Suck it up, Lightwood, you told Lydia you could handle this so now it’s time to prove that. Let the world know Izzy can be saved. 

“A-Alec Lightwood?” The barista stumbles on the name, making Alec realise the guy at the counter must have written the whole thing on the cup in his daze. Lydia would be impressed at how many new heads popped up, how many phones came out of pockets at one more mention of the Lightwood name. Nodding at the barista, Alec grabs his drink and starts to make his way to the gate. It takes everything he has not to stride off with purpose but he’s got time to kill and he needs every possible opportunity for news to get out that he’s here. 

For a moment he thinks his watch must be malfunctioning, the haptic alerts are so frequent they almost overlap, pulling out his phone he realises why. At Lydia’s request, he’d turned on all the notification settings for the social media accounts his siblings had forced him to have, winding back all the settings that had made his accounts as private and difficult to find as possible. The new notifications were coming in so fast it looked like his state-of-the-art phone was one ding away from a total meltdown. Deciding to brave Instagram first, thinking it’d have to be less crazy than the Twitter account he loathed, Alec nearly dropped his phone when a message popped up that he’d been tagged in over five-hundred new posts and had thousands of new followers. The tab that had previously contained a few mentions from his closest family and friends was now drowning in bad quality, rushed or zoomed-in shots of him. Alec clicked on a couple of the tags, curious to see what people were saying, before quickly exiting the app, unable to deal with all that grief, love and hope pouring out of strangers. He shoved his phone in his pocket and started walking towards his gate again only to stop half a dozen paces from his destination to pull it back out. This time, opening Twitter, he ignored the majority of the posts and scanned through for names he recognised until finally he hit pay dirt. E-online, LA Times, Time Magazine - all of them had mentioned he’d been spotted at LAX and they ‘hoped to have more updates soon’ which Lydia said they’d use if they had someone on the ground. Now all he had to do was make it even easier for them to find him.  

Alec Lightwood (@alexanderlightwood): Heading to Washington. Thank you all, your thoughts and prayers for @isabellelightwood and our family, they mean the universe to me. It’s time to #bringIsabellehome .

The selfie he took to accompany the message just happened to include the sign reading ‘Gate 31’ in the top right corner. Alec resolved to ask Lydia for some advice next time he saw her, there had to be a faster way to cross-post to all the platforms than opening each app individually. But for now, he focused on copying and pasting the words they’d agreed on and hitting publish over and over again. He’d briefly considered asking Lydia if it would be possible for one of her social media team to take over his accounts the way they’d done with Izzy and Jace’s accounts once they’d left Earth but quickly thought better of it. If he was going to be asking the world for help, he needed to keep some level of control over his accounts. Which left, Simon? He wouldn’t normally be Alec’s go-to person for anything, let alone media advice - the absurdity and constant changing of his band name didn't exactly inspire confidence - but given Simon had been the one to come up with their last-ditch plan if their negotiations failed, at least he knew exactly what he’d be getting into. Alec just hoped that in reopening his accounts he wouldn’t get the kind of unsolicited private messages that had prompted him to lock down all his social media the first time.     

The departure lounge was almost empty, which wasn’t surprising given how early he was, but it gave him an opportunity to weigh up the various options and choose the most visible seat that put his back to most of the TV screens. Taking a sip of his cooling coffee, he settled in to wait. 

<><><>

“Alec Lightwood?”

“Mr. Lightwood? 

“ALEC LIGHTWOOD!”

“Mr. Lightwood!”

Alec glanced up from his phone to see not one but six people rushing towards him from multiple directions; four with microphones outstretched while two others ran behind them toting TV cameras, their press lanyards flapping. Surveying the mob, Alec realised their plan might have worked too well. He didn’t even try to keep up when they all started talking at once, introducing themselves and the agencies they represented. 

“Why weren’t you in Washington for the press conference?”

“When did you find out Isabelle Lightwood was alive?”

“How did NASA find out she had survived?” 

Alec felt the questions land like lashes, slicing through his skin without mercy, stripping away every illusion he had that he was ready to face this alone. But he’d meant it when he’d told Magnus he’d do whatever it took to get Izzy back.

“How does it feel, knowing your sister is alive?”

