So this is a little something that I've worked up about the Mortal Instruments. It started out as some notes in my math notebook and it turned into this. I've decided to turn it into a full fledged story.

Warning: AU

Disclaimer: I don't own the Mortal Instruments or any of the characters. These fantastic people all belong to the great and powerful Cassandra Clare.


The cheap motel room in the heart of Paris was dark and empty save for a man and a woman; the only guests. They sat in the darkness of the dark wood paneled walls and furniture while the murmuring of activity in Paris hustled and bustled below—even at eleven at night.

Dim light from the blinds cracks fell onto the floor and Lucian Graymark stood by the blinds peeking through them to see the city beyond. His brown hair was hidden in shadows and almost made it look black while the light from the blinds hit his skin and gave it a whitish sheen to it. His blue eyes raked over the street below and he turned to look worriedly at the woman curled up on the bed.

Her red hair hung limply around her head as Jocelyn Morgenstern hugged her knees. Her head was buried within them and she wept silently for her son. The boy had only been months old, not even born when he was destroyed by his father. The demon taint that ran through his veins destroyed him from the womb and she let it happen. If she had only done something, realized Valentine's plan, then he wouldn't have been destroyed.

"Jocelyn," Luke said absently, barely turning to look away from the window. The woman lifted her head up to reveal tear filled green eyes. This silent acknowledgement made Lucian continue. "We have no money, no plans, nothing. We need help. I can't find anything but you…you can go to the Institute and ask for help. They'll give it to you."

Vehemently, the first display of emotion in days, Jocelyn shook her head. "No," she sniffled. "I'm done. I don't want to keep losing people. This life of scars and violence is over. I want no part of it."

Luke sighed, expecting the response. She had said the same thing two days before when he had asked her in London, but she needed to help him understand why. "I get that but—"

"But nothing," she snapped. "This is what I want. I have nothing left to live for here."

"That's not true," Luke denied tiredly. "You have to keep going. You can't be one of the casualties of heartbreak. I lost my mother to it when my father died. We've seen it happen all the time. Don't let it take you."

"I won't," she intervened instantly. "But I can't live out my life if I'm constantly being reminded of the life and family that I've lost. No," she shook her head. "I need to start a new life. It has to be free of the Shadow World. That's the only way that I can really move on."

The sad truth was that Luke understood what she was implying. Nothing that reminded her of her life as a Shadowhunter could be allowed. Not even him.

"So you're leaving," he concluded.

She nodded her head in confirmation. "I'm going to try my hand at mundane life. Live out my life normally so that I don't have to deal with death anymore."

"Why?" asked Luke. "Why now? Death isn't uncommon for Shadowhunters. You're tough enough to survive this the way you are."

Finally, as if deciding something vital, Jocelyn looked to him. "I am," she confirmed. "But I don't want my unborn child to have to grow up to be that strong. I want him or her to grow up not constantly knowing the pain of death. They deserve that."

Lucian stood there gob smacked. "A baby?" he asked. "You're pregnant?"

"Yeah," nodded Jocelyn. "And now you get it. I need to leave to give them a life they deserve. What they should have."

"What they should have is a Shadowhunter upbringing," Luke exclaimed. "That child should have the choice to decide what they want from their life. Taking that choice from them makes you no better then—"

Luke cut off, shocked that he almost did the unthinkable. It was impossible to compare Jocelyn to Valentine. They were totally different. Valentine was a psychopath while Jocelyn was a kind, caring and amazing person. Nothing she ever did could even familiarize her with him.

The words, or unsaid name, sent shockwaves through Jocelyn. Was Lucian right? Was she any better than Valentine? Valentine had given demon blood to their son while in the womb and turned him into a monster against his will. Was she any different? Here she was making a decision for her child that would have a profound effect on them for the rest of their lives without giving them the chance to grow up and decide for themselves. How could she do that to the?

"Jocelyn," Lucian tried softly. "I didn't mean it like that. You're nothing like that sociopath. But you have to think about the consequences of your decision. In twenty years, will your child be thankful that you had taken them from everything they could have had growing up? If the answer might be no then you can't go through with this. It doesn't just affect you. You have a child to think about."

She was thinking about her child. She didn't want the baby to ever have to know the life of murder and pain that she did. But there were good parts to being a Shadowhunter; parts she loved. Could she really take the wonderful parts from her child? In truth, she didn't think so.

"Alright," she said, disentangling herself for the first time. "Let's get to the Institute here in Paris and ask for help."

Shock crossed Luke's face, as if he never believed that she would listen to him, before he sighed in relief. He walked over to the end table that they kept their duffle bag with their clothes in and began packing up.

