It was a dark and stormy night for the "city that never sleeps", and as cliche as that sounded, it was true, thought Clarissa Morgenstern. She stared out of the dark window of her apartment, regretting that she had not gone out for a walk in the park yesterday when it was sunny and warm. Now she was stuck inside with nothing to do. She could have painted, but the light provided by her apartment was poor without the aid of any sunlight coming through the windows. So painting was out. She had already read all of the books in her personal library and she did not have any others. Her library trip had been put off day after day to make time for numerous painting projects, and she could not go to the library in this weather, for it was much too far away to quickly walk to. Her apartment did not have a television, and as much as she thought TV was boring, any entertainment right now would be a blessing. So as it was, she was resigned to staring out of the rain-streaked window at the gray world around her, wishing that something, anything, would happen. Nothing did happen, however, and she fell asleep with her head on the windowsill, still praying to whoever was up there for a miracle.
Clarissa had been asleep for no more than twenty minutes when there was a weak knock at the door. When she didn't wake up to answer it, another, slightly louder knock was heard. This time, Clarissa's eyes fluttered open to stare blearily at the door, and she wondered if she had in fact heard a knock at all, or whether it was her sleep-infected imagination. A third knock this time, but weaker than both of the previous ones, so much so that Clarissa barely heard it. She grabbed the long, heavy meter stick that her mother used for burglars, just in case there was a unsavory character at the door. You never knew in New York, she thought. When she got to the door, she looked through the peephole, but saw nothing, and she was instantly suspicious that she had been ding-dong-ditched. She turned to leave when suddenly, there was the sound of something heavy sliding down the door. Startled, she quickly pulled the door open without thinking, and leapt back as a slumped figure fell across the doorway in a heap on the front mat. She gasped as she saw the small puddle of blood outside on the landing and realized that the person, whoever they were, was severly injured. Clarissa crept toward the figure, seeing that from their hair, clothes, and body figure that it was a boy, about her age. His clothes were a little shabby, not enough to make the boy a transient, but enough to tell Clarissa that they'd seen better days. They were all black, like the boy's hair, which was long enough to cover the top half of his face. His legs were bent at the knees from where he's collapsed outside her door and his arms were splayed out around his body. His face was tilted away from her and she crept close enough to touch his cheek lightly with her finger to see if he was conscious. He didn't stir, and Clarissa gathered enough courage to slowly tilt his face towards her. His black hair slid off his face enough for her to see who he was, and she screamed, then cupped a hand over her mouth quickly so as not to alert the neighbors. She had recognized him!
Alexander Lightwood, preferably known as Alec, silent, grumpy Shadowhunter extraordinaire, parabatai of her boyfriend, Shadowhunter Jace Herondale. She considered Alec an ally, but not exactly a friend. He always found a way to snub her and never seemed to make any attempt to be friendly to her in any way. He had considered her a liability because of her lack of fighting experience and never wanted her on any of their missions to fight demons. But if he hated her, then why was he here at her apartment? Why was he here, when he should be at the Institute, the safe place for Shadowhunters in Manhattan? Where had he been that had made him as severely wounded as he was now? Why was he alone, in the middle of the afternoon, in the rain?
