The Red List/One-shot
Sum: It'd been years since she left that city and left all her problems behind with it. Now, she was back, and he wasn't about to let her forget exactly what she'd left behind.
A/N: Yooooo I'm back, sort of, with this one one-shot. What's up, my Wafflecones? How you doin'?
Enjoy :)
...
...
...
''I'll let you get settled in, dear.''
Clary nodded at the woman in appreciation, ashamed of the tears filling her eyes. ''Thank you so much, Madame Dorothea.''
''Clarissa, dear, this is your home, it always has been. You deserve to be here,'' she said in response, clasping a warm hand over the younger girl's shoulder, ''I'm sure your mother would have wanted it.''
She couldn't help herself, at those words, she allowed herself to fall into Madame Dorothea's arms, relishing in the motherly hug the woman offered. It did give her mixed feelings, though. On the one side, she loved it, wholly loved it, the feeling of comfort and safety an embrace could give. She loved the memories that swarmed in her mind, all linked to the feeling of arms around her. They were all memories of her mother, she could almost smell the perfume she used to wear, could almost feel her nails running up and down her back soothingly—except they weren't. That was the downside, the feeling of it being a lie. Sure, she felt calm and comforted and safe, in Madame Dorothea's mother-like embrace, holding her together as she allowed herself to fall apart, but it constantly reminded her of why she was falling apart in the first place.
Clary pulled back from the hug, wiped her face quickly and pretended she was feeling better now. She wasn't.
Dorothea had tears of her own filling her eyes as she stared at the young redhead. "You look exactly like her.'' With that, she backed out of the apartment, shutting the door with a soft click, leaving Clary alone with her thoughts, feelings and memories.
Madame Dorothea lived on the floor below hers, a kind woman, always there to help everyone in need, though she was a bit quirky. Clary had known the older woman all her life, having grown up in the very apartment she was standing in, the very apartment she had sworn to leave behind years ago, after her life fell apart and there was no one there to hold her together anymore.
...
...
...
Clary hadn't actually ever visited her mother's grave, not after the funeral. Perhaps she should've felt guilty, but she didn't. If she would have visited, it would've been like pulling the stitches from a fresh wound, creating a bigger one. For a long time, it hadn't been the right time, she hadn't been ready. All her problems had piled up and up, higher than some buildings in the city. She would have fallen apart, right there, only to be reminded that the only arms that could hold her together in an embrace, the only hands that could wipe her tears and build her back up again, the only person who could assure her that everything would be okay, was buried six feet below her. Suddenly, all the words of assurance her mother had offered her seemed empty and meaningless, because it wouldn't be okay—she wouldn't be okay.
And so, she had taken the time to build herself up again, somewhere far away from where everything fell apart. She was ready now, or so she liked to think, to finally stand over her mother's grave, to place a bunch of Jocelyn's favourite flowers, and weep her eyes out. Though not because she was falling apart, instead, it was more out of relief, and the overwhelming feeling of finality.
Here she was, and there was her mother—and she could accept that, that she would never hear her words of assurance, or feel her embrace. She wasn't crying because she was sad, or angry, or desperate, or grieving. She cried because she was letting everything go, with every tear she hugged herself tighter, to remind herself that she didn't need anyone else to hold her together. With every tear, she felt more of the weight lift off her shoulders, she felt a strange new kind of comfort fill her up. She was moving on.
Instead of heavy rain thumping against the ground, with near black clouds settling overhead, as would have been the appropriate scenery, the sun was strangely bright, the birds loud. And there she was, crying, making the weather feel strangely fitting. It was true, she would've fallen apart if she'd come here earlier, black clouds would have settled overhead and everything would've felt ten times as heavy. But she was ready now, for acceptance, which the weather seemed to symbolise. Now, she was okay.
As soon as she had run out of tears to cry, the remaining ones on her cheeks having dried up, she stood and walked away, feeling like a new person. A very heavy weight had lifted, leaving her feeling light as a feather. And yet, there was still something weighing her down, something that didn't allow her to leave the city again, just yet.
Something from her past, surely, was chasing her still. And as she walked down the street, to the memory-filled apartment she would be staying in for a few weeks, she knew without a doubt what it was. It left her strangely conflicted, with a mix of bitterness and anger, relief and excitement, longing and danger.
