The mundane hospital was eerily quiet, the white-washed hallways empty of any staff or visitors milling about. The small, single person room was still expect for the machines that were connected to the motionless Jocelyn. She was lain out in a single bed, her body covered in a plain, white gown with her red hair sprawled around her in a halo. The retired Shadowhunter's chest slowly rose and fell, her slow heart rate seeming to match her shallow breathing. From time to time her eyes were move behind closed eye lids with dreams of the world that she had escaped to.
Even in her comatose state with her skin pale and her gorgeous red head limp, she was the picture of an angel to Valentine. He stood over her bed, dark eyes staring down at her from behind a black hood, runes seeming to glow upon his skin. His body was clad in black, from his leather, calf-high boots to the gloves that covered his hands, a blade hanging from the belt that rested loosely around his waist.
As he watched Jocelyn, her breathing echoing within his ears, Valentine wished for the hundredth time in the past couple weeks that he had the power to awaken her from her induced state. Nothing caused her to stir, no gentle touches or sweet words, so they remained in the same positions; Jocelyn sleeping and Valentine faithfully waiting.
He never let himself forget, though, all those years he had searched for her, hiding from the vengeful eyes of the Clave only to have her spit in his face. Her green eyes had glared up at him with a lifetime worth of hate before she had fallen limp in his arms. It did not matter that he had spent sixteen years scouring the Earth for her during his every waking moment or that he loved her more than the angels loved God. She only cared about the fates of Jonathan and Clary.
A sigh slipped passed his lips as he lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, dark eyes running over her form. Slowly reaching his hand towards her, Valentine's fingertips brushed back the hair that had fallen over her forehead. When she had been pregnant with Jonathan and plauged by the demon blood induced nightmares, they would spend hours in the same position, Valentine gently stroking her damp hair.
The exiled Shadowhunter felt his resolve beginning to tremble and crack before fell in on himself, his head coming to rest on Jocelyn's abdomen. Trying desperately to hold her limp body on his arms, his shoulders shook as he sobbed brokenly, dry eyes clenched in agony.
"Why can't you love me? Your eyes held the world once," he wondered, his normally strong voice quiet and child-like.
Silence continued to hang in the air as his unconscious wife remained still and mute. Not that he had expected her to awaken at his words. Declarations of love and endless apologizes had not moved her; nothing would.
Breathing deeply through his nose, drawing the air deep into his lungs, Valentine slowly pulled himself away from Jocelyn. Rising to his feet once more, dark eyes remained on her unchanging features, trying to memorize every detail. He was unsure when he would have the chance to gaze upon her again.
Turning towards the opened window, Valentine pulled himself upon the windowsill. He watched the mundanes rushing about their lives, lights whipping through the streets, each unaffected by the ache that thrummed through his heart. Without a look back, he jumped toward the New York City street.
Lucian entered the room closely behind him, walking to the window to watch the dark shape of his parabatai disappear among the chaos. The werewolf sadly shook his head as he lost sight of Valentine, wishing for the days when they had laughed together. Turning from the window, he made his way to his usual seat beside Jocelyn's bedside. He spared a smile for Clary and Simon as they entered the room, filling it with the sounds of laughter and the scent on fresh food. Lucian never let Valentine's visit slip passed his lips.