The Spoils of War
Night will fall and drown the sun, when a good man goes to war
-Steven Moffat
The bed groaned loudly as Clary rolled over and she froze in mute horror. She waited on baited breath, listening for the sound of a waking person coming to investigate what a young girl was doing awake at such a late hour. The seconds became minutes and Clary began to suspect that no one was coming for her, and gradually, she worked her nerve up to swing her legs around and place two unsteady feet on the floor. The cold floor stung the sore pads of her feet, but she breathed out and forced herself to move on.
Turn the knob slowly, it squeaks, Clary told herself as she approached the door to her bedroom. The first floorboard on the right is loose, don't trip on it.
The silent orders were the only thing that was keeping Clary from racing back to her bed in a panic and hiding under the covers. Her mind was in a torrent, screaming at her to turn around before Valentine, or worse, caught her out of bed, but a small voice kept telling her to get up and go. It was weak, but the growling in her stomach was lending it strength.
They'll never know, the voice whispered, if you slip downstairs for a quick snack. Just some bread with butter, just some water, maybe a handful of baby carrots; just enough to hold you over until lunch at school. Just enough for tomorrow.
While she'd been having the conversation with herself, Clary had opened the door to her room, carefully avoiding the loose board, and was already at the platform before the stairs. The realization that she was directly disobeying her father made her mind reel and she felt dizzy-or, maybe it was the three days she'd gone with no food and water. Either way, Clary felt herself sink down to a childish squat on the edge of the stairs, clutching her messy hair.
Go back, just go back and crawl into bed, cover yourself up with the blanket and pretend this never happened. Your father doesn't have to know, no one has to know what you did, her reasonable self whispered.
But the hunger that had driven Clary from her bed in the first place was too powerful now. She sat on the edge of the stairs, and toes first, placed her feet down on the first stair. She shifted all the weight onto her hands to silence the sound her body would make on the stairs, and lifted herself down to the stair. Toe by two, stair by stair, Clary made her way in the manner of a small child sneaking down the stairs, until she landed on the base.
Clary's eyes darted back up the stairs, a sudden fear gripping her that someone would be standing there, staring down at her like a vengeful God. However, the stairwell was dark and still, she heard no footsteps. She no longer heard the warnings from her mind, only the growling in her stomach urging her on and the little crying go, go, go!
For a moment, Clary debated standing up and running for the kitchen, but she almost at once decided against it. She made too much noise on two feet, and, if someone did wake up, her standing up would be spotted at once. Dejectedly, Clary began to crawl on her hands and knees toward the kitchen tile floor.
This is so degrading, Clary thought as she crawled under the huge dining room table and huddled there a moment to gather her wits. You're crawling around like some animal, scrounging for scraps because your own family won't feed you. While this was true, again, Clary's little voice answered, It doesn't matter what you have to do, it doesn't matter how low you have to sink, you need to survive. Just get to the kitchen and get the food. You can stroke your ego later.
A bitter smile curled Clary's lips; she was never going to stroke her ego again. But, the voice had been enough to encourage her to keep moving. Clary listened for a moment longer, checking for signs of life in the house, but there were none, and she moved on again. Out from under the table she crawled, and quietly, like a little mouse, she found her way to tiled kitchen floor. Shaking with anticipation and reveling in her own success, Clary drew herself up against the cabinets on the floor and sighed.
Go! Go to the fridge-open the door slowly, always slowly!-and get the bread and carrots. Clary surveyed the kitchen around her, and spotted, opposite the little island, the imposing sub-zero refrigerator. Pour a glass of water from the picture inside. A cold, cold glass of water. Your throat is so dry…
Clary moved like a madness had consumed her. She took the long way around the island, just in case someone woke up, and arrived at the refrigerator, arms trembling. It had been three days since her last meal, three days since her last drink, three days of compounding, horrible longing, and now, here was her prayer answered.
The door opened silently, and the spill of light illuminated Clary's face. When she looked up from her crouch on the floor, she beheld shelves and shelves of fresh vegetables and fruits, packed lunch meats, cans of soda and juice, even chocolate éclairs from last night's dinner she had been dismissed from. But Clary knew what she was there for.
Take the bread and the carrots, nothing that can be noticed as missing. Don't touch the meat, you'll leave finger prints all over the place. He'll know…Clary's hand shot out and retrieved a loaf of fresh bakery bread and a bag of baby carrots. She reached across her to the island and removed a glass from the rack beneath it, carefully, and poured herself a tall glass of fresh, chilly water. Swiftly, she shut the door and settled onto the floor again, hunched over her meager meal of bread, carrots and water like a snarling animal.