The familiar burn of a gaze in her back, following her down the street, to where she once lived, lied, and loved.
...
...
...
Of course, this had to be happening to her.
Luck was a completely foreign concept to her, 'being lucky' was just something that didn't happen to her, ever. In fact, her unluckiness defeated all probability as mankind knew it. There could be five million people standing under one piano each and hers would be the only one to fall on top of her and inevitably injure her heavily, but not kill, so she would have to spend her life going in and out of the hospital, because she didn't even have the luck to die in that hypothetical situation.
But, of course, on this tedious, completely normal day, she did have a chance of dying, a very good one at that, with a gun currently being pointed in her face.
It was only pointed at her for a slight second, though she found it a second too long already, before it shifted to the hysteric casheer of the comic book store. The two men were dressed in all black, their faces covered completely, save the eyes and mouth, both jittery with the adrenaline of breaking the law. One of them stood in front of the till, shouting at the poor girl managing it, the other more towards the middle of the store, keeping an eye on the customers inside, occasionally threatening them with his gun.
''I said, you dumb bitch, to open the fucking thing and give me the money!''
The poor girl was trembling violently, shaking her head, tears and mucus streaming down her face as she sobbed for her life and her store. ''P-please, t-this store is a-all I have, I c-can't—''
''Are you fuckin' deaf?!'' Oh no, shit was about to hit the fan, Clary could tell.
And hit the fan it did.
The impatient criminal stopped pointing his gun at the till worker, but instead pulled back his hand, in a motion to hit her with the weapon, to punish her for wasting his time. Out of instinct, Clary felt her feet move forward to catch the blow for the girl, when someone else beat her to it.
''Tavvy, no!'' a woman shouted, voice filled with horror. For a moment, Clary had no clue what was happening, until she saw a small form dash forward, toy lightsaber in hand, ready to attack. The little boy, Tavvy, pressed a button, making the toy light up into a bright blue, and proceeded to slam it straight into the criminal's family jewels, before he could hit the till worker. Out of the corner of her eye, the unnoticed redhead saw the mother move to grab her son and protect him, but was stopped by the second robber pointing his gun straight at her and warning her to stay the fuck back.
Of course, all the force of what seemed to be a six year old hitting you in the family jewels, still wasn't a lot of force. The hooded man recovered quickly from the blow, turning all his previous anger to the innocent child.
Over my dead body, Clary thought, only to notice that her body, which would surely soon be dead, had already made the decision to step inbetween the attacker and the child.
One of her hands went behind her, to grab Tavvy and keep him out of further danger, safe under the cover of her body, the other went up in front of her face, preparing for the inevitable attack. She waited for something, anything, a fist or a gun hitting her in the face, a knife piercing her side, a bullet cutting into her skin, but nothing ever came.
It seemed that, for once, luck was finally on her side, as she was saved by none other than—the other criminal?
''What the fuck do you think you're doing, Pangborn? Are you trying to get yourself killed?''
''The lil' punk hit me in the balls! He's going to pay for it, no matter who I have to get past first—'' Pangborn turned back to the redhead, hand raised again, only to get pulled back again by the collar of his jacket.
''She's on his list, you fucking moron,'' the other one spat, gesturing to a severely confused Clary.
Pangborn paled noticeably, turning into a stuttering, frightened mess.
What the fuck is going on, no matter how many times she asked herself that, she kept coming up blank.
''S-She's on the Red list?'' he forced out, turning greener by the second.
''On the Red list?'', he chuckled sardonically, ''She's the reason there is a Red list.''
With that, the two criminals, Pangborn and John Doe, fled out of the story without looking back once.
Somehow, she was even more confused than before. Where they mistaken? They had to have been, she couldn't imagine being on some sort of special list, let alone being the reason for one. Something was nagging the back of her mind, something she couldn't quite reach. Nonetheless, she felt the weight on her shoulders grow slightly heavier, a familiar feeling swirling in her stomach, which she remained unable to determine the cause of.
On top of all that, she heard a weird electric surge in her ears, only to realise with a start that it was coming from behing her. The boy, Tavvy, was kneeling in front of her, his lightsaber turned off—which explained the surging sound—and stood with the top on the floor, both his hands resting on the handle, strangely resembling a knight offering his service to a royal. Which was apparently his intention.
