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"Jamie?" Matthew had knocked on the office door Cordelia had led him to, before opening it completely, not waiting for his parabatai to call back. Surprising himself when he opened the door without trouble from his shaking hands.
"Math?" James was already looking towards the doorway, towards him, his eyebrows drawn in just enough his face began to crease, his golden eyes direct on Matthew.
"My- my parents leave for Idris, tomorrow. It's their last night in London-"
James cocked his head, "Are you thinking of going back with them?"
"No." He shook his head. "Oscar and I are staying. I was going to tell them, tonight, about-about what- I was going to tell them, before they left. I was- I was hoping you'd come with me."
His friend's head was at enough of an angle that his dark hair was free, tumbling off his forehead in groups, looking messy and carefree. But his face didn't match, the look of worry didn't leave it while he nodded.
"Of course, Matthew. Of course I'll come with you." James stood up, putting aside any concern he visibly felt for his friend and smiled. A gesture Matthew appreciated, when his friends smile had come to be such a comfort over the years, a common similarity.
• • •
James had held Matthew's hand the entire carriage ride to his parents house, keeping it still in between both of their laps.
"I don't know what I'll do," Matthew murmured, "if they don't forgive me." They were stopped outside of his parents house, should've been going in it. But he wasn't ready to move, just yet.
"They will, Math. There's not a doubt in my mind that they will." His parabatai had gently let go of his hand, signaling that it was time to go, but he leveled a clear look at him first that said he wasn't done with what he was saying. "But Matthew, will you forgive yourself with them?"
"I'll try."
"That's the most I could ask for."
James stepped out of the carriage without waiting, giving Matthew no opportunity to change his mind. Not when it would mean leaving his poor bestfriend stranded.
His hands were shaking as he followed James, standing beside him, both of them facing the Fairchild home. His hand no longer held his parabatai's, instead they only held each other in a half hearted attempt to keep them still that failed miserably.
"What if they don't let me in?" Matthew looked at his friend with what felt like the fakest smile he'd ever put on, trying pretend it was a dumb joke and not something he really was scared of. He couldn't bare the thought of walking up to the doors only to be locked out, worse if he'd have to knock and they'd refuse his entrance.
"It's your home, Matthew. And they're your parents. Their door will always be open to you."
"They might not consider it my home anymore. . . I've rarely visited since I moved out. Recently I haven't at all, aside from after Edom. After Belial, and London. . . I'd let my mother lead me home, I slept in my old bed, but I'd left early in the morning. Before they'd woken." He could only imagine how it must of hurt his mother to find him gone like that, without even saying goodbye. It made him want to go inside even less.
"Your mother will let you back in now, too. She will lead you to the same bed, if you need it, she will love you just as much Math."
He shook his head, hanging it just enough he could see the shined black leather of his shoes, before he separated his hands and reached one out to ask for James's.
"I don't suppose if they cast me out yours would take me in? They accepted a ghost, why not someone who attempted matricide?" This he had completely meant as a jest, but Jamie did not laugh, even for his benefit.
"They won't cast you out, Matthew. You're their son."
He allowed himself one more breath before he lead James up the steps, and despite having a key, knocked.
He could not have bared to try the key to find out the locks had been changed, so he did not try.
It took too long for someone to answer.
Long enough that he began to believe they'd spied him through a window and had refused him entry, that he should just turn and leave.
He'd just begun to tug on James's hand to do so, when the door opened.
Matthew stared at his mother, and his mother stared back.
"Matthew," It was less greeting, and more of a numb surprise she hadn't meant to voice. "James. Hello." She hadn't stopped looking at her son.
"Is Charles home?" He asked.
His mother had always been small, both height and stature, but she'd always had a way about her that made her feel so much bigger. You forgot, when she was in a room, that she was so slight, so small, she was always in charge. If not in charge, confident to the point you'd know to turn to her if anything went even slightly off plan.
He hadn't felt as though he towered over her until now, and it was less that he felt tall, but more that he felt she was small and delicate and he was massive. He was taking up all the space- he felt as though he couldn't breathe, he had to be taking up all the air as well- and leaving none for her, for his mama.
She looked briefly disappointed, before she shook her head.
"Can I come in?"
"Of course you can. Is that why you knocked? Did you think-"
"I forgot my key," Matthew lied smoothly, and silently yelled at himself. He was here to be honest, and he started it by lying.
Charlotte stepped from the door frame, Matthew stepping in, finally letting go of James's hand.
"Where's papa? Downstairs?"
"No," His mother was still watching him, and only him. "He's in the sitting room."
"Good." He'd replied. "I need to talk to the both of you."
His mother nodded, only now looking away, starting her walk towards the sitting room Matthew was equally familiar with.
He was used to the soft neutrals of the furniture, the way it was both refined and regal, a part of him missed it. He missed his home.