"We should get ready," whispered Luke.

Jocelyn pushed herself off the bed, ignoring the aching limbs from staying in one position for far too long, and walked over to help Luke. The two picked up all their clothes, struggling in the darkness because neither ever thought of turning on a light, before they were sure that they had gotten them all.

Luke slung the bag over his shoulder and the two were about to set off when everything changed. A brilliant white light shone in their path causing them to turn their heads to avoid blindness. The light encompassed the room for several seconds before dying down to a bright glimmer. Hesitantly, the two turned to face a man.

In fact, man wouldn't accurately describe the being standing before them. He wore a pure white robe that allowed them to see the brilliant gold runes not unlike the ones adorning Jocelyn's skin from her Shadowhunter heritage though his were alive and moving as if they had minds of their own. A halo of golden hair framed his chiseled face that looked to be made of marble in its color and firmness. From his back stretched six golden wings each with a single eye glistening on all the feathers. An ethereal aura seemed to come off him in waves as he stood firm and tall in the center of their drabby motel room.

Though they had never met, and all attempts to capture his likeness in pictures and tapestries had failed miserably, Jocelyn immediately new his name. "Raziel."

"Not for a thousand years have I walked this earth," he spoke in a voice that seemed to flow like honey and sing like a church choir at the same time. "Still, it is heaven's will that I come to the pair of you."

Neither moved a muscle as they gazed upon the angel that had begun the Nephilim race. The vibrating pulse of his presence did not fade as he spoke and they could feel his divine energy pouring into them, like water passing through rocks into a pool.

"Never in human history has a massacre been avoided quite like the one the two of you prevented," he spoke, gazing into their eyes emotionlessly. "For that, you have earned…rewards."

For the first time, he looked directly to Lucian, gazing into his blue eyes with eyes a pure shining gold. "The curse," he spoke. "That you so despise shall be taken from you. You will be whole and of the Nephilim again, though that had not changed due to your lycanthropy."

Luke couldn't process what the Angel had said. Lycanthropy gone? It was impossible. The demonic illness could not be removed. A millennium's worth of Nephilim had been unable to do it. The Angel that stood before him was giving him his life back.

Then, Raziel raised his hand. A swirling vortex of brilliant golden white light encompassed Luke and his body felt like it had erupted in encompassing, pleasant flames. It surrounded him and as it drew into him, he felt strength and a sense of self that he had not felt since his attack return to him. As the light died and the vortex fade, he knew that he had been freed.

Dropping down to his knees, Luke bowed his head. "I will never thank you enough My Lord Raziel."

The Angel looked strangely at Luke, as if he couldn't understand something crucial about Luke's gesture. "Rise," he spoke. "For none of God's children are any greater than any other nor do they deserve praise for the Lord's work."

Slowly, Luke rose to his feet, grasping Jocelyn's arm as she held it out for him to help him up. Gratitude shone in his eyes as he looked upon the Angel and nodded in silence.

The Angel's attention turned to Jocelyn. The red haired woman stood watching the Angel with Awe in her eyes as she gazed upon him. He looked to her calmly and spoke in a soft, gentle tone.

"I know of your wish," he uttered. "You wish for your son, Jonathan Christopher to be with you in his entirety. Without the taint of demon that was inflicted on him by Valentine Morgenstern. So be it. All of Valentine's experiments shall be undone. In their lives it will be as if he never touched them."

A brilliant white light shone on the bed. "Be warned Jocelyn Morgenstern," the Angel cautioned. "The removal of demon ichor will leave him different. His appearance will alter as your presence in him changes."

"I don't care," Jocelyn whispered as she watched the light begin to fade. "I just want my son."

And then the light faded. Lying on the bed, sleeping at the moment, was a baby boy. He lay there, unaware of the Angel he was in the presence of and his sleeping form wiggled under the light.

Tears were streaming down Jocelyn's face and she marched forward and picked the child up. Just as on the day of his birth, Jocelyn noted that he fit snugly, perfectly into her arms and his head of now strawberry blond hair tickled her forearm pleasantly. She rocked him in her arms and held him tightly to her person as she glanced back to the Angel.

"Thank you," she told him tearfully. In the first display of emotion seen by either of them, the Angel smiled kindly at the both of them huddled around the sleep Jonathan, and allowed a bright light to consume him as he disappeared.


The streets of Paris suddenly seemed kinder to Jocelyn and Luke as she hurried down the busy streets. They passed rundown buildings and excellently preserved homes from the past on their way to the Institute of Paris. The streets were far emptier then during the day but they still passed several people as they made their way through street fairs and parks.