''Thank you, fair maiden. From this day on, I owe you my life, in return for saving mine,'' he spoke, with a youthful sound to his voice, the voice of a young child pretending to be a knight in a world full of fantasy, peril and adventure.
However, before he could finish his oath, a woman's voice sounded again, this time with relief instead of horror: ''Tavvy, thank God!'', after which he was tackled to the ground by his mother, who held him so tight he looked like he could barely breathe.
For a small moment, Clary felt jealous.
The woman looked up at Clary with tear-filled eyes, mouthing a 'thank you'. The redhead gave a polite nod in return.
She stepped out of the store, hearing police sirens in the near distance. She should probably stay to testify, but the feeling in her stomach was something she wanted desperately to figure out, so she took in a breath of fresh air and set out to wander until it came to her. Before she could do so, however, the buzz of her phone, sat snuggly in her jeanpocket, stopped her in her tracks.
Her eyes glanced over the message, the weight on her shoulders and the pressure in her stomach increasing ever more.
...
...
...
Welcome back, Clary.
An unpleasant shiver ran over her spine every time she thought of the message, even pulling out her phone and double-checking, just to be sure she wasn't imagining it. If it weren't for her name being eerily attached at the end, she would've immediately thought they'd texted the wrong number, but there it was, clear as day. How did they get her number? Who was they?
The nagging feeling was back, a thought trying to surface, being held down. It felt like it should've been obvious at this point, it was on the tip of her tongue, unable to pass her lips. On top of all that, it was nearing midnight and she was afraid to go home, so she kept wandering from place to place, all achingly familiar to her—yet there was still something her mind was blocking out. For some strange reason, everytime she could taste it on her tongue, was ready to scream it out, exactly what was nagging her, an image of Sebastian Verlac popped up in her head along with a weird guilty feeling, making whatever she was onto disappear again, leading her right back to square one.
Sebastian was her boyfriend, or ex, she wasn't sure yet. Things were complicated, and she had sworn to herself that she wouldn't contact him while they took a break, while she went to gather her thoughts and find closure. Still, she found herself typing in the first digits of his number, ready to ask him to pick her up. Why? Because she was terrified of returning to her apartment, due to the second text she had received from the unknown number. She wandered and wandered, trying to avoid her apartment, yet everytime, she unconsciously walked closer and closer to home, the nagging in her mind pulling her back there.
See you tonight.
...
...
...
Her hands trembled uncontrollably, which made it near impossible to unlock her front door. When she dropped her keys for the fourth time, she decided to put her foot down. After all, she was being completely silly. It was probably just a prank text, and if not, the person would've knocked, noticed no one was home and left again, right? Completely silly, there was no reason for anyone to stalk her, none at all. So what was that nagging in her mind, that pull in her stomach?
The key slid into the door smoothly, turned a circle and a quarter and allowed it to click open.
Something was off. She felt it the second she stepped into the apartment. Someone was here, her body became hyperaware of it, filling with excitement and adrenaline. The puzzle pieces started clicking, the lock on a part of her memory clicking open slowly, falling away completely as she pulled her gaze to the window across the room.
He was standing in front of it, yet instead of appreciating the view of the city from her window, his back was to it, his eyes on her instead.
The same eyes that she had felt following her down the street, the same eyes she had caught flashes of through shop windows, in busy crowds. The same eyes she had grown up with, the same eyes she had looked into while she lived, lied and loved. A familiar gold, bright, even in a dark room.
''Jace,'' her voice was barely above a whisper, but it was enough for a small smile of recognition to grow on his face.
And there it was, the full picture, everything suddenly made sense. She knew why she was here now, what kind of closure she still needed. There he was, standing in front of her, all grown up and handsome, the very reason she ended up leaving the city eleven years ago.
The images she had blocked out flooded in like a dam was broken, one standing prominently up front. Jace Herondale, her childhood friend, her brother's best friend, in bed with her enemy, Kaelie Whitewillow. Any other night, it would've been a completely regular occurance, Jace, messing around with another girl. Except for that one night, eleven years ago, the night he had taken Clary to prom with him, the night she was going to tell him the truth. That she had falled in love with him.