Clarissa froze in midthought. She realized that, while Alec hated her, he didn't deserve to bleed to death on her front doormat while she sat there gaping at him. If she didn't do something now, she would never get answers to her questions, and she would never forgive herself if she let him die. She sat up quickly and looked around the apartment for something to put on the puddle of blood on the landing. Spotting one of her paint rags, she flung it on the puddle and then assessed the situation in the doorway. She was nowhere near strong enough to pick Alec up and put him on the couch that was about fifteen feet away, but she could drag him there and roll him up onto it. She braced herself, then put her hands under his arms and began to tug him toward the couch. She had to stop after a couple of feet because Alec weighed a ton. All of the muscle that he had gained through his training seemed to be at odds with his size. She resumed her tugging, stopping every now and then to rest. She heaved him onto the couch, barely able to fully support his weight for more than a few seconds. Panting, she turned to close the door and saw the vibrantly red blood streaks on the floor left by Alec's limp body. Not wanting to look at them for long, she walked quickly over and shut the door. Walking over to the couch, she wracked her brains for anything in the apartment that could be used to help Alec. There were lots of spare towels that she could use to staunch the blood with, but as for anything to clean his wounds with, she was at a loss for. There was a bit of iodine in the bathroom cabinet, but she didn't know if it was strong enough to do anything for this particular situation. She didn't know how Shadowhunters treated their wounds. She didn't even know what had done the damage. She sighed, realizing that she would have to examine him, and that meant taking off the top half of his clothing, where the blood was clearly thickest. She was not comfortable with this in the slightest, and had Alec been conscious right now, he probaby would have agreed. But there was nothing for it. It would have to be done. The other alternative was not an option. She was not going to let a petty, social discomfort get in the way of Alec's life. She gritted her teeth and set to work. Unfortunately, Alec had about a dozen layers on-she assumed because of the weather-and they were all crusted with blood, both dried and fresh, sticking to one another and to his body. She had to peel them off of him as one would peel stickers off of a piece of dry paper. When she got to his undershirt, she didn't hesitate, because that would make it more awkward than it already was. It was off and put on the pile of shirts on the floor before she could change her mind. It was the hardest to take off by far, so thick with fresh blood, she was trult frightened of what could possibly be underneath. When she turned back to his now bare chest, she almost threw up right on him. The sight of his chest was horrifying, streaked with blood and a black substance she couldn't identify-even if she wanted to-in frighteningly large amounts. Four deep, long red cuts ran from his shoulders to almost touching the line of his jeans, and at least three inches deep in some places. She could even see his collarbone at the top of two of them. It looked as if someone had taken a long-clawed hand and used him as a sharpener. She turned away and gagged instead, thanking her forgetful self for not eating anything earlier. She was in no way prepared for the sight before her, and wished more than anything that Jace was here to help her. But both he and his honorary sister, Isabelle, were in Idris, the Shadowhunter city in Europe, studying for their final exams to qualify for running the Institute here with Alec. He had told her and Alec that his parabatai rune would be disabled for a short time so as to avoid distraction, and would not be alerted by anything happening to Alec right now. He had made Alec swear not to do anything that would put him in danger and Alec had agreed. Yet here he was, mortally injured. Her mother and Luke, her honorary father, were also in Idris, helping to ratify laws that denounced Downworlder segregation. Downworlders, being the spawn of demons and humans, were under a close surveilance by the Shadowhunters and any discretion was heavily punished. Luke, being a werewolf and Downworlder himself, was trying to change that. Magnus Bane, the High Warlock of Brooklyn and a valuable ally of the young Shadowhunters, was currently off somewhere in South America. So here Clarissa was, stranded in her apartment with a gravely injured Shadowhunter that was losing blood by the second, and no one to help her fix him. She slowly entered a state of panic and almost started hyperventilating, but strove to quickly pacify herself. This was the wrong moment to panic. Alec needed her, and she wasn't about to let him down, not when she knew he had no one else to go to.
At that precise moment, however, Alec awoke with a gasp of pain and attempted to sit up. Clarissa, startled, but realizing that he should not be sitting up in his condition, put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him down with all her strength, careful to avoid his injuries. Luckily, he was unprepared for it, and sank back onto the cushions. Startled, he looked up at her with a bewildered expression, as if confused that she as there in front of him.
"Alec? It's me, Clary. You appeared on my doorstep and I dragged you to this couch. Do you understand?" she asked tentatively, frightened by the look on his face.
Alec never looked scared or worried, it was very unlike him, and it did not suit him at all. When she questioned him, he lost the bewildered expression and nodded slowly, but his blue eyes betrayed his calm expression. They were still wide with fear, and Clary felt sorry for him. She knew what it felt like to be helpless.
"Alec, can you tell me how to help you? I don't know what to do and I don't want you to die on me, so I would appreciate it if you gave me some pointers," she said, willing him not to pass out again.
He blinked, then looked down at the damage and winced. His face became a mask of pain and she heard him groan under his breath, not wanting to appear weak in front of her. He then seemed to steel himself against the pain and slowly looked back up at her.
"Clary…," he croaked, in a voice so weak she felt panic swell up a little in her chest for the second time today. He tried again.
"Clary...I'm sorry to burst in on you li-like this, I h-had nowhere else t-to g-go," he managed to say, before closing his eyes and grimacing in what Clary knew to probably be excruciating pain.
"Alec, no, you don't have to apologize," Clary said hurredly, "Save your strength, please I need you to stay conscious for me."
He grimaced at her, looking guilty even after she told him not to apologize, and looked away.
"Can you just tell me what I need to do? " she asked, trying to give him something to focus on rather than the pain. He looked up at her again and seemed to register her panic. This seemed to motivate him to talk again.
"Well, do you happen to have any bandages or gauze, something to bind this with? And I'll need you to get my stele out of my jacket pocket," he said, voice still weak, but not as shaky this time.