Eat, eat, eat! ordered the voice, and Clary fell on the meal ravenously, her heart exploding with the pleasure of the food.. Don't stop, be quick, don't leave crumbs, but eat! Sitting there, feeling her belly fill, Clary decided she'd made a good choice after all. She shouldn't have been so worried. No one will ever know, it's our little secret. Eat your fill, put the food away, clean the mess, and then we'll crawl back in bed with a full stomach. No one needs to know-
"It appears I have a rat infestation," drawled a voice from right above Clary's head.
The food in Clary's mouth turned to ash and her heart stopped beating. Trembling, now in fear, Clary slowly looked up and behind her, wishing it was all her imagination. At the sight of her father, Clary's hands convulsed and she dropped the bread she'd been eating and glass of water in her hand. The glass broke into jagged little bits and the water seeped into her nightgown.
"F-father," Clary stuttered, thinking as fast as she could. Unfortunately, while the little voice had been so encouraging before, it had now abandoned her, leaving her, like usual, to deal with the consequences of reality. "I-I didn't know you were awake."
"Hmm," hummed Valentine, flicking the light on and surveying Clary with a critical eye. "No, not a rat, too timid for a rat. Maybe just a mouse."
"I didn't hear you," she said, finding her voice.
"I'm sure you're most disappointed in that, aren't you?" Valentine asked, a strange smile turning the corner of his lip up. "Perhaps, had you heard me, you might have scurried off to your room, tail between your legs, but a belly full of crumbs to keep you content, eh?"
"No," said Clary, shaking her head. "I was just eating some bread and you surprised me-"
"I bet I did," Valentine cut across her, which was good, since Clary had no idea where she was going with it. "Now, Clarissa, I told you that you weren't allow to eat, that you're abysmal grade on your math exam had earned you that punishment, but that, if your English paper grade was sufficient, I would let you have dinner with us on Monday. Now, here I find you, eating food off the floor like some animal, and what am I supposed to think?"
"Father," Clary began in a weak voice. She had learned long ago that arguing with him, with showing him any kind of will, could easily land her on the balcony of their apartment, tied to the railing in the cold. "I haven't eaten in days, and I didn't think I could last till Monday."
"And whose fault is that?" Valentine knelt down beside Clary, eyebrows raised in a question. "It's certainly not my fault, is it? I simply told you the consequences of your actions; if anyone is at fault, it's you. You're the one who failed-"
"I got a B!"
"And I'm supposed to be impressed with that?" Valentine asked sharply. "I expect excellence in all fields, and you think coming home with a B is acceptable, especially since there were Mundanes who got A's?"
"But, I studied-"
"Poorly," he finished. "Now, you are simply dealing with the consequences of your actions, and you appear to be doing that poorly, too. I'm not impressed by this, and neither am I sympathetic."
"Clary?" Valentine snapped about and the same time Clary moaned. "What are you doing to her?"
"Ah, Jace," Valentine said, his eyes glowing. "I should have guessed you'd come down here the moment you heard your little love's voice. How very sweet."
Jace, standing in his pajamas with his tangled hair and his wide eyes, made Clary want to cry. She had never wanted him to come down here. She knew if Jace found her in danger of her father, he'd intervene, and then he'd be punished too. Jace, who was still allowed to eat, would lose those privileges as quickly as she did if he wasn't careful. It was why she had been so careful in the first place; forget waking her father, it was Jace who could hear a pin drop.
Jace took in the sight of Clary huddled over a pile of mushy bread and knew at once what he'd walked in on. "I thought I heard something, and came down to see what it was."
"Well, you certainly found something, didn't you?" Valentine asked, and his hand roved up to grasp a handful of Clary's hair. "What do you think, a mouse or a rat?"
Jace didn't even blink he was so fast. "I sent her down. I wasn't feeling well, so I asked Clary to go down and get me some bread and water. If she's done anything wrong, it should be me who's punished for sending her in the first place-"
"Jace!" Clary cried.
"Liar," Valentine said simply, and stood up, tossing Clary down into the pile of soggy bread. "I found her with a mouth full of bread, stuffing her face."
"I don't deny that," Jace answered. "I'm just saying that it's my fault. I knew Clary wasn't allowed to eat, I knew she was starving, but I still asked her to go anyway. I sent her into temptation. I should take responsibility for it."
