A/N - Whoopee! My first Mortal Instruments fanfic! I read this wonderful series and am absolutely addicted to it. I noticed there weren't any stories that were mainly about Robert (or, more specifically, his mystery affair mentioned in COFA) so naturally the plot bunnies had to rectify that situation. Hope you enjoy this little peek into Robert Lightwood's mind!
Disclaimer - I do not own the Mortal Instruments series in any way, shape or form. (I would not, however, mind having Alec or Magnus.)
You knew it was wrong. Angel help you, you knew it was so very wrong.
She deserves it.
You were a hypocrite to the nth degree. Hadn't you despised Stephan Herondale for the exact same purpose? Of course, but does that stop you? Of course not.
She deserves it.
She did deserve it, your Mayrse, you tried to convince yourself as you'd sneak down the same worn, familiar path again. To be betrayed as she had betrayed you all those years ago – wouldn't it be so ironic, so wonderfully vengeful? Perhaps you should've recognized the old Lightwood family bitterness and promptly offed yourself.
But you didn't.
She deserves it.
For there you were again, scampering like a little scared mouse in pitch blackness so no one could see your face. Allana was an old flame from your days at the academy. She'd adored you back then but you'd barely paid her a bit of mind, you were so intent on winning your Mayrse. (So what are you doing here?)
She deserves it.
Perhaps you should turn back, you'd tell yourself each time, thinking of your darling. But it was exactly because of your darling that you were doing all of this – this stupid, stupid! and oh so fake, charade of love - in the first place.
She deserves it.
You knew the routine so well. It was same each night you were in Alicante. (Far too often. Don't you have children?)
She deserves it.
You'd come up with a weak (oh so very weak) excuse why you couldn't stay the night. ("My darling, you know that I promised I'd go to the bridge tournament tonight, don't you remember?") Your Mayrse would nod, nod with that lookon her face that you could barely stand. What right did she have to make you feel guilty? What right at all?
She deserves it.
Sometimes, you wouldn't even bother with the excuses at all.
She deserves it.
You'd knock on the plain, unassuming plank of blue painted wood; the one you'd stared at so, so many times. (Who are you trying to fool, old man?)
She deserves it.
Allana answer the door – she always would. She still loved you. (How? How can she, when you couldn't even love yourself anymore?)
She deserves it.
Her face would light up, as if she were surprised to see you. (She's not surprised and neither are you. Sickened, but never surprised.)
She deserves it.
She'd tell you she loved you, and pecked a kiss on your lips. You'd say you loved her, too, and you'd lead her off to the dark. (All the while you are thinking that's it's wrong, so wrong, and imagine the brown hair in your face is black - your darling Mayrse has hair as dark as a raven's wing - and the eyes are green as a summer meadow instead of the blue of winter's ice.)
She deserves it.
But, during those stolen moments, visions would play in your head – never of the woman in your arms. (Visions of your stone-faced son – was it normal for a nine-year-old boy to be so quiet? - with the eyes of your darling in his not-so-boyish-anymore face; visions of your daughter, egging on her brother to hit his mark as she tries to copy him with her little fistful of daggers – aren't they ever to be children? You try to imagine their faces, but they blur in your memories.)
She deserves it.
You'd sneak out before sun-up, before Allana and the rest of the world would awaken to the dawn. You'd crawl in the window and crawl into bed next to your darling and pray to the Angel no one could smell the trace of perfume on your skin.
She deserves it.
When you'd both wake up, she'd smile and ask you if you'd slept well.
(You'd smile and pretend not to notice that neither one of your smiles were genuine.)
She deserves it.
She deserves it.
She deserves it.
She deserves it...