Sooooo hi... I don't know if anyone will read this, but I had the idea this afternoon and decided to go for it. This is only my second fic, so don't judge too harshly... also, I apologize in advance for bad spelling/grammar- my edit was quick! I hope you like it (:
Tessa story, present day AU, no shadowhunters etc. but otherwise will generally follow plot of CA... there will be Wessa and Jessa (sorry, I can't pick) and (eventually) quotes pulled right from the novels! CREDITS TO THE AMAZING CASSANDRA CLARE, I don't own this, except my original characters and take on the plot.

Chapter One

Tessa was sixteen, living alone in America after her alcoholic brother Nate disappeared and her Aunt Harriot passed away. There was no money to pay for the rent of her apartment, no time to go to school. There was only the deep hunger in her stomach, the emptiness in her heart, and the long hours she spent in the well-lit New York streets, avoiding the strangely dressed passer-byes and the drunken whistles and the yellow cabs and smoky cabbies who pulled to a screeching halt at the curb every few minutes to collect another teetering, sparkly, would-be night owl and drive them to or from the next hot club or crazy rave.

She guessed she could be called a night owl too, but she never dressed up, never went farther than the sidewalk. Her frigid, bandaged fingers scribbled out words on ragged notebooks and scraps of salvaged paper, and tried desperately to force the thread through the needles eye and sew just a few more patches on her jacket, to stitch just one more pencil case, or sleeve for the shiny phones that glinted so temptingly from pockets daily. Just one, and she could eat for a month… just one, and she could sleep somewhere warm… just one… But she didn't, she hadn't. She sold her simple cases and saved her meager earnings, and once a day, she indulged in a meal.

When she caught sight of her reflection in the window panes across the road, offering cigarettes and beer, bongs and sex toys and bodies, she didn't recognise herself. Her sunken grey eyes were lifeless and hollow, but still dominated her face, her cheeks were all but gone, just pale, yellow-gray skin stretched too thin over cheekbones that were too prominent and teeth that shone like pearls beneath a yellow light. She was a zombie, a ghost, a wrath. No wonder so few bought her offerings—if her face didn't scare them away, her breath would.

She was lost, caught in a darkening world with not one thing to hope from and not one thing to wish for, and her voice was gone she spoke so little, and her eyes were red she cried so much, and her hands were always shaking, from the fear, the pain, the hopelessness.

It felt forever and was only a couple weeks when a blurry shape had shaken her awake one morning. "Oy, Gray."

Tessa blinked, rubbing the night's dust from her eyes. Before her stood Aly, in all his/her grubby glory, the kid from two blocks up. "Lady's looking for you. She don't look like she's angry, since you left her building an all, but I'd be wary. Even in a good mood, she's fierce." He winked, and grabbed a few of the buttons she had left out. She had a network, not of friends per say, but they looked out for each other, in exchange for small tokens; buttons were Tessa's payment, and they were valid not for their monetary value, but because the more you had, the more people knew you were in with Gray, and everyone knew that Gray had fast feet, sharp teeth, and a punch to break your nose.

Her reputation on the streets almost made her glad her brother was a drunk. She had only ever learned to fight because when he was too out of it, she had rescued him on more than one occasion, beating his opponent and dragging his staggering, smoky ass back to the apartment, much to Aunt Harriot's dismay. Her skills had saved her life on more than one occasion, and not just when people thought she belonged to the establishment across the street. When she was starving, people like Aly would come with food, in hopes of earning a 'Tessa Token' or 'Gray Guarantee' as they became known.

She nodded at Aly, who slipped off into the shadows like a cat. As s/he disappeared, Tessa clambered up the garbage bins and slipped between them, not bothering to plug her nose. It was amazing what you could get used to.

Moments later, she heard a voice calling down the street. "Theresa. Theresa Gray!" Ms. Jameson was an older English lady, Aunt Harriot's main client when it came to clothing, and their old next door neighbour. "Theresa, I have something here for you."

Tessa shuddered. Just because Ms. Jameson had known her since she was tiny, since she still had a family, since her grey eyes had taken up her whole face and sparkled with curiosity, it didn't mean she wouldn't turn her over to the police, who might arrest her for squatting (though she wasn't), thievery (though she didn't. Okay, rarely. And nothing too valuable.) or drug dealing (she had never done drugs, didn't have enough money to pay for them or status to get them for free, or the guts to steal them).

"Theresa, it's from your brother. Nathaniel sent it to your old address. It seems he hasn't caught word of your current predicament. Wouldn't it be nice to read? To hear from your family?"

Tessa was sorely tempted, even stirred to rise. But why would Nathaniel be writing to her after all this time? Why would he even care? Not one word for over a year, and suddenly a letter, addressed just to her. It must be a ruse, she thought. She stilled.

Ms. Jameson turned her head towards the alley where Tessa hid. "Theresa? It's addressed 'To my Tessie.' I'm going to read it. I know you're there. "My dearest Tessie. Forgive me for my long absence. I was having troubles and felt it improper to trouble you and Harriot. Frankly, I thought you'd do better without me. News of the passing of our Aunty—"

Tessa sprang from the rubbish. "Stop, Jameson," her voice argumentative and commanding, using the Aly's habit of last names by accident. She gave her head a little shake, to straighten it out. Ms. Jameson wasn't another street rat who needed to be kept under control and off her turf, who needed to come to understand the value of a Gray Guarantee. She was her old neighbour, one who had brought soup when Aunt Harriot had been sick, had kept the landlord off her back when she was alone. "I'm sorry," she hung her head. "I don't know what came over me."

