The building that rose from Front Street was tall and impressive enough not just to scrape the sky but to pin the clouds to it like butterflies. The fifty seventh suite's floor-to-ceiling windows looked out on the stars and looked in on the marble floors, the tiles patterned with a whirlwind of black and white. But it was not Valentine who looked out of it this time.

This boy was Valentine's opposite. His eyes were sharp, yes, but not like a knife. They didn't cut into your soul like his did, they didn't force their way in. They were wily, wild and untrained, but clever too, like a jackal. This boy had electric blue hair, the same unnatural sheen dyed hair possessed. It was shaggy too, like a summer-sea coloured mane, close-cropped on his left and long enough to brush his shoulders on his right.

He ran his hand along the clear glass, tracing the river with his middle finger. He was fascinated about how much this country had grown.

"You again." Someone said, and the boy jumped. He turned around and slapped on a crooked grin, his eyes narrowing.

"Valentine, baby! You're back already!" The boy said happily, spinning around on his toes and spreading his arms wide. He suddenly seemed a little taller, his eyes a little brighter, a little more animated.

"You got in again. Bravo. The guards didn't work then?" Valentine set down the bag of ingredients he had collected as offerings for the demon he was planning to summon.

"Of course not. Nice place you've got here. Must've cost a lot," The boy walked towards him with his arms outstretched, and dropped to crouch in front of the bag. He poked through it curiously.

"Trivial matters." Valentine said dismissively, looking in disgust at his unwelcome visitor's hands. "Don't you ever wash, Canary?"

"These," he said, straightening up and waving his hands in Valentine's face, "are burns, not dirt. You should know; you put them there, dearest."

Valentine scowled. If only Canary was half as weak as he was now and Valentine could have gotten revenge for the insolence and name-calling by arranging his death. "I shouldn't know. Jocelyn wiped all my memories of you for my own sake."

"She must have used a more powerful memory concealment charm than that Bane fellow could do. And such a shame that is too. It took so much work. It was worth it, though, I suppose." The boy sat back on his heels, his overcoat spilling past his lap.

Valentine didn't even glance his way. Canary was always going this, hinting at things, trying to get him curious enough to ask. But so far Valentine had resisted asking, especially since Canary was more likely to smile knowingly and stay silent than tell him. He unpacked the gold and diamonds the demon required and started to etch a pentagram.

"Tsk tsk, babe, I can do that." Canary batted Valentine away, ignoring the indignant glare he'd earned himself. He picked up the smallest wad of gold he could find in the bag and strode away from Valentine and into the corner of the room. With a sudden burst of strength he slammed it into the marble, setting deep cracks in it.

Canary pressed his palm against the gold which barely showed in-between the marble now, and put his weight on it.

"Do you know a way of summoning her with breaking my floor?" Valentine asked impatiently.

Canary smirked. "Trivial matters." He continued to press it in, until it was buried in marble. "Out of darkest depths I call for you, out of twisted hearts I long for you, with bloodied hands I reach for you, with shattered eyes I look for you." His voice was low and almost musical. It had many layers, as if a hundreds of people were whispering in unison.

A few moments passed, and then a hand appeared. Not a severed hand or an ugly hand, but a thin, slender, beautiful woman's hand, floating at the exact height it should. Dark, dark, almost black long brown nails shone like claws. Canary straightened up and took the hand, easing it forward. As it moved, move of her body appeared, from the exact point that hand had disappeared from. An arm, a shoulder, a neck, a body, a smile. A beautiful woman clad only in a long dress of cobwebs appeared, her soft brown hair tied neatly up in a bun.

Canary held himself differently, less of the slouch he usually assumed, now his back was straight, with one arm tucked around his back. He reached up with a burnt hand that could still be tender, and stroked back a loose strand of hair from her face. "Beautiful as ever, my lady."

She giggled girlishly, a small smile lingering on her face. She brushed lightly over his suit that had suddenly appeared. "I wish I was fooled... but it's nice of you to try this way," She whispered, "What is it you desire?"

"Just your help. With Valentine's plans," Canary said softly.