“I’m relieved, grateful that by some miracle she survived the storm - that she’s alive when we thought all hope was lost,” Alec said, interrupting the flood of questions. “But also afraid. This is uncharted territory, not just for NASA or space agencies around the world, but for humanity as a whole.”

“Does NASA have a rescue plan in place?”

“Is it even possible to rescue her?”

“As the Director of NASA, what is your mother doing to bring her daughter home?”

Mentioning their mother brought back some of the anger he’d felt during their last meeting when she’d refused to even consider using the Hermes to rescue Izzy. Unlike her, he wasn’t afraid to beg for assistance, he didn’t give a damn about what the world thought of him so long as he got Isabelle back. 

“I don’t know if you’ve got siblings, but my family means everything to me and right now my sister is fifty million miles away, alone on an uninhabitable planet in a structure that was only designed to be occupied for thirty days. Even - even if we could launch an unmanned supply mission today, it’d take over a year to reach her. But I know it’s possible to get there before the next manned mission in four years’ time. Izzy is –” Alec paused, taking a shuddering breath, “Izzy is the smartest, bravest person I know and if anyone can survive this, it’s her, but she can’t do it alone.”

Alec barely noticed the tears streaming down his cheeks or the microphones in front of him as he struggled to speak. “She needs your help. She doesn’t have time for diplomatic negotiations between agencies and countries, they can take years - so please, wherever you live, take a few minutes to contact your local space agency, your universities, your government officials and ask them to pledge their support, their expertise, to bring Isabelle home alive. Please-please, help me. I can’t lose her again. I won’t .”

There were follow up questions and Alec did his best to answer them without breaking the strict rules Lydia had set for him. He couldn’t afford to give his mother anything she could use against him, she wouldn’t risk firing him but he had no illusions she wouldn’t find a way to sanction him if she could prove he’d acted in a way that could damage NASA. 

“Mr. Lightwood?” The voice behind him was different, hesitant, and Alec turned to see an apologetic looking airport official trying to get his attention.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Mr. Lightwood but we’re boarding now.”

“Thank you, I’ll come now.” Alec reached down for his duffle, all too ready to escape the pack of hungry reporters who seemed tireless in their pursuit of anything relating to Isabelle or, crazy as it seemed, anything relating to him personally. Some of their questions had been downright weird and he’d probably get crap from Lydia about some of the faces he’d pulled when one of them had asked if he had a girlfriend, but seriously? Regardless of the fact that he is very gay, given Izzy had literally just been resurrected it seemed like incredibly poor taste, even if they had couched it in terms of having “someone to comfort him”.

He offered the slightly dog-eared boarding pass to the man walking beside him with an apology for not noticing the plane had been boarding, surprised when the attendant shook his head and motioned him on through the gate. Alec’s confusion rose when shortly after entering the plane, he was guided into a first-class seat. He’d checked his ticket while he was waiting and he was supposed to be down the back with everyone else.

“I -” Alec didn’t get any further before a glass of champagne was being pressed into his hand.

“Our thoughts and prayers are with you and your sister. Have a good flight, Mr. Lightwood, and if there’s anything we can do for you, just let us know.”

Humbled by their kindness, Alec nodded his thanks. Having to walk the length of the plane to find his seat with everyone staring was something he could really do without today. The alcohol certainly wouldn’t hurt either, he was ready for a nap and he had plenty of time to kill.

You hadn’t had to turn electronic devices off on planes for over a decade but Alec set his phone to what had once been called Airplane Mode all the same. After the long interview he’d just had, it was a relief to know that for the next five hours there was nothing more he could do. Lydia had someone whose job it was to monitor the press between now and when he landed and had promised there’d be a summary and instructions waiting for him when he disembarked - she’d said something about the silence making them hungrier but he’d leave all thoughts about that till later.  

<><><> <><><> <><><>  < ><>< > <><><> <><><> <><><>

Thursday 8th August 2035, 1145 hrs

Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport, Earth

Alec was so focused trying to wrap his head around the email summary from Lydia’s media team that he’s acting on autopilot as he deplanes. His mind boggles at the sheer scale of the numbers in front of him. They run from the hundreds of thousands to the millions. The hashtag #bringisabellehome is trending worldwide and incredibly, it’s not just tributes. Alec’s knees feel weak with gratitude as he reads the list of over one-hundred organisations who’ve already pledged their support. There is a strange kind of pride when he realises that the university that he, Jace and Izzy attended was among the first to respond. 