Jocelyn held Jonathan close to her, holding his head in the niche of her neck as she hustled down the streets. Luke kept one hand firmly on her back as he maneuvered them through the crowd of people.

"Luke," Jocelyn whispered over the talk of the people on the street. "How much longer?"

"I don't know," Luke said, not looking down to her. "It can't be that much farther to the Institute. I think we're almost there."

Indeed, they turned a corner onto a more remote street. The older brick homes were all made of red bricks and had green plants in the gardens that were darkened by the shadows of the night. On the left side of the street, a large gothic style church with spires rising into heaven and piercing the dark night, was the Institute. The stone walls were interspersed with windows with glistening witchlights in the windows.

Luke pushed the wrought iron gate open and the pair, along with Jonathan, walked through the well-trimmed grass up to the front door. The ancient oak doors were twice the size of Jocelyn but she paid them no mind as she thought the oath to enter. I am Jocelyn Morgenstern. I am one of the Nephilim and I ask for safety of this church in my quest to eradicate demon kind.

As with all Institutes, the door swung open to reveal a well-lit church with aged pews leading up to an alter. Candelabras glittered with witchlight along the isles and to the side of the room a doorway went up to what must have been the rest of the Institute.

"Come on," Luke muttered as they moved toward the stairwell.

Their footsteps echoed off the church walls as the ascended the stairs. As they rose, the walls opened up to a well-lit room with warm heat and plush carpets covering the ground. Several sofas and tables were in the room and there were large windows overlooking the city of Paris.

"Hello!" Jocelyn called, her voice echoing in the room. "Hello!"

Then they heard it. There was a clamour from down the hall and, in the distance, they saw a figure coming toward them. She was a baby pink nightdress and her blond hair was in curlers around her somewhat bony face and she strode toward them worriedly.

"Hello," she said, just the barest hint of a French accent. "How may I help you?"

"Hi," Jocelyn said. "I'm Jocelyn Morgenstern and this is Lucian Graymark. We need a place to stay and supplies before we head back to Idris."

The woman's eyes widened and she took a small step back as she heard Jocelyn's name. "Morgenstern?" she asked.

Jocelyn nodded. "Valentine was my husband. He killed my parents and the two of us ran, fearful that he might come for us. But we need to get back. The fighting's over and we think we can help put those in the Circle in prisons."

The woman nodded after a moment. "Alright," she said hesitantly. "Come with me. I will show you to your rooms." She noticed baby Jonathan sleeping in Jocelyn's arms and said "And who is that?"

"This," Jocelyn smiled. "Is Jonathan Morgenstern. He's going to stay with me if that's alright."

"Of course, of course," the woman said. "I am Elodie Verlac, the head of the Institute of Paris. Please come with me."

Elodie led them down the hall. The Institute was decorated as all others were. The tapestries depicted the angel Raziel rising from Lake Lyn with the Mortal Sword and Cup in hand. Elodie motioned for Jocelyn to enter one of the rooms while she led Luke to another.

"Good night," Luke whispered in her ear before walking off, wrapping his arm around her shoulder for a moment before leaving Jocelyn and Jonathan alone in the room. The room was scarcely decorated with white walls and bedspread. The furniture lacked any individuality and Jocelyn knew that all rooms would be the same. Still, it was warm and she laid Jonathan down on the bed before turning to pull off her dirty clothes and pulled out a t-shirt and sweatpants from the drawers filled with clothes for Shadowhunters. She put Jonathan's head on a pillow as she climbed in next to him pulling him close to her as she slept.


Crying woke Jocelyn the morning after she came to the Institute. It roused her from her slumber in an instant because Jonathan never cried. It had unnerved her for months after he was born because he never cried when he was anywhere. He had showed practically no emotion and he was now crying for the first time she could remember.

Jocelyn pushed herself upright, taking in the bright yellow light on the white of the room. Jonathan's wails drew her attention and she pulled her son off the bed and cradled him in her arms. She rocked him for several moments as he calmed down.

"Hey," she cooed. "It's alright. Mommy's here. No need to be afraid."

Slowly, he calmed down. His face, red as his strawberry hair, slowly relaxed and she noticed, for the first time, his brilliant green eyes; her green eyes. He seemed to cocoon into her and gurgled as he hugged her chest.

Pushing herself out of bed, Jocelyn walked out of the room. She walked effortlessly through the Institute, its layout almost identical to that of all other Institutes she had been to. She walked down the hall and turned into the kitchen, noting that there were pancakes cooking and orange juice already on the table. Lucian and Elodie were working around the kitchen to get the food ready. Luke looked over to see Jocelyn standing there and smiled. "Jocelyn," he said. "Why don't you sit and we'll get some food for you and Jonathan."