Her smile faded, just a little. "Him again," she sighed. "I will, though. For you." Canary rested his forehead against hers.

Valentine felt a sharp prickle of something he hadn't felt in years. Not since years before Jocelyn left him.

"Thank you." Canary whispered, and she smiled at him. And then she dissolved into thin air. He spun around on his toes, his coat reappearing in a swirl of harsh browns and blacks. His temporarily groomed and slicked back blue hair was once again wild and exotic.

Valentine waited a few moments, and cleared his throat. "Well, Canary I've got to hand it to you. I've never seen Abbadon in that form before."

"Why do you keep those little brats running around?" Canary asked, glossing over the fact that Valentine was cleared focused on the thick blue-tinged book that he was studying carefully. The pages were slightly yellowed. Demonology, Canary almost growled. Valentine knew he could ask Canary anything he needed to know, Canary was a demon himself after all, but Valentine was as stubbornly independent, cold and self-sufficient as ever.

Valentine almost let himself entertain the idea that if he didn't answer, his trespasser would crawl back to whatever level of hell he came from, but it was so obviously flawed in its reasoning. Respect was not something that came easily to him, sure he could summon it on the odd occasion he needed it, but Canary had a way of pestering him until even his limits were stretched. "Brats? What brats?" He asked mildly.

"You know. The lightwoods. Your kids. That mundane who fancies your daughter. You know as well as I, nothing you ever do will make you a father in their eyes, you might as well dispose of them before they make more trouble for you," Canary picked up a piece of bread and popped it in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

"You don't understand." Valentine scowled, turning a page almost violently.

"Explain, babe." Canary's interest perked up a little bit. This appeared to be a sore spot.

"They're not just brats, they, they're..." Valentine shook his head, brow furrowed harder. "Forget it."

Canary usually wouldn't be deterred by the harsh, imposing voice Valentine used sometimes, but this time he decided to give it a rest. The spark of emotion he'd seen was more than he expected and he decided to savour it. It was much more interesting than the jaded politeness he'd always tasted in Valentine's voice. Ever since he'd appeared in Valentine's room in a swirl of blue two weeks ago, all he'd gotten was sickening amounts of polite, polite, polite. Well, actually ever since he'd introduced himself, the minutes before that was just looking-down on him, since he looked like a low-level messenger demon with a strange dress sense that just needed to be debriefed and sent on his way.

Canary rolled over like a dog and looked at Valentine upside down. Studied him. Recorded his face for later use. He'd already memorised every inch of that face, but that was Old Valentine. New Valentine was... different. Harder, colder, harsher, more brittle. He wanted to—

"I'd rather you didn't stare at me, Canary, it's harder to concentrate." Valentine said without looking at him. Canary snorted in annoyance and sat up. That polite voice that just screamed Fuck off in his face. He shuffled backwards, until his spine pressed into Valentine's through the fabric and leather, relaxing against him. He leant his head on his shoulder.

Valentine tucked Canary's hair over his shoulder, electric blue strands soft against his pale calloused fingers, in case it got in way of his reading. But apart from that, he made no complaint, never looked his way once with a cold or scolding gaze like he would have anyone else.

Canary felt like purring, but he settled for an inhumanly large crooked grin. He closed his eyes with a satisfied sigh.

"How do you know about the kids?" Valentine asked quietly.

Canary's violet eyes snapped open. Another extinct species, a proper, important, meaningful question directed at him, quietly spoken as well. Canary decided to revel in it later. "I have people."

"People?"

"Demons. Little ones, big ones, watchers, in the form of crows, doves, pigeons, Cats, dogs, rabbits; it's unreal what people will say when they only think animals can hear them."

Valentine nodded silently and returned to his book. Canary wondered how many miracles could happen in one day. Hopefully he could coax out another one some time.

"Why're you wearing eyeliner?" Valentine asked mildly. He didn't really care. Canary could dress up as Santa Claus, and he wouldn't even bat an eyelid.

Canary smirked. "Because I'm going to a club."

"Is there a reason you're going today?"

"Because I'm starting to get withdrawal," He smirked, and readjusted it in the handbag mirror that was pink and sparkly and not meant for males, definitely not for demons.

