A/N: I've only been to NY once, so all errors in that context are the fault of the universe being potty.

Raphael POV:

She's a funny thing. It was his first thought when she blanched at the motorbike, its gleaming metal and soft leather making it the favourite of his collection. She was so brave most of the time, fighting Valentine, visiting the Seelie Court, storming into his Hotel to get her rat-friend back. But now and then…

He sighed with an impatience he didn't feel. It was far too much fun, seeing a shadowhunter weak and afraid, especially a shadowhunter that had caused him so many problems. "Clary, you've ridden on these bikes before. It's not that bad."

She glared at him, a kitten pitting herself against a bloodhound. "That was because I had no choice. This is different."

"How so?" He asked, amused. "I could just leave you here, alone. And then you would have to venture through the hotel yourself… and take my word for it, you would be very appetizing to all the new vampires down there."

She froze, eying him. Her beauty was not lost on Raphael, nor her anger. "You wouldn't."

He swung his leg over and switched the engine on, revving the handle. The bike purred – he'd never been a fan of loud, guttural sounding engines – and he inched it forwards.

"Last chance…" he said, intoxicated by the quick pulsing of her heart, the blood flushing her pale cheeks. She stomped over to the bike and slipped over the side, landing right against his back. There was no feeling in the world like having a beautiful girl cling to his waist, even if said girl was grumpy and unwilling. She held only the thin material of his t-shirt, refusing to touch his skin.

He pressed her palms down gently and closed her fists, her little gasp hot against the back of his neck. He would almost feel Clary pouting. "Hold on. I drive fast."

And he pushed down on the accelerator.

The wind whipped at them, angry and determined, as they fell through the air. Raphael had always loved this moment – the first few seconds it took for the bike to kick into gear and start flying. One day, it would fail and he would hit the pavement like the banished angels that fell to earth in legends, except Raphael's immortality only stretched so far. The bike shuddered once and started to rise in the air, Clary now wrapped around him completely, face buried in the joint between neck and shoulder, both arms tight around his waist. She hadn't screamed once.

He could feel her shaking though, and cursed in Spanish when he realised she was cold. Small, human details like that often evaded him. He had remembered to feed her at least, but not to keep her warm.

"I hate you!" She yelled suddenly over the wind, and he laughed as he caught her wide eyed gaze in the wing mirrors – she had just looked down.

"Love you too, babe's!" He shouted back, and then went into a steep dive before she could react. Her arms contracted around him, doing strange but familiar things to his vampire physique. He was torn by guilt and desire when she tilted her mouth towards his neck, practically kissing him in her fear of the descent. He slowed the bike, pulling it almost horizontal as the tires touched the ground, rolling along before he stopped it with his feet.

She didn't let go though, arms still clenched around his waist. She was just inches away and his hyper senses made him aware of everything… the tangled inferno of hair, the mixed scents from her skin and clothes, the blissful pumping of the blood in her veins. She was delicious but for now, he couldn't have her.

"You okay, darling?" He asked, and then cursed the concern in his voice. He was over a hundred years old; he did not lose his cool over pretty human girls like a newbie.

"Fine," she said, still clearly put out. She pulled away, sliding backwards on the bike before swinging a leg over. Her wide green eyes swept over the dirty streets, the bordered up houses and the tacky graffiti. This was one of the more dangerous neighbourhoods, but that didn't bother Raphael – getting mugged was hardly a problem for a vampire. She shivered though, hands sliding over the places where her knives used to be, before Raphael had removed them of course.

He hopped off the bike and set the security up to high. Even with them eating just a few feet away from where it was parked, someone would doubtlessly try and steal it.

"Harold's Happy Hamburgers?" She asked, one eyebrow raised.

He laughed. With the drooping sign, empty seats and general air of disuse, there was no way this place looked 'happy'. It was a sad run down place, and there were dozens like it New York City. The chances of Sebastian or any other his demon cronies coming here was minimal.