It left her heartbroken. She'd run home as quickly as she could and cried herself to sleep. The next morning, she would knock on her brother's door and open it to a completely bare room, save for a note, telling her that Jonathan had left for England, to fix himself and recover from the death of their mother a month prior.
She felt alone, completely and utterly alone, more so than she'd ever felt. Her brother was gone, had left her to grieve on her own, the love of her life had crushed her heart with his bare hands without even realizing it, her mother had been ripped out of her life by some asshole who couldn't keep away from alcohol before getting in his car. And so she left, a 16-year-old, moving across the country all on her own and starting anew.
Only for everything to get thrown back in her face, eleven years later.
She barely heard the front door falling shut behind her, more focused on trying to figure out what to say. Before she could properly make a decision, words just tumbled out of her mouth: ''You took over your father's business.''
Jace's eyebrow quirked up, both out of surprise and curiosity, already opening his mouth to respond. She beat him to it.
''I remember you telling me about your parents, you know, how much they loved each other and that your father couldn't stand seeing her get hurt,'' she paused, her eyes searching his momentarily, for any sign of what he was thinking, ''with his 'business', there was a lot of danger involved. So, he made the Green list, to protect your mum, inspired by her green eyes,'' she took a deep breath, the image of her own mother's green eyes flashing through her mind, ''It would also explain how you know where I live, how you got into my apartment, how you got my number...''
His eyes remained untelling, giving nothing away. She was desperate to hear his thoughts, an explanation as to why he was here. A strange hope had bloomed in her chest the moment everything clicked, that maybe, he had felt the same way, back then, that he'd made up his mind now. His piercing gaze and the cutting silence sliced through that hope swiftly, giving her a ghost of the feeling she'd had all those years ago. But most of all, she felt empty.
The golden eyes became too bright for her to look at, too painful, holding too many memories. Of course, she still loved him, and was pretty sure it was a feeling that would never go away. Yet, she didn't know if the heartbreak he had too caused would fade, the hurt, the scar it all had left. More than anything, she wanted to run across the room and touch him, find out if his skin was as soft as she remembered, his hands as warm, his heartbeat as soothing. Instead, she turned her gaze down to her shoes, following a falling tear, which left a dark spot in the carpet.
And then she heard his voice, which finally, after all this time, made her fall apart completely, without being able to hold herself together in the slightest.
''I missed you, Clary.'' Her knees buckled, legs giving out under her, until she was sitting on the floor hugging herself tightly. Warm, familiar hands unwrapped her arms from around herself, instead placing them around him. Just like old times, she sat in his lap, his hands running up and down her back soothingly, whispering that he was sorry into her ear, over and over.
He had seen her standing in the doorway to that bedroom, he had seen her tears, the heartbreak in her eyes, before she turned and ran, before he pushed Kaelie away angrily to run after her.
''You were too damned fast, Clary. God, I never thought you could run that fast, and then you were gone, just like that. If only I could've caught you, told you what I wanted to, God, Clary, if only...'' he paused, taking a deep breath, as if preparing himself.
''...if only I could have told you, that I loved you.''
And then they were kissing, on her carpet, in the middle of her living room, of her old apartment, where she had lived, lied and loved, and would've been prepared to do it all over again, if only she could end up right there every time, in his arms.
...
...
...
A/N: God that was fucking long, I'm dissociated as fuck right now. Help.
Anyway, lots of things have been happening in my life (as always) so you really shouldn't ever count on me uploading regularly or anything. I really hope you enjoyed this, because I worked really hard on it, and am completely dissociated because of it, which kind of sucks, but it's totally worth it.
Recommendation of the day: Traitor to the Throne, by Alwyn Hamilton, the gorgeous sequel to Rebel of the Sands. I've yet to read Hero at the Fall, so no spoilers please thank you. Series: La Casa de Papel, Las Chicas del Cables, the Alienist, Broadchurch, all very good. Films: Annihilation, Tag, A Quiet Place, Jurassic World 2, Love Simon, that's all I can think of at the moment.
Yeah. That's really all I have to say, sorry.
Favourite :)
Review :D
Follow my profile :3
Love, Bennie
Waffles out.