Clary wracked her brains and then remembered that she still had a bunch of gauze left from when she'd had to wrap a sprained wrist. She had bought a bunch of extra so that she wouldn't run out. She mentally celebrated for not having thrown it away.
"Yes, I do have something that would work. I'll be right back," she told him, and sprinted down the hallway to the bathromm. Seizing the gauze, she sprinted back to the couch. There she skidded to a halt. Alec's eyes had shut and she could barely see his chest rise and fall. His breaths were short, labored, and far apart. Terrified, she fell to her knees beside him and shook him gently.
"Alec? Alec, please wake up, please?" she begged him, and she carefully but frantically patted his cheek repeatedly, trying to bring him back to consciousness. To her relief, Alec's eyes slowly fluttered open, and he gave her a pained, apologetic smile when he saw her expression,
"I m-might have l-lost too much b-blood," he said shakily. She put a finger to her lips to quiet him. She already knew how much blood he had lost and wanted to ignore that fact as much as possible. Unfortunately, what she had to now might cause him more pain, but she had no choice.
"Alec, I know this might hurt, but I need you to help me put the gauze around you. Do you think that you can sit up a few inches so that I can wrap it around? I can help you most of the way."
She knew she was asking a lot, but she could not hold his weight and bind him up at the same time.
"Yeah, I can try, I think," he said with effort, "But you're going to have to clean the cuts up first."
Clary grimaced as she realized what this entailed her to do. But she shook her head to clear those thoughts away, and went quickly to the kitchen for a bowl of water and some old towels, Setting them down on the floor beside the couch, she soaked a towel in the bowl and pressed it gently to Alec's chest where the blood was thickest. She had barely applied it, however, when Alec hissed in pain between his teeth, and she whipped her hand with the cloth away.
"Oh gosh, I'm sorry!" she cried, panic reappearing for the third time in the past half-hour.
"It's ok, k-keep going, C-Clary. Don't worry about m-me. I am just t-trying to stay conscious," he said quietly, smiling wryly up at her.
She wasn't exactly reassured by this, but steeled herself against her urge to not cause him any more discomfort, and resumed her task. She tried to ignore the sounds of pain emanating from Alec's mouth every minute or so, but it was difficult. After what seemed like hours, but had only been fifteen minutes, she had managed to get most of the blood and black slime off. Fresh blood was already seeping through to the surface and she knew she needed to bind him up, and quickly.
"Ok, Alec, I need you to sit up a bit," she said in a small voice. He gave her a resigned look and pulled up his arms slowly to brace himself on his elbows. She could see his jaw muscles working to keep his mouth shut against any sounds of pain and felt an surge of sympathy. She took the gauze in one hand and slipped her other hand behind his back to reach the other side of his chest in order to pull the gauze all the way around him. She did this carefully, but pulled it as tight as she dared to keep the blood from leaking out any more than it had to. It was an awkward position because her arms were short, and in order to reach all the way across his him, her face was almost touching his. But she kept her eyes on the gauze in order to focus and get the job done quickly. She could feel Alec's short, quick breaths across her face, indicating that he was running out of strength. She finished quickly though, and he collapsed back down with a grunt of pain, and a grimace marred his features once more.
Clary looked down at her hands to spare his dignity and saw that they were covered in Alec's blood. She swallowed, thrusting them into the bowl of now deep pink water, and scrubbed them clean with another towel.
"Clary?" came the weak voice fom abover her. She whipped her head around to face Alec again, drying her hands quickly on her jeans, and fixed her features into an expression of concern.
"Could you get my stele? I need you to activate my healing runes," he reminded her in a still-more-quiet voice than before.
"Oh!' she exclaimed, cursing her forgetfullness, and scrambled for the pile of blood-encrusted clothing. She located his stele in the pocket of his second jacket. It was similar to Jace's in style, but was longer and more gracefully styled than his was, with a sharper point like a pencil. Clary had used a stele enough times and knew the proper way to handle it so as not to hurt herself or whoever she was drawing on too much. Looking over Alec's runes that already adorned the various planes of his torso, she saw that the healing rune had been drawn several times, including one right over his collarbone that was peeking out beneath the gauze. His parabatai rune shimmered on his left hipbone, small but powerful, Clary knew.
"Alright, where do you want me to put it? Most of your availible skin is covered by the gauze," she asked him uncertainly, quite unsure of where to start on a limited canvas.