"Hey, what time is it?" She asked suddenly, glancing up at the night sky. "I set off from the Institute at 4-ish…"

"You slept all day," he said, pushing open the door. Tatty signs welcomed him, but there appeared to be no-one serving. It only took a moment for his vampire hearing to pick up the heavy snuffles and snoring of an overweight male, and his sluggish heartbeat with its priceless load. "It's nearly two, now."

Puzzled, she watched him from the corner of her eye as he hopped over the counter and banged on the door to the kitchen. There was a startled shout, followed by a dull groan as the man heaved himself to his feet. The sting of alcohol assaulted Raphael as soon as the man stumbled out and he coughed – scents were so strong to him, and the cook smelled like a food waste bin.

"Wha' d'ya want?" The man asked, holding himself up against the counter, bloodshot eyes just about focused on Raphael. Clary, to the vampire's great surprise, slunk behind him, close and personal. Hiding behind him.

"Darlin'?" He asked softly, one hand wrapping around her wrist, anchoring her. "What do you want to eat?"

She paused, possibly thinking, probably wondering whether it was safe to consume food from such a place. The chances of it passing Health and Safety regulations were minimal. Then her shoulders squared and her chin jutted out and she said, "A bacon sandwich please."

He had forgotten she was adorable.

The man waddled off, and Raphael led them to a vaguely clean table. He was still holding her wrist but he let go to sit opposite her, pleased to see the bike still there out the window. He wasn't sure if sitting so close, with only a drunk cook around and her unarmed was a very good idea. Her charm, her beauty, her personality that alternated between little sweet thing to be protected and fighter to bow down to… it had all taken him a back. Surprised him.

And every politician hated being surprised.

"You know," she said casually, her eyes showing how very serious she was, "I wish you would stop reading my texts. My phone is private."

He shrugged. His reasons were sound, and he rarely regretted anything because he always acted logically. "That was a one-off. If Jace or any of your other little friends knew where you were and were planning to collect you, I had to be ready for them. If that wolf you love so much, Luke," – the name was practically spit out – "had intended to attack with his pack, my coven needed to be prepared."

He paused, looking at her gravely. "No-one ever comes first, little darling. It's always the coven I look out for above everything and everyone else."

"Not above your own life," she said, staring right back. She was such a funny little thing – eyes hard, voice strong, but slumped and small and sweet. "You always look after yourself."

"Right now, my coven is my life. If they faltered or lost I would run and save my self, yes. But till that day my loyalty is absolute."

There was an untidy bang as the cook came out with her sandwich, swinging door colliding with hard wall, and her eyes went wide and round with hunger. His throat contracted – he couldn't see the appeal of human food, though some vampires lusted over wine and sweet fruits, especially when spiked with blood. He could see the appeal of her though.

She ate quickly, no longer having the time for conversation with Raphael. He didn't mind, he knew well enough the sting of hunger and the sweetness of its release. When she finished, swallowing the last bite of the pig flesh that revolted him and the bread that just confused him – she was eating a mushed up plant – he smiled and held out his hand for her to take.

"It's time we get you home. I have a few little errands to do before the night is out, and you need to rest."

She frowned at him, clearly annoyed as he dropped the correct change on the table and stood up. He didn't particularly care about paying but he had a feeling she would, brought up as she was. "I'm fine, I slept all day."

"No, you recovered from your injuries all day," he disagreed, wrapping an arm around her waist when she shivered from the cold outside. He really should have brought her a jacket. "Now, you're going to sleep properly."

And if he liked the feeling of her big green eyes turning to him and not protesting a word, and her arms clinging to him without reservation, and the fact that she trusted him to take her safely home – what of it? Because right then, there were street lights below them and stars above them and politics seemed a world away.

They were just a fairy-tale girl and a nightmare boy on a motorbike that flew.

A/N: Hello, dearest!

I should like to thank whirlwind29, Huntress3419, greygirl2358, BlackHeart, birdssaytweet, GOOD, Preciossa, pizzapie IS MINE and mortalinstrumentsgurl1 for doing something kind for someone they'd never met, despite not having to and despite not getting any reward. They gave me their time and their encouragement and their support, and it is the one and only reason this chapter is up. I am very, very grateful.

Q: Do you like the name darlin'/little darling?