To Worry About Her

Chapter song: The Lonely by Christina Perri

New York, 2004

"I don't trust her, Jocelyn," Luke said solemnly. He fiddled with his spectacles as he narrowed his blue eyes in the direction of the door Clary had just disappeared through.

Jocelyn sighed. Yes, she understood the potential risks of letting Clary live with her. Yes, she got that Clary had been raised by Valentine and could potentially be just as much of a monster as he was (she shuddered at the thought). And yes, she got that it was probably a royally stupid thing to do to let her daughter in when there was a very high risk of Clary only being here to spy for Valentine.

But didn't Luke get that Clary was her daughter? She needed to trust her; needed to trust someone who was actually a part of her messed up family, and to tell herself that she wasn't a pathetic excuse for a mother. She'd raised Clary as a baby, and she still remembered the laughing chubby one year old whose brother doted on her from eleven years ago. She didn't want to think that she'd forced Clary to return to Valentine, simply by turning her daughter away in her most desperate hour.

Besides, Clary had convinced Magnus of her innocence. And that man - warlock, whatever - was, whilst eccentric and enthusiastic, very difficult to get around. That had to count for something didn't it?

"Don't you think I know that, Luke?" She responded to her lifelong friend, alarming herself at how much fatigue she could inject into that single sentence. "Don't you think I've been warring with myself over this ever since I laid eyes on her for the first time in years? Don't you think I haven't analysed and re-analysed her story a thousand times to spot any inconsistencies, anything that might hint that she's not telling the truth?" Her voice broke on the last syllable. "Give her a chance, Luke. For me, for the old Valentine who asked you to be his parabatai, give our daughter a chance."

There was a tense silence, and Jocelyn watched the tendons in Luke's throat flex as he opened and closed his mouth, no doubt trying to convince himself to suppress the words of argument bubbling in his mind. She knew he only wanted to protect her, knew he meant well but. . . couldn't he see she needed this?

She needed to be able to love her daughter.

A terse nod. She sighed with relief, and went to embrace her oldest friend, shutting her eyes as she let herself be enveloped in his familiar warmth. "Fine, Jocelyn." Came his gruff voice. "For you."

Some instinct a few moments later - perhaps installed by her dedicated years of Shadowhunting - made her open her eyes then and look up, propping her chin on Luke's shoulder. Clary stood in the doorway, her oversized clothes tied and cut where necessary to make them fit better, and her stele rested comfortably in her hand. The first thing Jocelyn noticed about her daughter was that she had the hands and fingers of an artist.

The second was that she looked upon Jocelyn and Luke's embrace with a heart-breaking blend of pain, longing, and nostalgia.

And Jocelyn had to wonder whether the horrific reasons Clary had recounted were the only reasons she'd left, and whether someone else was involved with it.

Luke gave a little start as he turned, arm still around Jocelyn's shoulders, and spotted the preteen lingering there. He opened his mouth to speak, no doubt assuming she'd heard their conversation, but she cut him off with a sad smile. "It's okay," she said softly. "I understand. I wouldn't trust me in your situation either." She paused for breath. "I get that I'll have to earn your trust, and prove I am who I say I am. And I will, I promise."

And for the next three years, she did.

New York, 2007

Jocelyn was sick and tired of her daughter's habit of getting up before dawn and leaving the vaguest of vague notes to explain where she was going. She understood that Clary struggled to sleep in any later than half past five but. . . if she leaves the house, she can at least make sure to be back by three in the afternoon!

"Calm down, Jocelyn," Luke said casually from where he stood in the kitchen making pancakes. "Clary will be fine. She can take care of herself."

"Don't you think I know that!?" She snapped in reply, pausing just long enough in her pacing to shoot a glare Luke's way. He didn't seem fazed, and Jocelyn was struck by a sense of sudden déjà vu as she used the same words she had so long ago. "Excuse me for being worried about my daughter's wellbeing when just this morning I woke to a banging on the door that was Dorothea telling me in person that Valentine had been sighted by a werewolf not to far from here, only to find that Clary's disappeared to Angel knows where leaving a note that simply says 'gone to Simon's' and yet when I phone Elaine she says they're not there!"