"Just put it on my stomach below the gauze. The closer, the better," he replied. Clary bent down and slowly engraved the sleek, black rune underneath the lower part of the gauze to the left of the wounds. It didn't seem to faze Alec, and Clary supposed that one got used to the prickling pain after many years of applying runes.
"Are you sure that this is all that I have to do?" she asked, worried that she hadn't done enough to stabilize him. She chewed her bottom lip anxiously and looked up at Alec through the frizzy strands of her vibrant, unruly red hair. He was watching her with a look of pity in his unusually bright blue eyes.
"Clary, it's ok, you've done fine. We heal fast, don't worry," he assured her patiently. He seemed only the tiniest bit exasperated by her fretting over him, and she thought she saw a glint of amusement in his eyes before it was lost in another wave of pain that swam across his face, He closed his eyes against it and sighed.
"Do you want anything to help you rest or a pain killer?" she asked, wanting to do something to help.
"No thanks, I'm ok. I just need to focus on something other than the pain and then I'll fall asleep. Trust me, I've had lots of practice," he said, probably with less confidence than he meant to, Clary thought sadly.
"Well, alright, if you're sure. Do you want some water?" said Clary.
"Actually, that sounds nice. If you could just put it on the coffee table next to me, that'd be great," Alec said. He could see that she was coming to the end of her rope of blocked emotions. He waited while she went and retrieved a glass of water and set it on the table. She told him to call out to her if he needed anything, and that she would just be in the other section of the living room. He would be able to see her from his position on the couch. She said that she was going to paint while there was a break in the clouds, whatever that meant. She turned to go, but he surprised her by grabbing her hand. She whirled around, quite startled at this un-Alec-like gesture.
"Thank you, Clary. For everything. And I apologize again for barging in and putting you in this mess," he said quietly, and then he closed his eyes and his hand went limp in hers. He had succumbed to the fatigue from the stress of the last couple of hours. Clary smiled to herself. When he was asleep, Alec looked at peace, and the stress lines disappeared from his young face. She squeezed his hand once and lowered it onto his stomach. She ran into her room, grabbed a spare quilt, and laid it over Alec's sleeping form on the couch, tucking it around him. She appraised the scene, shaking her head at what she had done just now. She had just tucked Alec Lightwood into a quilt on a couch. Well, there's a first time for everything, she thought. Smiling widely, she turned and went to paint in the newly emerged sunshine shining through the windows.
ᛟ
Alec awoke to sunlight streaming through the windows down onto the quilt that he was wrapped in. Weird. He didn't remember putting a quilt on himself. Then he realized that Clary must have done it. Oh God. Clary. What had he been thinking, showing up at her apartment? What had he put her through? The sight of him crumpled in her doorway in a pool of blood would surely haunt her dreams for weeks. He felt terrible, horrible. The way her had treated her in the past, always saying she was useless, inexperienced, and weak. He didn't deserve her help today, all that she did for him, he could never pay back to satisfy his guilt about how he treated her. He was disgusted with himself. Here he was, laying in relative warmth, comfort, and health, having just had a long nap to recover, and there she was, painting in front of the windows, probablt traumatized by the image of her hands red from his blood. He wondered if that was what she was painting now. He could barely choke down the guilt that raced up his throat at the thought. He had to see for himself. Slowly and carefully, he extracted himself from the quilt, taking care not to make a sound or irritate his chest too much. He felt dizzy and lightheaded, so he took a long draft of water from the class on the table, still as quiet as snow landing on the ground. Then, walking slowly so as not to pass out again, he crept across to where Clary was lost in her world of paint. He smelled the aroma of her oil paints, sharp and clean in the post-rain air. He was close enough now to watch her brush sashaying across the canvas, tracing the outline of someone's dark hair that was adorning the familiar face of-wait-was that him? He stared over her shoulder in astonishment as she traced the outline of his hair and the raven color of it soon appeared inside of the lines, toned with shades of blue as light fell on it. Mesmerized, Alec looked at his own facial features represented in paint. She had drawn him sleeping, eyes closed, and mouth slightly open. At a loss for words, he simply stood there, a foot away from her left shoulder, and watched her paint the background. She was capturing what must have been the moment that he had fallen asleep on the couch, the moment after he had grabbed her hand and apologized to her. He forgot to be relieved that she wasn't painting her bloody hands or something worse. Hordes of questions clamored to the surface of his confused mind. This was what had made an impression on her? Out of all that had happened today? The pieces didn't fit together for him at all. As she suddenly leaned back to admire her work, he was so distracted that he did not move away and she backed up into him. Caught off guard, he reflexively grabbed her arms to steady her, and she screamed, not expecting anyone or anything to be there behind her. She looked over her shoulder, unable to turn around with his hands holding her in place, and he snapped out of his trance.