"I wasn't aware Demons could get drunk."

"We can't," He turned and smirked at Valentine, a full-blown classic Canary-crooked-grin that stretched from ear to ear, "but we can get other beings drunk."

Valentine's eyes hardened. "I see. I have business to attend to." He scooped up his demonology book and moved away.

Canary suddenly didn't feel like going out. It didn't matter because he'd lied, he was going out to be the lead singer in a punk band that he'd realised yesterday he was the double-ganger of when he'd seen a poster whilst 'handling affairs' with other demons. Just because he'd found a new, or rather, old interest, didn't mean his role disappeared.

He eased himself from his chair, and pulled his trench coat around himself. Too much thinking was the death of a greater demon.

Valentine had always slept easily, the rare times his body demanded sleep. Out like a light, resuming reality as soon as he'd slept his fill, never any more or any less than that. His bed was specially made, hard but comfortable enough. The sheets were thin but there was a large amount of them so they could be peeled off or added too to achieve a perfect temperature.

But Valentine wasn't thinking about any of this. His dreams, either so dull or so animated, had never been like this. This, this wasn't right. Dreams were meant to be vague and strange but understandable, pieces of the day re-arranged as a way the brain had of understanding what had happened. Nightmares only steamed from fear. But there was no fear. Or, at least, there shouldn't have been.

Bright eyes. Violet. But dulled slightly, jaded, worn out. The look experienced torturers saw as the first crack to cause shards. Valentine recognised it. Hair, blue. Darkened by the shadows and the dirt and the sweat. His arms stretched across the wall, hanging like a dead bird from his arms. Shackles cut into his wrists.

Valentine scowled. This was a memory. But this was vivid, so vivid, it was more enhanced than realty. Sharper, brighter, the colours were neon, the detail visible where it shouldn't have been. More than 20/20.

His hands must be kept apart. That was the secret. Else he could use his power and kill everyone in this building and reduce it to dust. That was what his demonology book had told him, and it had worked so far. He was weak. It was Valentine's first greater demon he'd seen, but it, he was weak. Feeble. Only his eyes were strong, and they were disgustingly so. He was an ugly creature, mocking lithe humans but his frame was too thin, and yet you couldn't seen the bones, only muscles sliding under lightly tanned skin.

Valentine moved his knees up slightly. For some reason the memory brought him distress.

He'd spoken one day, the weak greater demon. "You know," He said, his voice had a rough tone to it, like sandpaper, from lack of water, "You're kind of cute." Valentine had been disgusted. He'd scowled at him. The greater demon's twitched into a painful grin. "You're funny too. Cute and funny. The only reason I'm still alive, because I have such a cutie for a torturer."

Valentine's scowl darkened, his anger heated. How dare he? The ugly, weak, lowlife demon dared to demean him to the level meant for dogs and girls. Cute. What a disgusting word for weak. To be cute is to be loved and to be loved is to be destroyed. There was only one thing for beings so ignorant and repulsive as him. For those he loathed, he found a way so shut their mouths.

Valentine felt his eyes prick.

For the next week the Greater Demon couldn't breathe for screams.

A/N

Welp.

Why did I even write this? Why the hell is it the longest chapter I've ever posted? I don't even like Mortal Instruments! (I don't want to rant so I won't tell you why.)

This is set in the very beginning of COB. It IS OCxValentine, but I didn't want to put it in the description or title because _xOC stories are almost always mary/gary-sue characters where the author has fallen in love with one of the characters and want to date him/her so imagines himself/herself in his/her universe. It's also usually OOC and angsty as well. Which is why no one generally reads them. I've tried to keep this IC and gary-sue-less, please tell me if I have. Oh, and Valentine DOES show emotion in this, I know, but it's impossible to write an romantic fanfic with no feels.

Canary's full name is Blue Canary, he's extremely loosely based off "Make A Little Birdhouse In Your Soul" by They Might Be Giants, a character I'd read a story about once a very long time ago, and a friend of mine. He's one of my finest.

Review~ Or not~ Whatevs. Should I continue?