"I do," the older woman smiled, in part with distaste, in part with pity. "The streets." She pulled her jacket tighter around her, and pulled a wet wipe from her purse. She seemed to be struggling not to wrinkle her nose as she extended her hand.

Tessa grabbed the wet wipe, careful to maintain the careful no contact space between them. "Thank you," she mumbled, scrubbing her hands and face.

Ms. Jameson tapped her on the bottom of the chin, raising her head. "Tip tip. Speak up, darling. If you have something to say, look at me and say it."

"Thank you," Tessa repeated, blinking. No one had given her instructions or treated her like she needed manners since her clothes had last been washed, some three weeks ago.

"That's better." She held out a heavy parchment envelope with an address in messy black cursive. Still, unmistakeably, it read Theresa Gray, and just looking at it, Tessa felt as though her brother were coming home. "Why don't you come back to my apartment. We can have a cup of tea; you can read the letter yourself… Once you see what it says, you may want to clean yourself up."

Tessa self-consciously patted her hair. "You read the whole thing?"

"Of course I did. I didn't want you getting your hopes up only to find it was him asking for money or some other ridiculous nonsense like that. As if you have any to spare." She patted a hollow cheek. "Look at yourself."

Tessa didn't need to. She instead wiped her nose with the back of her hand, and followed Ms. Jameson up the staircase to the apartment across form her old one. "Were there other letters?" she asked. "Letters from the past few weeks, when I've been out? From Nate?"

Ms. Jameson pursed her lips.

"You know that's a federal crime, tampering with mail." She hesitated a moment. "Let me see them." Her Gray voice was back, the one she used to command respect, where she could get it.

Ms. Jameson unlocked the front door, and handed Tessa two small envelopes, both thin, with hastily scrawled addresses in Nate's hand. Neither had a return address. The first one read:

Tessie,

I hate to bother you, but I need your help. There's a den here, fantastic. I'm winning every night, gaining every penny that I play back five times over. I want to go big, to move up the oligarchy they seem to have in place. But to play with the big boys, you need the big bucks. Give your brother a hand? I promise, you'll see all your coppers turned to gold before you can blink. We can get a big house together, a house with a lawn, and a cat… You can go to school, to university… I'm telling you, this is my ticket out. I just need you to trust me.

Yours forever

Nate.

She scowled at the page. Despite the warm familiarity of his writing, the promise of his words, he was just as he had always been, even after a year on his own… deluded, naïve, and entirely charm dependant. It was a shame his puppy dog face and big blue eyes couldn't woo her from the paper.

The second letter was similar, full of promises for a better future where they could be together and happy… if only she'd lend him the money he needed. Though the first had been unspecific, mentioning only 'big bucks' the second had a numerical figure. Ten grand. And no… she double checked. Not American dollars, but Euros. How did he get to Europe? She asked Ms. Jameson.

"Why don't you read his third letter," was all the woman replied.

She cracked open the heavy envelope. Inside was a folded print out of a plane ticket, to London. She pulled the accompanying letter out, her fingers shaking.

My dearest Tessie.

Forgive me for my long absence. I was having troubles and felt it improper to trouble you and Harriot. Frankly, I thought you'd do better without me. News of the passing of our Aunty has only now reached my ears, and I wish only I'd heard sooner. It hurts me that you didn't try to send word.

Send word? To where?

But first, I think you deserve an explanation.

I went to London following what we knew of Mom and Dad. I know, Harriot was all you ever needed, and she treated me like a son, etc. but I just wanted enough to know what kind of people they were, enough to know what to expect from myself… what they would have expected. And oh Tessie, how short I fell. You though, you would be their everything, their perfect child. A real Mother's girl. Your smart, quick witted, strong willed, beautiful, and you stand up for what you know to be right. But me…

For a while, I fell down the same rabbit hole as Dad, oh how he would have cried. But then, it was there I first caught wind of their story, first found Mortmain and employment, and received the letters. You have to read them! There are less letters and more diary entries of a sort, Mother's I think. She wrote about the pandemonium club and how Mortmain met our father, how entranced he became, how deep into underground London the club really went… and they ran to America to escape.

Mortmain left the club shortly after… he called our parent's his dearest friends. He lent me enough money to pay my way out—these people do not let you leave easily, believe me—and offered me a job at his company. I have steady wages and a small flat. My life is together here Tessie, and ready… for you.

With this in mind, I hope you consider the plane ticket I have sent with this letter. It leaves September 18th, so you should have plenty of time to decide. But then… if New York is treating you well, I couldn't force you to leave it. I shouldn't have to be the only family you've got. So if you want to stay, I'll leave you be.

Thinking of you, loving you, missing you.

I'll be waiting at the airport

Your Nate

So R&R please... be brutal- I'm a fan of constructive criticism. No pressure... K I'm awkward so bye