Disclaimer: I do not own anything pertaining to The Mortal Instruments or any of its associations.
''I'll be leaving for a conference tonight,'' Valentine told Clary at breakfast the next morning. ''I got the invite last minute, but I will be gone for the next week.''
''Why did they wait so long to invite you?'' Clary asked absently as she diced the peppers for his omelet. The slick of the knife as it cut so cleanly through the vegetable still made her cringe every time.
Valentine grunted. ''The unit here has accepted me as Chief of Police, but some of our sister units have yet to come to terms with Stephen Herondale's death. They are crossing their fingers for him to come back from the dead, rather than accept his replacement,'' he explained over the rim of his coffee mug. He finished the last bit and held it up for her, and she dropped the knife immediately to take it from him.
As Clary refilled it with fresh coffee, he continued, ''I've been Chief for four years now, it's about time those bastards caved.''
''It sounds like they are just sad that their friend is dead,'' Clary replied quietly.
''It's about politics, Clarissa,'' Valentine replied sharply. ''Not feelings.''
''It's been six years since mom died and you are still upset about that,'' Clary reminded him lightly as she walked around the island to place the coffee back in front of him. ''Maybe it's the same for them.''
Valentine grabbed her hand that held the coffee, and ignored her cries as the hot liquid splashed over the rim and burned her hand. She tried to pull her hand back, but he did not release her. She looked up at him with tears in her eyes, and she dropped the mug as he pulled his hand back to strike her.
The mug clattered noisily to the hard wood of the table and fell on its side, spilling over the surface and staining the front of her father's uniform.
He sucked a breath in with a hiss, and the fingers of his raised hand curled into a fist. The other held fast to her wrist even as her legs went weak and she fell toward the ground, hoping he would just let her fall instead of hitting her.
He held her up as his hand arched down, and pain slammed through her as his fist connected with her shoulder.
''I-I'm sorry!'' she cried, raising her free hand to protect herself, but he knocked it away and hit her again.
''We do not speak of your mother in this house!'' Valentine screamed at her, hitting her a third time.
Clary heard footsteps as Jonathon came down the stairs to join them for breakfast, and he stopped in the doorway as he watched the scene unfolding. Clary screamed as Valentine struck her a fourth and fifth time, before letting her collapse to the floor and stepping over her.
''I'm going to change my uniform,'' he said, his voice calm despite what had just happened. ''I expect my breakfast to be done by the time I return, the coffee to be cleaned, and both of you to be gone.''
Valentine disappeared up the stairs, and Jonathon stepped silently into the kitchen.
Clary looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes, and he turned his cold black ones to her.
''Get up.''
Clary's eyes narrowed at him, and she did not move from the floor.
He reached down and grabbed her arm, yanking her off of the floor and onto her feet. He shoved her toward the kitchen island. ''You heard him,'' he hissed at her. ''Hurry up, or we'll both get punished.''
Clary glared at him as she went back to fixing breakfast. Her hand felt like it was on fire, and her body did not feel much better. Despite her pain, she did as her father had demanded.
The front door closed after them as they left for school, just as Clary heard Valentine's footsteps on the stairs.
''Really, Clary?'' Simon demanded, his hand on the wrist of her burnt hand. He didn't bother to look around and see if anyone was listening in or watching them, and Clary felt her heart stutter nervously in her chest.
Clary ignored him, pulling her wrist free and walking away from him. But Simon followed her, crowding her, and when they passed by the girl's bathroom, in a flash he pulled her inside.
''Simon, what the hell-''
Simon ignored her, keeping his grip on the sleeve of her sweatshirt, and ducked down to check and see if the stalls were all empty. Finding that they were, he pulled her into one of them and slammed shut the door.
''I'm tired of this, Clary,'' he hissed at her, before pulling something out of his pocket. ''I'm tired of you coming to school every day with something new. I'm tired of not being able to do anything about it. I'm tired of not being able to talk to you about it. I'm just... I'm done.''
Clary felt her heart sink, watching her friend with sad eyes. ''You... You're done with me?''
Simon looked at what he'd taken from his pocket, his phone, and flipped it open. ''What?'' he asked distractedly.
''You're done with me?'' she asked, her voice shaking, and she felt tears gathering in her eyes.
Simon's head snapped up at her, his eyes wide. ''What? No, shut up. Of course I'm not,'' he said. He clicked a button on his phone. ''Take off your sweatshirt.''
Clary's eyebrows shot up to her forehead. ''What?''
''Take it off.''
Realization dawned on her face and her eyes widened, and shook her head violently at him. ''No, Simon, you can't-''
''I am going to do what I want,'' he said. ''I am going to find someone who will listen to what I have to say, and who will look at the pictures I'm going to take of you and do something about it.''
''My father has them all under his thumb, Simon,'' she told him. He ignored her, reaching for her sweater, and she brushed his hands aside and reluctantly pulled it off. ''You won't be able to do anything.''