She took a breath, and only then did she process Luke's expression of slight betrayal, and of prevailing concern. "What?" She demanded.

"Valentine's in New York?" He asked worriedly, turning away from his pancakes altogether. "And you didn't tell me?"

"I'm a bit too busy panicking to think straight right now, Luke!" She half shrieked, throwing her hands up. Luke was about to argue when the door swung open to reveal Clary tucking a key back into her pocket. Jocelyn yelled "Hallelujah!" and ran towards her, hugging her tightly before she'd even fully stepped into the residence,

Clary looked slightly perturbed. "What did I miss? 'Cause I've had a very eventful day and I'm in a funny mood. I bet I've been through more stuff than I missed."

"You. Idiot." Jocelyn said firmly, detaching herself and holding Clary at arms length, inspecting her meticulously from head to toe. "What were you thinking, running off at the godforsaken hours of the morning!? All you said was 'I'm going to Simon's' and yet when I called Simon's mum she said you weren't there! And then you're out for a solid nine and a half hours and I don't know whether or not you've died and Valentine was spotted near here by one of Dorothea's clients, and-"

"Fath- Valentine was spotted near here?" Clary interrupted. Jocelyn chose to focus on the way all the colour drained from her complexion leaving her freckles dark in contrast like ink blots on a fresh page, rather than cringing at Clary's little slip up when talking about the man who'd sired her. "You couldn't have opened with that!?"

Clary was pacing now, running her hands through her hand and grunting in annoyance when they got stuck halfway. "I'm going to take a shower," she announced. "And then I'm going to come out here and freak out and pace and bombard you two with questions about this. Possible irritate Dorothea as well. See you!" She dashed into the bathroom.

Sometimes the reckless speed with which Clary charged into certain situations left Jocelyn breathless.

"I'm just saying what I was told," Dorothea said earnestly. The old woman was clearly annoyed at Clary's persistent question and Jocelyn winced as their neighbour gave her a pointed look that clearly conveyed control your daughter.

Was that possible?

"Look, Clarissa," Dorothea finished, and Jocelyn could practically see her daughter bristle at the use of her full name. Jocelyn hastily went to pull her away.

"Thank you for your time!" She called behind her, as she dragged a still fuming Clary up the stairs. Her daughter, thankfully, didn't try to resist and let herself be flung inside the apartment. "Are you mad, Clary? You know Dorothea hates being interrogated."

"I know," the girl replied, seeming resigned. Jocelyn tilted her head. "And I'm sorry. I guess I'm just-" she swallowed, "-scared. Of him. Of him. Of. . . everything."

"I know what you mean," she replied honestly, mind drifting back to her own horrifying experiences.

Clary gave her a queer look. "Do you?"

Before Jocelyn could answer, Clary's phone went off. Jocelyn watched as her daughter squinted at the screen, then observed with bemusement as a multitude of emotions crossed the redhead's face: delight, irritation, endearment. . . before she was feverishly tapping the keys, turning away from her mother and heading for her room in an effective dismissal - one worthy of Valentine's daughter.

The text on the screen glowed as she typed her reply.

I realised I barely know anything about you. How about we go for a demon hunt tomorrow evening? Meet me at the Institute at seven - J

She didn't need to think to know who J was.

She swiftly formulated a response. Confident, aren't we? - C

You're not saying no ;) - J

I'll see you there - C

Disclaimer: I don't own TMI.

I'm really sorry about how short this was. It's just a filler, and I just needed to get it out of the way before continuing with the plot. And I also apologise if it got a little... choppy, at the end. It's late and I'm tired but I really wanted to post this today. I promise the next one will be longer, with more action in it.

What did you think? What do you think will happen on the hunt? Where do you think the plot will progress from there?

Review?