Hello! This is my first Fan Fiction for The Mortal Instruments series! I have previously written a few for The O.C. but that was years ago, and I never posted here on this site. This story has been begging me to tell it... :) So here I am! Telling it!
I always love having a very strong female character in my stories. It makes me (and the character) feel so empowered. I feel like that mixed in with drama is a great mix! I have added in dance and music - mainly because those are two passions of mine!
Anyways, read and review!
I hope you like it!
Meg
Oh and I don't own Clary or Jace :( Or any other TMI character! Just fyi :) All their wonderfulness was conceived by Cassandra Clare!
***
She walked up to the doors of the Institute, wanting to get it over with. She had never had to ask anyone for help before - she had always been the one that people asked to help them. This felt so wrong, so backwards. She knocked loudly a couple times, waiting for an answer. When it didn't come she rang the door bell and tapped her foot impatiently. As the afternoon sun beat down on her she tried to push all of the reasons that she was here out of her head. When she had left her family at the Institute in California she wanted an escape. She wanted out of the Shadowhunting life, not because it had necessarily done anything to her, but because it was tied to everything that had happened. She figured if she could put her whole life previous to this in the past, if she could erase every similarity between her old life and her new life, she would be able to forget.
She had thought that moving to New York was the key to starting over, to escaping her past. At first it was. She had gotten a job at a dance studio as a dance instructor - one of her passions in life. She fell in love, or at least that's what she thought it was, and moved in with her boyfriend. He was perfect and so was her non shadow hunting life - or so she thought. As quickly as all the 'good' in her life had come, it began to fall away. One night, after a long day in the studio helping her dance team get ready for competition, she came home to find her boyfriend in bed with one of her co workers. She couldn't say that she hadn't seen this coming - they always flirted incessantly when she had her 'friend' over for drinks.
From that moment on her world started crashing down on her. She quit her job due to the fact that she couldn't handle seeing that girl every day. She moved out of her boyfriends apartment and into a hotel. She contemplated heading back to California, trying to start over again, but that seemed unfathomable. She couldn't go back, she just couldn't. Finally, out of desperation, she found herself on the front doorsteps of the Institute in New York.
She jumped as the door scraped open revealing a boy about her age. She felt her breathe hitch in her throat as she took in his appearance. The blonde locks falling into his perfect carmel colored eyes. The faint scars of ruins accentuating his finely toned arms. In that second she forgot how to speak. She looked down at her shoes as she collected herself - feeling the boys eyes on her the whole time. Finally she sucked in a breathe and looked up again, "Are the Lightwoods here?" She asked, hoping that her voice was steady. "Uh, yeah, come on in," the boy motioned moving the door open wide. She picked up her duffel bag that was sitting at her feet and followed him through the room, barely registering that they were walking through what looked like a church.
The whole way up the elevator and to the library, as the boy had called it, she was silent, not knowing what to say. They stopped in front of the library doors and she looked at the boy expectantly. As if understanding why she was looking at him, he opened the doors and walked in before her. Once inside she surveyed the scene in front of her. The towering book shelves were full of rich looking texts. The desk was made of deep mahogany and the sofas that were scattered throughout the room were a made of deep brown leather. She noticed two people sitting on one of the couches. They were looking at her and the boy, waiting for them to talk.
"Marsye, Robert... this is...", the boy turned around as if just realizing that he didn't know her name.
"Clary," she said, walking over to the couches and stretching out her hand, which the woman, Marsye accepted warmly, "I uh.. I was wondering if I could talk to you." She scuffed her stylish Marc Jacobs flat into the deep carpet and started fidgeting her hands.
As if sensing Clarys nerves Maryse stood up, "Of course," she started in, and then remembering Jace still standing by the door, "Jace, you can go now. Thanks for showing Clary up here." Jace looked at Marsye and then again at Clary as if he wanted to stay, but knowing that he couldn't argue with his adopted mom he turned around and left. Maryse looked back at Clary and motioned to the spot next to her on the couch, "Why don't you come over here Clary, it's much better to talk while sitting comfortably." Clary nodded and perched herself on the end of the couch readying herself to ask for something she never had to ask before - help.
**
The door shut behind Jace and he immediately headed to the weapon room where he had left Alec waiting for him when he went to answer the door. He wasn't sure who he had expected it to be when he opened the door but she was definitely not it. He smirked to himself when he remember how flushed she seemed to be when he opened the door. When her eyes had raked over his body and then had ended up on the ground. He was glad that she had been too preoccupied to see the look in his eyes- as he had looked her up and down exactly the same way.