"How very mature of you," mused Valentine, staring down into Jace's bold eyes. "But I know you're lying. Not because of any tells, just because, where my daughter is concerned, you always lie for her."
"I'm not lying-"
"Yes, you are!" Clary snarled. "Don't listen to him, Father. I came down here on my own, it was all me, Jace had nothing to do with it. Just leave him out of it."
Valentine gestured to Clary, while speaking to Jace. "My daughter seems quite adamant that you have nothing to do with this, and that I should send you to your room to wait."
"She's just protecting me. She thinks you'll stop feeding me if I help her," Jace shrugged.
"She's not wrong," Valentine replied.
"Regardless," Jace pressed on. "I sent her down here. This is my fault, and if anyone is to blame for this, it's me."
"He's lying," Clary moaned, and she felt her hand helplessly pluck the hem of her father's pants. "He's just trying to protect me. Please, just send him back to bed and deal with me."
Valentine gave his daughter a look filled with disgust. "You're pathetic, Clarissa. Sitting in a pile of garbage food, begging at my feet; you make me sick to call you my daughter." Clary didn't care what her father called her; all that mattered was that he send Jace away. "However, I have more pressing matters to deal with. You say Jace lies, Jace says you lie, and neither of you is willing to admit to the truth. I see only one option."
"I'm telling you the truth!" Clary pressed.
"Clary, stop lying," Jace growled under his breath.
"I can only assume you are both lying, and so, you will both be punished." Valentine kicked Clary away. "Clary, clean this mess and then go to the bathroom and take your nightgown off. I'll meet you there in ten minutes. Jace," and here, he shot a sneer at the boy, "no food or water for three days."
Jace seemed more upset with Clay's punishment than his own. "I'll take Clary's half as well," he offered, picking up a rag from the counter. "It will hurt her just as much if she sees me."
Valentine snapped the cloth from his hand and threw it at Clary with unnecessary force. "Go to your room, Jace, and stay there. If I find that you've left for anything, you'll get a whipping for your pains."
Jace's eyes found Clary's and he looked suddenly desperate. "Please, Valentine, Clary is already too weak, and she hasn't eaten in days."
Slowly, prowling forward, Valentine drew level with Jace. "I'll only tell you once to go to your room, boy." And, while still holding Jace's eye, he lifted his foot up and then brought it down on Clary's right hand. She screamed and Jace cried in horror. "Do I need to repeat myself?"
Though Jace wanted to stay and protect Clary, he knew how pointless it was going to be to linger. "I'll wait up," he told her, and then returned to his room.
Valentine remained, and he watched while Clary scrubbed up the soiled floor. "This is all you're good for. Ruined by your upbringing." Then he left her there to clean.
Though Clary tried to take her time, though she made a point of scrubbing the cracks in the floor, she knew that nothing was going to stop the clock from ticking her doom. When there was nothing left for her to clean, Clary drew herself up, and marched up the stairs, passing by the room she and Jace shared, wishing she had just gone back to bed, and turned down the hall to the bathroom.
The light was on, the fan going, and Clary felt her stomach turn like she was going to be sick. Valentine wasn't there yet, but Clary didn't think she wanted to risk his wrath any more that night, and she crossed the fuzzy carpets and tiled floors to the bathtub where she slipped out of her nightgown and sat on the rim. As the minutes ticked by, Clary shivered in nothing but her underwear, and hugged herself tighter, longing for the blankets on her bed. What she wouldn't give to be back there now.
When she heard the bathroom door close and lock, she knew Valentine was there; when she heard the sound of leather on the marble sink, she flinched. "Now, first things first; come over to the toilet."
Clary shot a look over her shoulder at her father, who was watching her with pitiless eyes. "I'm not dressed."
"I'm not interested," he said simply. "Sit in front of the toilet and give back what you stole."
Still hugging herself under the stony eye of her father, Clary knelt before the toilet and waited. She felt the presence of her father behind her, and then his arms wrap about her. One of his hands gripped her chin, the other was holding the end of her toothbrush. Clary watched, dreading what he was going to do, and she thought a few more minutes like this and the toothbrush would be unnecessary.
"I'm going to do this once," Valentine said, jerking Clary back into position when she tried to shy away from the toothbrush, "and then you're going to do it twice, to show me you understand."