And he missed his father, who sat in his chair, busy with something in his hands before he'd looked up and smiled at his wife. Then, noticing them, at his soon and his son's friend.
He barely let his mother sit down before he started talking.
"When I was in the academy there was a rumor about me. I didn't- or about our family. I- I didn't believe it, at first, but then I couldn't stop thinking about it." He hadn't even gotten to the real hard part yet, and still he could not look at either of his parents. "It was that I was a bastard. That Henry couldn't possibly be my papa. That it was Gideon Lightwood, instead."
"That's what you needed to discuss with us? Matthew. . . of course Henry's your father. Gideon is a friend-"
"No. I- that's not it. I know now that you're my papa," He looked directly at his father, the man he had once been so close to. He looked unconsciously to make sure his father was perfectly intact, still so used to taking care of him, and despite the distance felt himself relieved when he saw no new burns or cuts on his skin, his browning red hair wasn't even tinged. "And you are the best papa I could ever have. I am glad that it is you.
"I am not accusing either of you of mistakes, I am telling you of my own. I am asking for forgiveness."
He took a moment- he wanted to keep going, instead of leaving them wondering any longer.
He didn't know how to continue when all he could hear was his heart beat, all he could feel was the cardiac muscle slamming against his ribs and his lungs refusing to inflate.
James put his hand back on Matthew's, and he could breathe again.
"When I was a boy, I believed it. I did the unforgivable. I went to a shadow market, I was young and stupid and I was tricked. I'd thought I'd bought a truth potion. I never should've doubted for a moment who my father was, I never should've played with the faeries.
"I made the scones you always liked, mama. And I added some of it. I was going to hear the truth, I'd decided. But it was all a lie. I was a fool.
"I'd nearly killed you."
He took a moment before he said what was left, his head hanging low.
"And I did kill the baby. My sister.
"I'm sorry. I am so so so sorry." He felt like all of him was shaking, he probably was. His stomach was in his throat, almost literally. It was taking all of him not to vomit on the floor. He was trying to avoid crying, and wasn't entirely sure he was succeeding.
James's hand tightened on his own when neither of his parents spoke.
Matthew had known James was wrong. He had known that what he'd done was unforgivable. He'd let Cordelia convince him it wasn't. He'd let James.
"Matthew," he heard his mother, but he didn't look at her. "You've kept that to yourself this whole time?"
He didn't hear anger in her voice, though he was sure that's why she was asking. Because he'd known what he'd done and he'd let them love him.
"I know." He murmured. "I should've told you. I should've told you so you stopped loving me. I'm sorry, that I let you continue to after everything. I tried to get away, so that you'd stop-"
"No, Matthew." He was surprised, this time, when it was his father, sounding surprisingly clear. And there. "You should've told us so we could help you."
He hadn't meant to, but he looked up. He was shocked by how gentle his father sounded. The way he heard no anger from either of them.
He didn't see it, either. His mother's hand was tightly in her husband's. Both of their brown eyes were darkened just slightly by the shadows of their drawn in brows while they watched him.
"Help me?"
"Yes, Matthew. We could've helped you let go of this burden, earlier."
"I wouldn't have deserved that." He knew it was what he was asking for now, that he shouldn't he arguing against it.
"You did. You do. Matthew, you made a mistake. It would be a different story, if you had meant the harm you caused. But we know you hadn't meant it, we know you, Matthew. We know you never would've done it intentionally."
"And Matthew," he looked from his father, to his mother as she took over the conversation. "We lost you too. We lost our baby, but losing you was harder.
"We just want you back."
He looked between both of them, back and forth, even once looking towards James. "You forgive me?"
"We do." His mother nodded.
Matthew had stopped trying to keep his tears away, now. They poured down his face while he stayed on the opposite side of the room as his parents.
He felt small again. Young. He wanted his mother to hold him, he wanted her to stay in London instead of return to Idris. He remembered when he'd held her skirts so tightly as a small boy begging her not to leave and he had the urge to do it now.
"I've stopped drinking." He said instead. Instead of asking that they hold him or stay longer. He was grown now, and while he wasn't a fan of his brother, he was sure Charles had never fallen at their feet and begged them to love him.
"You have?" He heard a tone of happiness in his mother's voice.
"I have. I stopped- I stopped after Paris. I- I've been sober for- for a couple weeks. I'm trying."
"That's wonderful, Matthew!" His mother stood up from where she was sitting, gently separating her hand from Henry's, and walked towards him.
She wrapped her arms around him so tightly he let out a loud breath by accident, before he buried his head in her shoulder, and sobbed harder. He held her back just as tightly. Not letting her go for too long.
When finally he let her go she stepped just slightly back, before returning to her chair, and her husband.
"We have good news, too." Matthew watched him place her hand back with her husband's. "We're expecting another baby."
"You are?"
"We are. And we are very happy that you'll get your chance at being a big brother."