Jocelyn calmly sat down as Luke laid a plate of pancakes in front of her. The golden circles were unnaturally round—Luke couldn't cook at all. Elodie must have made them otherwise she feared poisoning. Hesitantly picking up her fork, holding Jonathan at her side as she did, she bit into it. The pancakes were blueberry, her favorite, and there was a bit of cinnamon like her mother used to make for her as a child.

"Thank you," she said honestly. "These are fantastic."

"Oh no problem, dear," Elodie dismissed, "Lucian here told me how you preferred them and it was simple to make them. Here," she walked to the table, holding a bottle in hand. "My nephew Sebastian often stays here and this is a bit of the formula that we had for him. I already warmed it, but you should check it."

Putting her fork down, Jocelyn took the bottle from her hand. She maneuvered it so that she could drop a bit of the liquid on the back of her hand holding Jonathan and deemed it satisfactory, and began feeding Jonathan.

"So," Jocelyn began, "When can we get back to Idris?"

Elodie looked at her for a moment before replying, sitting down at the table with her meal. "I sent word to Idris about your arrival last night. They replied this morning and told me that they will arrange for you to be brought over. I believe they will open a portal for you. That should happen within the next few days. Until then, you need to wait."

Jocelyn nodded, eyes moving to glance out the high windows at the side of the kitchen. The blue sky shone with no clouds to tarnish its color and already she could hear the faint humming of a rising city from below.

"I was wondering," Luke began. "What happened after we left Idris?"

Elodie looked to him. "Yeah," agreed Jocelyn. "I was wondering that, too." They both looked to the woman inquisitively, questioning her silently. Finally, with a sigh, she confessed.

"I can't tell you that," she sighed. "The Clave doesn't want me to tell you anything until they question you. They need to know the full story."

Stunned, Jocelyn looked to Luke in surprise. His expression was hardly on of shock, a look of resigned understanding on his face.

"Are we allowed to wander about the Institute?" he asked complacently, polite intrigue in his gaze.

The woman nodded. "You're just not allowed to leave the Institute. Members of the Paris Conclave have been stationed around the perimeter of the Institute and at all exits. Do not try to escape and you will be fine."

"Of course," Jocelyn agreed, setting Jonathan's finished bottle down on the table and picking him up. "I'm going to put Jonathan down for a nap now. Excuse me." She got up, pulling Jonathan into her arms, and walked off.


Jocelyn's eyes shifted nervously around the halls of the Institute as she walked, checking each room individually as she passed in an attempt to see if anyone was watching her. She needed to protect a secret before she could get back to Idris. It had to be protected.

Entering her room, Jocelyn tightly sealed the door and walked over to the bed. She rocked a now drowsy Jonathan in her arms for a moment before settling him down on a mattress, letting him doze off into a pleasant slumber. Then, casually, Jocelyn walked over to the windows of her room that let in the brilliant sunlight and grasped the curtains. With one sharp pull she yanked them closed and the sunlight cut off, darkening the room save for the illuminating witchlight glimmering like torches around the room.

Unsure if the Shadowhunters outside would investigate her closing the curtains, Jocelyn hustled over to her duffle bag. She hastily unzipped it and began rummaging through the contents. For the most part she felt clothes until her hand touched a soft velvet substance unlike any of the clothes she had packed.

Swiftly, she pulled out the bag, undoing the knot in the top and allowing the bag to slide away to reveal a small golden cup. It was inlaid with rubies and patterns of small suns and it contained shimmering golden liquid.

It was still safe, she thought. Carefully, Jocelyn slid the cup back in to the back and tied it up, placing it at the bottom of the duffle bag carefully before rising to her feet.

Her heart rate accelerated as she heard the pitter patter of numerous feet on carpet far too close to her room for comfort. Clearly they had come for her and now she needed to do something. She moved in the direction of the bag, grasping the straps frantically in her hand when the door slammed open.

Jocelyn's head whipped around to see dozens of Shadowhunters swarming into the room, seraph blades blazing in their hands. Their war cries awoke Jonathan who began wailing frantically and fitfully from the bed. Jocelyn barely rose halfway from her position when two sets of arms firmly gripped her shoulders and arms, harshly tugging them behind her back. Jocelyn cried out in pain and began unintelligibly screaming about how there was a mistake and that she had done nothing wrong.

"Can it!" one of the Shadowhunters growled in her ear. He took the hilt of his seraph blade and rammed it into the back of her skull. Jocelyn saw double as the world twisted around her and everything went black.


So what do you think? I wanted to show what might have happened. Now This is a little silly to think that Jocelyn would to this but, here it it. If you like it then review.