“Mr. Lightwood!”

Alec glances up from his phone at the sudden sound of his name and stops dead. If the small group who’d interviewed him in LAX were intimidating, then this crowd can only be described as overwhelming. The camera flashes are blinding and it takes Alec longer than it should to realise that less than a quarter of the enormous crowd are actually media, the rest...Alec’s mind bends as he realises that people were apparently so moved by the news about Izzy that they have taken time out of their day to drive to the airport to meet his plane. Some have flowers, others have brought the posters of Izzy released by newspapers and magazines back in June, there are also handwritten signs - he blushes when he spots one with Izzy’s favourite photo that reads “Alec Lightwood is #siblinggoals”. As much as Alec wants to get to NASA as fast as humanly possible and usually avoids small talk with strangers like the plague, he won’t allow this demonstration to go unacknowledged.  

Ignoring all of the attempts by the media people to engage him, Alec approaches the closest person with a sign - a little boy who looks about five and crouches down beside him, introducing himself and thanking him for making such a lovely sign. They chat for a minute or two and when Alec moves to stand, the boy flings his arms around him whispering: “I hope you get your sister back, it’s brave to rescue someone. My sister’s still in Mommy’s tummy but if she goes to space I’d go with her just in case.”

Alec blinks back tears, holding on just a moment longer to this earnest little boy before finally pulling back, saying quietly to him: “You’re an amazing big brother.” 

Alec nods to the woman he assumes is the little boy’s mother, thanking them for coming before moving on to the next person. It’s draining but also uplifting, that there can possibly be so many people who care enough to come all this way. He’s not even sure exactly when it happened but at some point, he picked up a shadow or maybe two. NASA employees who seem content to follow him as he makes his way through the crowd, taking all the cards and flowers from Alec each time he runs out of hands, putting them in a central location and then coming back to Alec’s side. He thinks they must also be keeping the media pack at bay because, after the first few attempts to interrupt, they seem to accept that Alec’s sole focus is the crowd of supporters. 

After weeks of fighting with his mother, railing against the unswerving might of the entire National Aeronautics and Space Administration just to be allowed to beg for confidential assistance, Alec felt overwhelmed by the sheer scale of emotion that surrounded him. The knowledge that, to these strangers, Izzy’s life meant so much was truly humbling. 

He doesn’t resist when he becomes aware of the shift in the demeanour of his minders, allowing himself to be propelled into the waiting town car. He endured a silent trip across town and being hustled into a cold and impersonal apartment he knew he wouldn’t be allowed to leave, glad that at least he’d managed to hold onto the cards from the last group of people he’s spoken to. For now, he’s willing to wait for his mother’s next move. 

<><><>

By the end of the press conference, Alec felt like he’d been hollowed out with a teaspoon. Like every nerve ending had been scraped raw by the supercilious tone of his mother as she condescended to speak of the ‘immeasurable loss’ their family had suffered. Yet with almost the same breath, she was laying the foundation to justify her actions when the time came and NASA held up their hands and said, ‘nothing further can or should be done’ and abandoned Izzy to her fate. Denying him physical access to the press conferences had been expected and Alec had thought he’d been mentally prepared to watch them from afar, but he had underestimated the pain of hearing those words with no ability to reach out to any other person for comfort. He wished he’d at least had his colleagues at JPL or Aline or even Simon, someone else who knew how callously damning those words were. That they were intended to destroy every effort Alec or anyone like him might make to build support for a rescue mission. He’d surrendered his phone and computer voluntarily on the proviso that he would get them back this evening after the major news stations had gone to air. It was something that Lydia had prepared him for and the reason he’d stayed at the airport as long as he could, knowing that whether his mother liked it or not, they could not prevent the media from using the footage they already had. Similarly, they couldn’t sanction him for not complying with direct instructions before they had been provided - which they couldn’t do until after he’d landed. Lydia had guessed correctly that they had no real justification to risk causing a scene until just before the press conference started as then the world’s eyes would all naturally turn away from him and he could be ushered off, to quietly exit stage left. 

Sitting alone in that apartment Alec knew, no matter what happened next, he’d chosen his side. He would do everything in his power to save Izzy - even if it meant severing every last emotional tie he had with their mother.