"Alec! What the-? What are you doing up? You're as white as a sheet!" Clary exclaimed in surprise.
"Wha-oh!" Alec said, completely bewildered, releasing her quickly and looking away from her face to the floor.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I'm fine, really. Nothing hurts, I promise. I'm probably just white from blood loss and shock."
Clary looked at him skeptically, then looked confused as she took in his last words.
"Shock? Why are you-? Oh, right...you saw my painting," she mumbled, slightly embarassed at being caught painting his likeness on paper, and looked down at her socks.
"Why me?" questioned Alec, "I thought...I thought other events would have inspired you. I'm not very exciting to paint to be honest."
Clary blushed, her face clashing with her hair, and didn't say anything in response.
"I mean, it's beautifully painted and I look pretty accurate. But, why me?" Alec said again. He was extremely curious as to why she would paint him, when she could have pretty boy Jace to use as a model instead.
"I-I was inspired by...by the way your face changed to another person when you were asleep, the way all of your muscles just relaxed and the stress lines went away. I thought I should just...you know...capture the moment. I didn't know if it would last," confessed Clary, shivering as she remembered the other expressions Alec had made. Expressions of pain and suffering. She wanted to shut those out with painting a peaceful face instead. Alec seemed to know what she was thinking and looked away guiltily. Clary shook her head to clear the images away and tried to collect her thoughts.
"Well, it's a good thing you didn't scare me when I was painting. Your face might have gone all blotchy on accident," she said lightly, trying to put Alec at ease. He was still looking away with a face of shame, staring at the wall. Clary then realized that he was feeling shameful about himself, because of what he had put her through the last couple of hours. Or, at least, that was her closest guess. If it was, then Alec Lightwood was a completely different person than she thought he was. She thought back to the moment about a year and a half ago when she had discovered by herself that he was, in fact, gay. She had questioned his sister Isabelle, and she had confirmed it, with a severe warning not to go spreading it around. It hadn't been acceptable for a Shadowhunter to be gay, and any word of it to his parents would surely have got him disowned and shamed. She thought about the moment right after that when she had deduced that he probably had a crush on Jace, and for a while at that. That had been the reason, she had thought, that Alec had been so surly toward her. He wanted to leave and keep Jace for himself so that he could protect him. He couldn't do that when Jace was always chasing after Clary. She had tried to understand his point of view, but couldn't get past his apparent hatred of her. Now, she saw that he was struggling with that exact combination of emotions and trying to justify his coming here and burdening her with him and his injuries. She could also see that he had not managed to do that, hence the still-guilty look on his face now. She didn't know how to help resolve his internal conflict. She knew that lately, he had been struggling over his relationship with Magnus Bane, which his parents had completely disapproved of once they had found out. It was bad enough that he had turned out to be gay, they had said, but was even worse that he had chosen to date a Downworlder, the race that Shadowhunters had deemed lesser than themelves for centuries. Alec's father had completely cut off communicating with him, too ashamed of his son. Alec's mother had been trying to convince him to cut ties with Magnus, but had not gained much headway. Little did Maryse Lightwood and Clary know that, while her efforts hadn't visibly changed Alec's mind, she was closer than they thought. Alec had been struggling with the belief that he wasn't good enough for Magnus, given his inexperience and regular lifespan. Magnus was immortal, doomed to live forever, long after Alec would be dead. Alec had tried convincing Magnus to let him go, and to not get himself too attached, but Magnus had been having none of it. Clary was not aware of the full extent of Alec's conflict, but she knew the basic outline, and it pained her to see someone destroyed like this from the inside.
The two of them stood in awkward silence for a few moments, each lost in their own thoughts. Then Alec broke the stillness by suddenly wrapping his arms around himself and shivering violently, his arms breaking out in goosebumps. He had not realized how cold he was when he emerged from the quilt's heat, for he had been quite distracted. Now he came to be conscious of the fact that he had no shirt on, just thin gauze protecting part of his torso. Clary realized this at the same time and turned red again with embarassment, cursing her forgetful self this time for not putting Alec's blood-imbued clothes in the wash earlier.
"Oh, I'm so sorry! I forgot to put your clothes in to wash, Alec," she exclaimed, "Wait here, I'll get you one of Luke's shirts to wear for now."