''I have to try,'' Simon said, pulling up the camera on his phone. ''I'll go across the state, I'll go across fucking borders. I don't care how long it takes, but I will find someone.''
''Simon...''
''I'll be careful,'' Simon said, his voice softening. ''Luke has offered to help me before-''
''Luke knows?'' Clary asked in horrified whisper.
''It's obvious to anyone who knows what to look for,'' Simon told her. ''He knew your mother...''
He cut off, looking like he wanted to say more, but he chose not to. ''You should talk to him about her sometime.''
''You've talked to him about my mother?'' Clary asked him. He took her hand in his, and used his camera to document the burns across her hand and wrist. He did not answer her, just took pictures of her bruised body in silence.
He was just about the snap the last one when the door to the stall opened, having not been secured correctly in Simon's haste to pull her inside, and Isabelle Lightwood stopped immediately in the doorway when she realized it was occupied.
''I... It wasn't locked...'' Isabelle muttered, her eyes wide as she took in the scene. There was a blush to her cheeks, as if she thought something sexual was taking place, but the color blanched from them when she saw Clary's exposed skin.
Simon snapped his phone shut and slid it into his pocket. His cheeks were flushed as he looked from Isabelle to Clary, and back again. Instead of sticking around to explain, he ducked out of the stall and out of the bathroom completely, disappearing in only a matter of seconds.
''Coward,'' Clary hissed after him.
Isabelle backed out of the way as she exited the stall.
''We didn't hear anyone come in,'' Clary muttered as she slid the sweater back over her head.
Isabelle had been very talkative in class the day before, but for the first time to Clary seemed at a loss for words. ''He... What was he doing?'' she asked after a long, heavy moment of silence.
''Simon,'' Clary told her. ''He was taking pictures.''
''Oh,'' Isabelle said, her voice breathy. ''That... That's good. I hope... I hope it helps to catch the person that did that to you.''
Clary swallowed hard. ''Thank you.''
Clary started to step past her, but when Isabelle spoke again, she stopped dead in her tracks.
''Was it your brother?''
Clary spun around to face the other girl, fighting to keep her face passive as she did. ''What? Why would you ask that?''
Isabelle hesitated. ''My brother, Alec... He was walking around the campus yesterday morning to look for the football field so he knew where to go for practice, and he saw your brother push you.''
''Brothers and sisters fight all the time-''
''And Jace said he noticed a bruise on your cheek when he almost ran into you yesterday,'' Isabelle continued. ''I hadn't noticed it, but I can see he was right, I can see it now.''
Clary felt her cheeks flame in embarrassment.
''Besides,'' Isabelle said, her voice growing stronger, ''Not all the bruises just now were fresh. Bruises change color as they heal.''
Isabelle glanced over her, her expression soft. ''If I could take a guess though, it's your father that's doing it,'' she said. ''You were strong enough to go running up to Jace while he was attacking your brother, I can't imagine you wouldn't have tried to do something about being abused at home unless you couldn't actually do anything about it.''
''I liked you better when you were at a loss for words a few minutes ago,'' Clary replied, finally finding her voice.
Isabelle rolled her eyes at her, but her expression never changed.
''I don't know where you are going with this conversation,'' Clary said. ''I appreciate your concern, but I have someone that is already trying to help me.''
Isabelle glanced back toward the door. ''Samuel?''
''Simon,'' Clary corrected her, sharply.
''Cute kid,'' Isabelle commented offhandedly. She cleared her throat. ''Anyway, Simon isn't going to accomplish much on his own. He doesn't know the right people. He'll get hurt sticking his nose where it shouldn't be.''
''What's your point?'' Clary asked her cautiously.
''Chief Herondale was a good man. There are a lot of people who question how much of an accident his death really was,'' she answered. ''My family took in Jace after he died because my parents are his godparents. There are reasons we stayed in town instead of leaving after he got released from juvie.''
''You must be pretty confident in my alliances to tell me all of this,'' Clary said lowly. ''To trust I won't go running to my father.''
Isabelle shrugged. ''It's Jace that trusts you, despite the blood that runs in your veins,'' she explained. ''He asked Alec and me to approach you if we got the opportunity. I don't think he expected it to be like this though, for it to be as bad for you as it is.''
Clary frowned at her in confusion.
Isabelle sighed. ''Jace wanted us to approach you about talking to him, letting him explain what happened with Jonathon four years ago,'' she told her. ''He thought he owed you an explanation because you saved him from himself that day. When he found out about what Alec saw, and what he saw when you nearly ran into him yesterday, he decided he wanted to offer you something more instead.''
''Offer me what?'' Clary asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.
''Other than an explanation?'' Isabelle said. ''He wanted to offer to save you.''
Author's Note: And the plot thickens! I am pretty happy with this chapter, and I hope you all agree. Please REVIEW :). PLEASE.