Clary groaned, but Valentine squeezed his fingers, forcing her mouth to open, and shoved her toothbrush down her throat until she lurched forward, vomiting. Valentine held her over the toilet bowl, shaking her by her hair as if he was going to shake the food out, and Clary looked at the partially digested bits of bread and carrot. After a minute, he stopped shaking her, slammed the toothbrush in her hand, and then sat on the rim of the bathtub, waiting for her to complete the rest.
By the end, Clary's eyes were welling with tears, her throat burning with the acid that had come up. Valentine had emptied her stomach of food on his first go, and the last two had simply brought up blood and stomach acid, leaving her feeling raw and empty. She dropped the toothbrush on the floor and leaned on the bowl, unable to stop the shaking that was consuming her.
"Now, come here and lean over the tub," Valentine ordered, standing and retrieving his belt. "You returned what you took, but now you have to be punished for taking it in the first place."
Again, Clary thought fear might make her vomit, but this wasn't her first time playing this game. Clary clambered over to the bathtub and leaned over the rim, exposing her back to her father's mercy. It didn't take long for her father to begin, and, luckily, for him to end. It was only five lashes this time, one five welts on her back, only a single minute of pain. When it was over, Clary let out the ragged cry she'd been holding back.
"You're lucky all you got your hands on was some bread. If I'd caught you with meat in your mouth, we'd still be at it," Valentine informed her tonelessly as he washed the blood off the belt. "Get back to your room and stay there until I call you and Jace down. If I hear a whisper of this to your mother, I'll see you and Jace both whipped within an inch of your lives."
Stumbling into her nightgown, Clary nodded, and then walked stiltedly back to her bedroom. She held herself awkwardly, feeling pain lace up her back at every step, and when she had to open the door, the very movement sent a spike of pain from her stretched arm up her back. She didn't have to suffer long though, since the moment the door swung to, Jace was there, catching her as she fell.
"Clary, why did you do that?" Jace moaned as he very carefully picked her up and rested her over his shoulder so as not to touch the whip lashes. "Why would you sneak down there? I begged you not to."
Clary hated when Jace sounded like this, so miserable and helpless, like her actions were somehow his fault. When he placed her gently on the bed, Clary caught his wrist. "I was so hungry, and I just couldn't risk telling you. I knew you'd try and stop me, and if I got caught you'd be in trouble."
Jace cupped Clary's face in his hands. "You don't worry about me, alright, Clary? I know how to handle Valentine, and I know how to handle pain; I've had both of them since I was a kid. Do you think I don't feel your pain? Do you think I just got back in bed and waited for you to show up?" Jace kissed Clary passionately. "Don't ever do that again."
Clary let the kiss linger. "It doesn't matter now," she said bitterly. "Now you're the one who has to starve."
"Three days is barely anything, besides, I'll eat small things at school." Jace motioned for Clary to lie down as the dug around under their bed. "I take it Valentine made you throw up?"
Clary sighed. "How did you know?"
"I've been there, and it just means I'll have to be careful about what I eat." Jace emerged with a simple first aid kit. "I wish he'd let me have my stele back; for now you'll just have to make do with alcohol and bandages."
Unable to repress a shudder, Clary shimmied out of her nightgown again, revealing her bare backside to Jace. He admired it in the moonlight. "I'm surprised Valentine lets us stay together. You think he'd keep a closer watch over his daughter than to let her shack up with a notorious player."
Though she sensed the joke, Clary shook her head. "It's punishment, Jace, he knows that when I'm hurt you'll see it, and when you're hurt, I'll see it."
"Whatever the reason, I'm grateful I get to curl up beside you at night," said Jace solemnly, and then placed his palm on her hip in warning. "This is going to hurt."
"I know," she murmured, and bit down on the pillowed as Jace began to apply alcohol to the open cuts on her back.
It didn't take long for Jace's practiced hands to clean the five lashes and apply anti-septic bandages, and he paused, his hand wavering over the rolls of gauze. "I can wrap the wounds if you want, but you'll have to sit up…" his voice trailed off and Clary knew why. They had been living in the same house, sharing the room, sleeping in the same bed for almost five months now, but Jace, always a gentlemen, and Clary, terrified of how her father might react, had never seen her naked.
"I'll sit the other way," Clary said, hoping the moonlight would bleach out the color of her blush. Jace turned his back while Clary sat on her knees and resituated herself so she sat facing the headboard. When he turned back with the gauze, Clary glanced over her shoulder and offered him her bravest smile. "This must be an ordinary teenage boy's worst nightmare?"