Clary swooped up the pile of clothing and threw it in the machine, making sure to put stain remover on most of the bloody areas. Then she raced into her mother and Luke's room and dug through the drawers until she found one of Luke's old flannels, this one being a dark blue in color. She raced back to the front room to find that Alec had sat down on the couch and had his head in his hands. He looked up slowly at her approach.
"Don't worry," he said, catching the concerned look on her face, "I only got a bit dizzy and had to sit down. I assume it's still because of the blood loss."
His face did look a bit gray, Clary noticed, but she saw that he still had goosebumps and handed him the shirt.
"Thanks," he said gratefully, and pulled on the flannel. It was slightly too big for him, but complemented his eyes nicely. Clary thought it was a nice change from the strict, uniform-like black clothing he always wore, and it made him look friendlier somehow.
Alec looked up and caught her staring at him. He smiled wryly at her, and Clary knew that she had found another pose to paint him in. Then, the moment disappeared as Alec shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, not used to being looked at this long by anyone, except perhaps Magnus. Alec wondered why she was looking at him so long, and he thought he had seen what had appeared to be the glint of an idea in her green eyes before it disappeared..
"Am I that interesting all of a sudden?" he asked her playfully, yet skeptically, curious about what she would say.
Clary looked embarassed to be caught staring, but replied nonetheless.
"Depends. I think I just found another look to paint you in, though. I like this look on you. It makes you look more approachable somehow," she said, grinning at him.
He frowned for a second, but then smiled back almost reluctantly.
"Don't you have enough paintings? Your room must be full of them already," he said, trying to change the subject.
"Well, to be honest, I do need some variety in my paintings, and I'll take different inspiration where I can get it," she admitted, thinking of her collection in her room, and blushing as she remembered what its main subject was.
"Can I see them?" Alec asked, a resolve forming in his mind if she refused.
"Um...I don't think that would be-," Clary started to say, but Alec got up and started toward what was obviously her beautifully painted bedroom door.
"Oh, c'mon, it can't be that bad. Your work over there is proof of that," Alec said with amusement, pushing open the door.
"Alec, wait-," called Clary, lurching after him, but she was too late.
Alec stopped dead in the doorway, the door itself flung all the way open, and a stricken expression on his face at what he saw.
Jace. Jace was everywhere. Crouching on a roof at dusk, sitting in red velvet chair at the Institute looking thoughtful, shrouded in tree branches so that all you could see were his eyes, shining gold through the dark slits between the branch shadows. The most distracting ones were those that showed him as an angel, both with light and dark wings, sometimes wearing a shirt, and sometimes not. In most of them, though, you could see his piercing golden eyes, either glaring or smiling mischieviously. His runes peeking out of his shirt borders or in full view on his shirtless torso. His golden hair, either windblown or settled down in messy locks around his face, fanned out around his head like an angel's halo, complimenting his eyes.
Alec was overwhelmed by the sheer numbers that the paintings were in. The effect of theor various positions around the room was dizzying, and he had to lean against the doorframe for support. Clary stood behind him, watching his reaction sadly.
"I'm sorry, Alec. I tried to warn you. This is why I need variety in my work. I need to get past my old, childish obsession with him from my early years and just be his girfriend. I need to draw inspiration from other beautiful things," she explained, as Alec was slowly sinking down to sit on the floor, unable to make his legs support him anymore. He stared at he paintings for a moment longer, then looked up at her with understanding on his face. He understood this phase, as he had gone through it himself and dealt with it by killing demons whenever possible to vent his frustration with himself. She had dealt with her obsession by painting Jace over and over until she had worn out her brain with it. Both Alec and Clary understood that Jace shone his light on whoever was near him, but never stopped to think about how he had blinded them, how he had left his image seared onto one's brain. Jace was an angel with chained worshippers. It was only those who were strong enough to overthrow his rule or seduce him, like Clary, who stood a chance of breaking free.
Both of them realized that they had recovered from his rule, both of them mostly whole. Clary had toned down the angel's halo and focused his light on her. Alec, the silver to Jace's gold, usually overlooked and tarnished with negelct, had been unburied by Magnus and polished until he could almost shine on his own again.
Clary looked down at Alec and bent down to put her hand on his shoulder, then squeezed once in sympathy. This time, it was Alec's turm to be surprised by an unexpected touch and her hand gave him the strength to pick himself up off the floor. He looked down at her tiny frame and then stepped forward to engulf her into his long arms. He tried to put his apology for any wrong he had done her in the past through the hug. She must have understood because after a second, she looked up at him and said,
"Does this mean that I get to paint you after all?"