A/N: whats you favorite TMI ship? Show of hands in the comments or in a pm! And don't worry about judgement I just wanna know what to add more of :)
Chapter Eleven
"Clary?"
The voice of her father snapped Clary out of her blank zone, and she looked up. She was sitting on a couch in the living room with her sketchbook, and Valentine was in the hallway, stopped and watching her.
"Are you okay?"
She nodded. "Yeah, I'm good. I just...couldn't sleep. Drawing usually helps, but I can't stop thinking."
"I understand." He leaned against the wall, and Clary noticed a steaming mug in his hand. "You used to have trouble sleeping as a girl, and I would always find you laying on the kitchen floor with a box of crayons and notebook paper. Always the sleepless artist, you were."
Clary smiled. "That sounds like me. I also have a habit of sitting and lying on floors."
"I remember."
"What are you doing up?"
"I got a fire message that woke me. I figured I'd check on you and your brother after I got a cup of tea." He shrugged. "It helps me stay calm."
"Me too. Jasmine makes me tired."
He raised the mug. "Me as well. The water is still hot, and the tea is beside it if you decide you want some. I'm going up to check on Jonathan and get some sleep."
"Okay. Goodnight, dad!"
"Try not to stay up too late, sweetheart." He hesitated a moment before turning around and heading for the stairs.
Clary sighed. It had been a week since they'd left the Institute. Magnus Bane had been out of the country and wouldn't be back for another day, so it had been a waiting game. Clary and Jonathan had been in the back yard every day training, him teaching Clary to fight with and without weapons, while their father tried to find out more about the mysterious nine months between when Jocelyn and taken her away and when Tessa had met them.
It was still weird to have a dad in her life-a caring man doing all the parental stuff her mom had always done. Unlike Jocelyn, however, Valentine couldn't cook, so all of their meals were take-out, paid and ordered by him, picked up by Jonathan and Clary. Tonight wasn't the first night that she's had trouble sleeping, but it was the first time she'd gone downstairs to draw instead of staying in her room. She hadn't seen any lights on on her way down, so it had been a shock to see her father standing there.
She couldn't imagine how surreal it was for them, her brother and father. For her, it was a strange feeling of belonging with context, but no memory. For them...For her father, it was surely a dream to have his daughter back; to see her sitting on the couch and drawing, or having her at the dinner table. For Jonathan, it was like being reunited with a childhood best friend. He was excited and happy, eager to spend time with her without caring what the activity was-earlier in the day, he'd been grinning like a fool over sitting on the back lawn to read beside her as she drew. While it was happy to have her back, Clary wondered if it was strange at all for them to adjust to her return. It had been four years, after all.
There was a creaking as someone stepped down the stairs. Thinking perhaps her father had forgotten something, she turned her head and said, "dad?"
"Shit," a voice whispered, followed by the sound of a plastic cup dropping.
Clary stood up as Jonathan's face appeared around the corner. He sighed. "By the Angel, Clary! You scared me." He bent to pick up the cup he'd dropped. "I didn't know anyone was up."
She wiggled her pencil. "Couldn't sleep so I can down to draw."
"Oh, of course. Yeah, you just scared me. I was coming to get something other than water."
"Hey, don't let me stop you," she smiled. "I was just going back up."
"Mind waiting a minute? I just...sorry! Never mind, you can go ahead." He turned and headed for the kitchen.
Clary followed him. "You just what?" She asked, leaning against the kitchen door.
"It's dumb," he said, shaking his head as he pulled out a carton of orange juice.
"You can tell me, Jonathan." She smiled at him.
"I just...I guess I'm just paranoid, thinking if I can't see you you'll disappear again. It's stupid, I know."
Clary frowned, and went over to her brother. She took the carton from him, midpour, and put it on the counter. She took his shoulders and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close.
"I'm not going anywhere, Jonathan," she whispered. "I promise. You aren't going to lose me again, ever."
After a moment, she felt him arms around her waist, pulling her closer. His chin was on the top of her head. "I know. I'm just...afraid."