"When have you ever described me as ordinary?" asked Jace, and set to work wrapping her torso with gauze bandaging. It took longer than Jace liked, his hands just barely grazing her backside and never touching her front, but Clary seemed distant and unresponsive to his administrations. When he finally tied the knot, Jace found his hands were shaking just a little. "Still, I suppose I fall prey to the usual temptations."
"You can't be blamed," Clary said softly, and then, with Jace's help, settled on the bed. Jace tossed the blankets over both of them and drew Clary very gently against him. Softly, almost so softly she didn't hear him, Jace began to hum; Clary smiled at the feeling of his chest vibrating against her. "You're going to sing me to sleep?"
"Classic," Jace returned with a cocky smile. "What would you like? Bram's Lullaby?"
"That would be welcome," Clary murmured against his neck, and she slipped into sleep, tucked in the safety of Jace's arms.
As Clary was slipping into a troubled sleep, another young red-haired woman was being jerked awake by the tossing and turning of the bed beneath her. "What the hell-!"
"Listen up Ponds, we're encountering some turbulence," a ridiculously cheerful voice said over a speaker. "Nothing to be too concerned about. We might be making a landing soon." The man's voice was cut off suddenly and a groaning echoed all over the room. "Ah, yes, well, make that an emergency landing…NOW."
"Doctor!" Amy Pond cried in outrage, but she was tossed out of bed as the ground beneath her pitched forward.
"He's mad!" snarled Rory Pond, lunging after his wife and helping her to her feet on the rocking floor. "Why he has to get up to his madness at two in the morning, I'll never know."
"It's not madness!" cried the Doctor over the loudspeaker, and he was laughing like a schoolboy. "If you'll come down here, Ponds, you'll see."
"I can't believe we agreed to travel with him," grumbled Amy, and then she and Rory made their shaking way down the halls of Tardis to join the Doctor in the central command room. The Doctor was clinging to the controls, laughing and howling in pleasure. "Doctor!"
"Ah, Amy, Rory!" the Doctor beamed, waving them down. "Come here, but be careful, I think something is on fire."
"What happened?" Rory called over the groaning and grinding of the Tardis.
"Well," the Doctor mused, pressing buttons as fast as he could. "We passed dangerously close to a white hole, and the electromagnetic radiation it was emitting overpowered the Tardis's circuitry. We're in a bit of a free fall right now."
"We're crashing?" Amy moaned, thinking this was something that happened more often than she liked with the Doctor. "We're crashing into a white hole?"
"Not crashing," the Doctor said. "I tried to stabilize the Tardis, jumping into the Time Vortex, and maybe a few galaxies over, but we swung a little too close to Earth."
"Which means," Amy said, rolling her eyes.
"Well, with the power cells low, the Tardis couldn't counteract the gravity pull, and we're being pulled in-hence the free fall."
"So," Amy said, stumbling over and lowering herself to the Doctor's face. "What you're saying is, we're in free fall, heading for Earth's surface, with no way to break the pull of gravity?"
The Doctor ran Amy's words through his head and then nodded, still smiling. "Yes, that sounds right."
"Now, what part of that explanation was not crashing?" Amy asked.
"Well, you didn't actually say crashing," the Doctor pointed out, and then the Tardis gave a powerful lurch and all three were thrown to the floor. "Perhaps we should all hold on?"
Amy looked like she wanted to scream, but the Doctor just rolled away and let the rocking motion toss him around. Rory latched on to the control panel of the Tardis and then reached out and pulled Amy up to him. She settled down next to her husband to wait out the violent motions of the Tardis, listening to the Doctor laugh the Tardis scream. They started shaking more and more, and Amy heard the Doctor scream something about the Earth's atmosphere. The Tardis rolled and Amy thought she was going to be sick, when suddenly, one of the levers shot forward and the Tardis's Time Rotor came to life. Amy watched the green light flash against the walls, and she felt the Tardis slow bit by bit. Though the Tardis was slowing, the ride wasn't nearly over. The sound of whistling wind was all around them and the doors to the Tardis shook harder and harder.
"I think we're landing!" cried the Doctor, and the Tardis was thrown forward one last time, grinding to a gritty halt. The Doctor, lying on his back, released a pent up breath in form a whoop of joy. "We're here!"
"Here!" Amy snarled, struggling to find her footing, but found that the Doctor, was already at the door. "Where exactly is here?"
"No clue!" yelled the Doctor, and vanished out the door of the Tardis.