She was short, about 5'2" if he had to guess. Her hair hung to halfway down her back and was the most amazing color of red with blonde highlights that he had ever seen. The highlights seemed to be sparkling in the setting sun. Her eyes were big and green with long eyelashes that framed them. She had expertly applied mascara that had brought out the fullness of them. Her skin was a milky white with only a smattering of freckles across her nose. And then there was her mouth. Oh hell, her mouth. Her lips had been pulled into a slight frown, as if she had the weight of the world hovering over her. Her plump bottom lip had been pulled in between her white teeth and he couldn't help but notice the rose tint to her naked lips. When she finally had looked up at him and asked about Robert and Marsye he had collected himself.
When Marsye had dismissed him from the library he thought about protesting. He wanted to know what she, Clary, wanted. But he knew better than to argue with Marsye and so he left. Finding himself back at the door of the weapons room he shook his head, she was gorgeous, sure, but he had seen many gorgeous girls in his life. They flitted in and out of it and that was the way he liked it. He opened the door and looked around, at the weapons. That was what his life was all about - weapons and fighting demons. And he wouldn't have it any other way.
**
Clary sighed as she kicked off her shoes and flopped down on the, er, her, bed. Marsye had listened to Clarys story and had agreed that it would be best for her to stay in New York, seeing as how the Institute was supposed to be a safe haven for shadow hunters in need of help. She had shown Clary to her room and told her that dinner would be in about an hour. She gave her directions to the kitchen and then left, knowing that Clary needed some time to herself. Clary looked around the room noticing all the resemblances between it and her room at home. There was a bed, a desk and a dresser. Connected to the room was a small bathroom. Clary stood up and went into it, finding warm soft towels and a bathrobe hanging there, waiting for her - inviting her to escape into the confines of a hot shower.
Clary resisted the urge and went back to the bed where she had discarded her duffel bag. She unzipped it and began taking things out. On the top were pictures, pictures of her family and her best friend. Clary was the oldest of 6 kids. In the shadowhunting world having that many kids was unheard of, but her family had never cared what other people thought of them. She looked at the picture that her family had taken just six months ago. She let her finger run over the glass as she took in each one of her siblings.
The hole in her heart that she had been trying to mask for the last three months of being in New York opened up again. Just younger than her she had a brother, Drew - short for Andrew. He had always been Clarys best friend. They did everything together. They were parabati. But now she wasn't there to fill her half of the partnership. Then came a sister, Stephanie, who was so much like Clary in so many ways. They both loved to dance almost more than anything else in the world. They had the same hair, the same eyes. Though there was a four year difference between the two, Clary always knew that Steph understood her in everyway. Then there was Robbie, her brother. He was just hitting his awkward teenage years.
She laughed as she remembered the last time she had talked to him on the phone and his voice had squeeked. Clary felt a pange of sadness surge through her body when she realized she was missing that part of his life. She pushed that thought out of her head as she thought of her two littlest sisters: Elizabeth and Allison - also known as Eliza and Allie. Allie was the youngest, only six years old. When she had been born Clary had been upset with her parents. She didn't want any more siblings and she felt like her parents were out to get her. But in the eight years after that Clary began to realize that she wouldn't trade Allie for anything. Clary had formed a bond with her that only an oldest sister could. The protectiveness that she felt for her siblings was a feeling that went unmatched by any other feeling Clary had. They were hers and she had left them.
The tears that began hitting the glass of the picture startled Clary out of her reverie. She hadn't even noticed she was crying though her face was covered in tears. Clary set the picture on the desk next to her bed, if she couldn't be with them at least she could see their faces everyday. She then picked up the next picture that was of her and her best friend, Simon. He had his arm draped across her shoulders and she was looking up at him laughing. She couldn't quite remember what had happened when this picture was snapped but Clary knew she was happy, she was always happy when she was with Simon. She set that picture next to the one of her and her family. She looked around, not wanting to unpack anymore. This wasn't her home she had to keep reminding herself. There was no reason to put things in the dresser or the closet. Her only home was in California, with her family and best friend.
Clary walked to the sink in the bathrooom and splashed water onto her face, cooling down her cheeks which felt hot from her tears. She then dabbed at her eyes and fixed her make up. She had to be strong. She would be strong. This - where she was and what had happened - wasn't going to break her. She wouldn't let it.