She tightened her hold on him. "Don't be. I'm right here. I'm with you, and I always will be. I promise you, I'm not going anywhere."
They held each other for a long time, standing in the darkness of the kitchen, taking comfort in each other's embrace.
Finally, Jonathan released her. He smiled. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me," she said. "You're the one who found me."
They headed back upstairs, hugging once more before separating to their rooms.
Clarys room now had all of her stuff inside. The three of them had gone through the loft and packed everything but Clarys things in boxes. Her new room was bigger than she'd ever had, so her things all fit nicely with room on the walls for everything she'd never had space for. There were new things too, things from childhood that she didn't remember-personal weapons that were still the right size for her, heirlooms she'd gotten for her birthdays. Her art supplies were spread neatly across her desk, as always, and she opened her sketchbook and placed it down.
The picture she'd done of Jace and Alec before meeting them was beside it, waiting to be finished-though it had been added to in the middle of the night, and she didn't remember drawing in Isabelle beside Alec, a whip around her wrist. Clary had tried working on it, but she could barely touch it without running into a metal wall.
Sighing, Clary laid in bed with her phone. She had a text from Simon from an hour before, so she decided to see it he was still awake.
Clary: how awake are you on a scale of 1-10?
Psymon: maybe like 8? Why? You ok?
Clary: I can't sleep.
Psymon: me either. Can't turn off the brain
Clary: did you try unplugging it?
Psymon: tried but it's wireless and I can find the outlet :/
Clary: I have a backup battery apparently.
Psymon: damn. Sorry. So what's on your mind?
Clary: right now? You.
Psymon: yeah?
Clary: I miss you
Psymon: I miss you too. Busy tomorrow?
Clary: I shouldn't be.
Psymon: you know how at Java Jones the first time we talked about digimon?
Clary: you're psymon in my phone :)
Psymon: I'd call you a nerd but I ordered the first season and it just came today
Clary: ooooooooo
Psymon: I could use a marathon partner
Clary: are you asking me on a date?
Psymon: only if you say yes!
Clary: I would love to be your nerd date
Psymon: bring your digivice cuz it's gonna get real
Clary: you should know I always have it
Psymon: just wanna make sure :P
Clary: have your a-game ready cuz I'm a marathon pro
Psymon: snacks!
Clary: I'll bring drinks!
Psymon: best date ever
Clary: :)
Psymon: are you flirting with me?
Soon after, Clary fell asleep, phone in hand.
6 IN THE MORNING
Clary woke up to the sound of knocking on her door, and Jonathan saying, "Clary! Wake up, it's time for training!"
Groaning loudly, she sat up and stretched. Mid-joint-pop, she realized that she wasn't in bed, but at her desk. Dropping her arms, she realized they were covered in smeared graphite. In the barely-there light of the early morning, she could see that her hands were completely grey, fading upward all the way to her elbows. Looking on the desk, she gasped.
The picture was done.
Along with a dozen other pictures.
The original now had Clary between Jonathan and Jace; an Asian-looking man with colorful hair behind Alec, his hand filling in the spot on Alec's shoulder; Simon was beside Isabelle, covered in runes and holding a seraph blade; and another Asian-looking man with a hooded robe covered in runes stood between Simon and Jonathan in the circle that they were all making. They were surrounded by demons, dozens of them, and more seeming to pour from a rough oval of purple. Clary held a sword with stars on it that matched Jonathan's, seraph blades in her belt.
The rest of the pictures, all greyscale, were faces. Some were demons, some monsters, and some human-well, sort of, because the humans looked more like zombies.
Gasping, Clary practically fell out of her chair trying to stand up, tripping over the leg and hitting the floor. There were more faces, stabbed into the wall with the tacks she kept on the desk. Each and every face on the wall was a shadowhunter, faces dead and screaming, runes cut in half and bleeding on their cheeks and necks. But that wasn't what had made Clary fall. It was a single face in the middle of it all, right in front of the original picture. It was a woman, smiling triumphantly, standing tall with a sword half hidden behind her leg-the same sword that Clary held. Her eyes looked into the first picture, right at Clary.
It was her mom.
